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joeloverture · 3 days ago

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deadfall | enemy!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: dad’s enemy!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak] warnings: (mdni) canon typical violence (stalkers, mentions of death), porn with plot, game or tv joel, reader born before the outbreak, reader has a present/loving father figure (HAH), alternate universe — joel never went to boston, implied age gap but how big is up to you, self indulgent humor, quicksand, explicit smut, reader is a biiiit of a peeping tom, close proximity, only one bed, (brief) accidental somnophilia so dubcon, dry humping, degradation, humiliation, mirror sex, unprotected piv (he’s snipped dw), doggy style, manhandling (he fucks you in a headlock), mild breath play & choking, brief hair pulling (reader has hair!), scratching/biting, brief orgasm denial, hatefuck [no use of y/n] word count: 9.5k author's note: pwplot! a joeloverture first. also my first foray into somno! and post!ob joel! lots of firsts here. special thanks to @joelsdagger for taking a glimpse at this for me (and for being the PIONEER that forged joel fucking in a headlock) and @lovesickonmybed for being the best sounding board ever. i hope y'all like this one, i sure do.

There are no infected in the swamp — not this far out. They prefer the slant of buildings or the maw of split pavement. Blood-bloated leeches and black-trunked cypresses aren’t their domain.

You can’t say you blame them. One day in, and you’re already sick of this shit.

A few gnats have flown up your nostrils as you wade through the ankle-deep sludge. Mist curls at the edges of your vision. Your feet keep slipping on the slime covered stones that are half-submerged in the deep. Sweat crystallizes on your nape as your toe catches on a downed branch.

Before you faceplant in the sludge below, a burly hand snags your collar and hauls you up. “You always this much of a klutz?” It’s the first few words he’s said to you in hours.

A scowl buckles your lips. You shove Joel Miller’s arm off your back, splashing up scummy water as you step over the branch this time. You say nothing — don’t even dignify him with a passing glance.

“You’re a real peach, ain’t ya?” Joel says. When he takes his next step, water splashes at the backs of your calves. “Save your ass and this is the thanks I get.”

Joel Miller doesn’t want thanks. Up until he accidentally burnt his thumb with boiling hot coffee yesterday, you’d been convinced he didn’t feel anything at all. As long as his pulse is woven between bullets and stab wounds, he doesn’t give a damn what happens to those around him. His heart, much like the rest of the people at the end of the world, is calcified. Only beating out of necessity.

You’re silent as you footslog forward. The slurp of mud stretches between your shoe and the ground. Your pack jostles against your back. The ache in your bones has proven to be a better company than Joel – at least that is tolerable.

A deadfall lays flat ahead, a tree with cambered branches that droop with moss. Joel cups a hand over his eyes to block out the sun and squints past.

You go to walk past him, around the deadfall.

“Nuh uh,” Joel tugs you back by the scruff. You grunt. “‘S deeper out there. I’d sure like to see you get swallowed up by a gator, but that doesn’t work for me, kid.”

It sure works for you. If you see one of their bumpy snouts protruding out of the water, you’re using him as bait.

You don’t say that, though. Just hitch your foot up over one of the branches in the tree and start to haul yourself up. It’s a nagging ordeal – full of hissing through your teeth and feeling wood tear small cuts into your skin. Your hand tangles in an unoccupied spiderweb before you toss yourself through the other side of the bramble. Water sluices around you as you right yourself, rubbing a bead of blood from one of your knuckles.

Joel’s quick to follow, even quicker to take front again. You’ve learned he likes being ahead of you — unless you’re climbing a ledge or a fallen oak.

The hours wear on. You refuse to be the first to call it for the day. Even when you get stinging salt water into your open cuts, you grin and bear it. When the sun lounges on the chaise of the tree-sketch horizon, he drops his pack on an island of mulch that’s nestled in a grove of dead vegetation.

You slump down next to him, rifling through your pack for a bite of jerky. Joel’s knees pop. He grunts as he slips down into the dirt and unrolls his sleeping bag. He rolls over, facing away from you. Hand wrapped around his gun like it’s a lover.

When you do the same, it’s with a barbed insult on your tongue that’s better left unspoken.

At the end of the world, everything is ruleless. But you grew up with exactly one rule: don’t talk about Joel Miller.

You hadn’t been expecting him to kill you.

The Cockroaches, the lesser raider group in Northeast Texas, had captured you. Apparently your dad had some unpaid debts, and in taking you as leverage, they’d intended to get close to him. All they got were bullets in their heads.

You’d sighed in relief when the hatch to your basement confinement had finally opened. A spillage of sun sliced down through the opening, and you were expecting the familiar warmth of your father, an apology, and reassurance that he wouldn’t let them take you again.

Instead, you got Joel. With his hulking gun, broad figure that blocked out the sun, and the scowl that would be the last thing you’d ever see.

You had fumbled against the post you were tied to, feet scrabbling against the floor. You’d winced away when he raised his knife. “Don’t–”

…And cut into your restraints.

You’d rubbed the chafing from your wrists and stared at him, nebulous and delirious. “Get the fuck away from me,” you’d croaked.

“They touch you?” he’d asked. You’d shaken your head. “Hurt ya?” Another shake.

“Good. Now get up and get ready to haul ass.” He turned around, but not before throwing his knife to the ground next to you. The clatter it made against the concrete made your ears ring.

You grabbed the knife.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask him. They’re the only words you’ve spoken since you’d seen him in the cellar.

“I ain’t,” he says. His voice is gruff. Sandpapery.

“Looks like helping,” you say, nodding at the pack he’d given you. He’d come out prepared. To get you.

“Your daddy ain’t the only one with debts,” he says.

You stop, booted feet sinking into the mud. Shit. “So that’s what this is. You take me away just to hand me off to some other shitty group?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. He turns around, already mid-stride.

You yank his knife out of your pocket and dive at him.

“Hey, hey, fuck – you little brat,” he spats. He goes off balance before he twists around. You corral him against a tree, leg hitching around his waist as you knee at his thighs, aiming for his crotch. His spittle sprays your cheek as he grunts. His fist wraps around your hand, and the knife splats into the mud. His booted heel slips and he goes sliding back as he shoves you away, hard. You cough as you slam into a tree trunk. The knot that swells out of the bark digs into your head. You drag a branch up off the ground, pushing yourself off the tree as you heft it.

Before you grab it, he slaps you. Hard. Your head goes spinning as you stumble back into the muck. He jams his boot down against your chest, mud smearing across your tank top. “I gotta tie you up, or you gonna fuckin’ listen to me?”

You reach up to grab his ankle, and he just stomps harder against your chest. You wheeze, flopping back in the sludge. “B-bastard,” you hiss.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. ‘S your dad’s shitty group I’m talkin’ about.”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Your old man ain’t the only one with a coupla debts under his belt.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say. Voice squished in your throat from his tread against your chest.

He shakes his head and finally lets his boot up. You suck in a breath, another cough rattling your ribcage. “Quit being all uppity and pickin’ fights ya can’t win if you wanna learn, dumbass.”

“Why didn’t he just come get me himself?” you grit out as you lean back against a log. You use it to lift yourself, legs feeling gelatinous from being shoved about.

“You didn’t see? Cockroach shot ‘im in the leg.” Your lips tremble, but you straighten them. “He’s fine.”

You scowl. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” You march forward. Your arms cross solidly over your chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t take it well.” He looks you up and down. “And I was right.”

You curse under your breath. Dip to grab your knife. Toss it in your hand while you think. You don’t flinch when it slightly nicks your thumb — it’s hardly a poke with all of the scraping you’ve been doing through undergrowth — but Joel smirks.

He sees you as juvenile. The product of a world that you haven’t earned the right to be in, always cowering behind your dad’s back.

You’ll prove him wrong.

“How far are we from the nearest city?” you ask. You want to go home. Your arms ache not just from swinging at your side or lifting you up toppled trees, but to wrap around your father. Your bones protest at the thought of being in your skin. Your tank top sticks to your flesh with mud and the parasites that squirm in it.

“I’m not a goddamn fortune teller,” Joel says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then we better get moving.” You readjust your pack and jostle him as you march on.

Three days later, and there’s no end in sight to the swamp. Whatever towns you’ve encountered are home to only a derelict gas station and ransacked mom-and-pop stores. They’re no place for pit stops.

You (reluctantly) stay close to Joel, who you’re lucky to hear so much as a murmur out of. Most of the time, he’s redirecting you, tugging you out of the way of half-decade old hunter’s traps or reminding you not to go too far.

“The world isn’t gonna end if I step out of your imaginary line, Joel,” you say. You test your foot on the side of the bank you’re walking on. Nothing happens.

“Ki–” Joel says, brows crunched up.

“See? Fine.” You press more of your weight into the ground. He reaches for you, but your body tilts.

Your foot is sinking.

“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Joel says. He pinches his nose bridge. “Shoulda left ya down there.”

You glare at him, bending yourself at the waist so you can try to wiggle yourself with your upper body strength. Your free knee is propped up on the squishy ground. You grunt, palms slipping against the oily, grass-filled mud. “I got it,” you rasp out as he crouches in front of you.

“Uh huh,” he says, frowning pointedly.

“I got it.” You slap his hand away and thresh your leg in the sand. It barely even wiggles. “Fuck.” You strain your leg, huffing and puffing. Dirt fixes itself under your nails.

Joel wraps his arms under your shoulders and you flail in protest. “I said I can handle it!” Instead of listening to you, he tugs at you like pulling a toy from a dog. You keep windmilling your arms.

“Quit thrashin’!” Joel yells. “Any harder and you’re gonna drag me in with you.”

Your face is too close to his. Too close for the uncomfortable heat. His humid breath fans against your sweat-slippery cheek as he groans. Your foot loosens. You prop your calf up on his thigh as he wrests you out of the quicksand. You’re chest-to-chest with him as you tip over the muck, dropping flat against him. “Mmph.”

Joel shoves you off of him, and you fall on your ass in the mud. By all odds, your boot has remained strapped to your foot. He’s already up and moving when he says, “Jesus Christ, you are just like your fuckin’ dad.”

The mud still caked into your shirt has started to flake by the time you reach a city called Monroe. Just off of I-20, you and Joel trek further into what you imagine must’ve been a medium-sized city during its heyday.

You’re bone-weary. Your back keeps popping with every step with how you keep having to sleep on the ground. You’d be thankful for even a mattress of moss — but luckily, you won’t have to settle. Sunset is nearing, which means you can see the blue water (imagine that, blue water) tainted pink and orange below. Houses and the city clocktower reflect into the gentle pull and ebb of the tide.

Joel nods at a half-bent blue roadway sign. “YMCA up ahead,” he says. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clutches his gun closer to his side. “Stay close.”

You keep your hand around the grip of your knife, following him into the city.

It’s quiet as you navigate through a labyrinth of abandoned, rust-gutted cars. At one point, you manage to slip ahead of him, and he allows it for long enough (fifteen seconds) that you opt to take a shortcut through a parking garage. You climb over the edge and dip inside, feet scraping over roots that have grown between concrete slabs. The shade is a brief respite from the scorching sun, but the humidity still wrings the sweat from your pores.

Joel slips ahead of you again, taking long, dragging strides that look as exhausted as you feel. Four days of hiking through swamp and gunk and slapping mosquitoes against your skin has made you grateful to just be walking on solid ground again. Joel steps past a busted, sticker-covered van.

A streak flickers against the dark canopy of the garage. “Infected!” you shout, but Joel falls back on his ass.

His gun flies out of his hand and skids across the concrete. He grunts, shuffling backward, but the stalker’s already on him, its mouth sewn partially shut by fungi. It croaks and slashes at him, blind left eye battering and twitching. Joel throws a hooked punch, but the stalker takes the opportunity to grapple him, snarling in his face.

He’s going to get bit.

You launch forward, knife in-hand. You fling yourself into a tumble with the stalker, legs strewn over Joel’s. Adrenaline plummets through your body. You stomp on its shin and it shrieks. The knife almost slips from your grip as you start to stab blindly. You thrust the blade up through its eye socket.

The thing cackles and caws, its vocal chords clacking with mold and rot. Rusted blood trickles from its nose and down your wrist as you twist the blade further until you meet bone and then whatever is left of a brain is beyond it. You cringe as you drag the knife out and wipe it across your pants. It slumps back in a mound and then falls over.

Your chest heaves as you look between Joel and the stalker. His hands are scraped up as he grabs his gun.

You extend him a hand. He seems to think about it for a second before latching onto you and letting you help him up. He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

This YMCA in particular isn’t like the others you’ve stopped at with your dad. Instead of glass windows and tin roofs, it’s brick and mortar. You and Joel climb in through the window, and you almost sob in relief when you see at least a dozen oversized yoga mats. That’s a suitable homemade mattress, you think.

There’s a basketball court whose court has been warped and fossilized by the leaks in the roof. A peek of sunset dives in through a hole, lighting up the western side of the room. You expect the pool room to still smell of chlorine. It’s a little weird when it doesn’t even though the pool’s been drained for years, you imagine. From there, you two reach the showers.

Before you let yourself get excited, Joel fiddles with the knobs. Water sprays out of it. “Still hot,” he says, absorbed in the droplets that are spraying his hand. He turns it off.

“Fuck it,” you say, tearing your tank top over your head.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joel says, turning to face the wall.

“You aren’t the one who’s covered in mud!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I ain’t the one who went jumpin’ into quicksand. I also ain’t the one who deserved an ass whooping.”

You glare at his shoulder blades as you unzip your jeans, fumbling out of them. They’re nearly crunchy with the amount of mud you’ve been traipsing through. “They did charity drives at these things, right?” You never really went to any YMCAs before the world went to shit. “Maybe they’ve got clean clothes.”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you turned this place into a strip club.” You roll your eyes and hook your bra on the shower curtain, followed by your panties.

“I didn’t know you were a prude, Miller,” you say.

He bristles at the accusation. “Maybe I should get an eyeful. Being ‘round you is like wishin’ the Lord would strike me down.”

You laugh. Joel made you laugh. First (and only) time, probably.

“Yeah, right, you’d get struck down for something a whole lot worse before he started getting mad at you for peeping.”

You fiddle with the shower curtain and step in. There’s old body wash in an automatic dispenser on the wall. It doesn’t work, but it’s easy to wrangle open and squeeze the pouch into your hand. The grout is odd under your bare feet, but quickly becomes familiar as you twist the lever. Water spits down at you, and a satisfied sound leaves you. “Fuuuck,” you sigh. “This is nice.”

Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go look for clothes. And deodorant.”

“You should shower too,” you say instead.

You can almost hear the face he makes.

“God, don’t be so much of a Holy Joe, Joel. It’s practical. This water isn’t going to last that damn long, and I am not taking a cold shower when the hot stuff is all right here.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he says like he hasn’t already told you.

Eventually, you hear his belt unbuckle.

He strips down a lot quicker than you. Habit, maybe, you think. His jeans slump against the floor, and then he’s in the shower. You hear the other faucet come on as the water warms against your skin. You sigh, lathering yourself with the Dollar General body wash. It forms iridescent bubbles along your body, and it smells faintly like artificial strawberries. You wonder if it ever used to smell stronger than this.

There’s a slit in Joel’s shower that exists between the curtain and the wall. You should look away, but you shouldn’t have plunged your foot into quicksand, either. There’s many things you shouldn’t do that you take it upon yourself to do anyway.

So you watch the dirty water cascade down his sharp, scarred shoulder. You eye how the gnarl of his bone adjusts as he lathers himself with soapsuds. He stretches to get his hair and his bicep tenses with the movement. He’s built, and built well. From years of survival, trekking through swamps not so different from these, and aiming guns in places he wanted to and places he didn’t. The way the sun flits through the rectangular windows makes him look golden.

You imagine how it’d feel to walk up behind him, to massage the knots out of his sore muscles. You don’t even notice it, but your hands are traveling your own body now, fingertips going to pluck at your pebbled nipples. He’d been rough when tussling with you in the swamp. Would he be rough with you in bed, too? In your mind, you run soft, open-mouthed kisses down his back, reaching your hand between his legs to wrap around his—

A clanging noise stops your hand in its tracks. You drop it limp at your side. A wave of revulsion crawls like insects up your back.

“Shit!” Joel says, fumbling around in his shower stall.

The plastic body wash dispenser goes sliding out under the curtain, foamy with soapsuds.

You can’t help it. You snort. And eventually, your snort becomes full-fledged laughter, breaking the seam of your lips as you lean against the wall of the shower.

“Shut up,” he says, but you hear the tinge of a chuckle embedded between his vowels. You hear his half-huff of laughter before you force yourself to stop giggling.

You two stay under the shower streams until the water runs cold and bitter and all of the mud that had banded around your limbs is congealed in the drain.

You leave the showers first, roaming around until you find a discarded cardboard box that’s brimming with clothes in your size. There’s jeans that should do well in the elements and another tank top suited for the crushing heat.

When you’re dressed, you call out to Joel that you’ll be in the yoga room. You spend the down time arranging the yoga mats into two separate mattresses. Joel’s feet will hang off a bit, but you imagine it’ll be better than sleeping on the floor.

Footsteps scrape from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Joel Miller cleans up nice, it seems. He’s kept his boots, but apart from that, looks like a completely different person; his jeans now hug his hips tighter, his raggedy tee from earlier has been replaced with a form-fitting ribbed tank top. Any traces of mud, sweat, or gunk have been washed off his skin and down the drain. His hair hangs in wet stripes, sticking to his crinkled forehead.

You haven’t realized you’ve zone out until he’s waving a calloused hand in front of your face. “Hey, peach, anyone home?”

You clear your throat and replace it with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” It’s deflection, and you know it. You think he knows it, too.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh huh,” he says. He taps his fingers along his hip bone. “Well, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Setting up camp…?”

“This is a shit camp to set up,” he says. “Stalkers in the parking garage, city I ain’t ever been in before? No, we need a vantage point.”

“And I assume you have one in mind?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. ‘S a hotel, ‘lil further into town. Got three floors, we probably can block the stairwell from the inside to keep any raiders out.”

You nod and heft your backpack over your shoulder. It’s bulging from the extra clothes you’d stuffed into the bottom, and your arms are sore from the wrangling you’d given it after the collar of one of your new shirts jammed the zipper.

Joel turns to stand guard at the door while you collect your stuff. You can’t seem to focus much on that, though, not with his ass practically at your eye level. The tighter denim definitely does him favors. You swallow the newfound lump in your throat and stuff your water flash into the side of your pack.

It has to be the lack of human connection. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone other than your captors, and the majority of this week since you’ve seen anyone other than Joel. Joel, who with every word, breath, movement, flinch, gets a rise out of you. Joel, who stirs the pot with you at every chance he gets. Joel, who almost certainly looks at you and sees a reflection of your father whom he hates.

He’d said so, early on.

This isn’t only one-sided. It’s a living, breathing disaster.

“‘S a hotel’ my ass, Joel, this place looks like a loaf of moldy bread.”

Joel insists on staying on the third floor. Says that the second floor is ‘too low’ and that being on the third floor poses a good choke point for any raiders or infected who might stumble upon your camp. He wants to ‘bottleneck’ any intruders, whatever the fuck that means.

The issue with the third floor? There’s mold. Everywhere. In the days after the outbreak, a leak must’ve happened somewhere in the pipes that bled through the ceiling and all over the top floor. None of the rooms you’ve checked have been left unscathed so far. It’s embedded into the rugs, the walls, the ceiling, all of it. At least it’s a good deterrent for the people that pass through. The infected, however? You have a feeling they’d be just at home.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he says through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge – he does that a lot, or maybe you just stress him out a lot – and glares at you.

“No, Joel. I’m fucking exhausted,” you hiss. “I’ve been roughing it with you all week, all you do is give me shit. The only thing this voyage of ours has taught me is that my dad has perfectly ample reason to hate your guts.” You’re closer to him now, knocking him back with your fist to your chest.

“Quit bein’ cute,” he scowls. “I’m the only reason your ass isn’t eyeball-deep in quicksand.”

“Yeah, and you’d be stalker food without me. So I guess we’re even, aren’t we, Joel?” You shove past him. “I’m just a way for you to pay off your stupid ‘debts’ anyway,” you mutter under your breath. He wasn’t protecting you, pulling you out of that damn pit. He was saving his own skin.

The hotel room door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. You lift your knife just in case, and step inside.

It’s lacking the mold that the rest of the rooms have. People have definitely stayed in here before, what with the rumpled blankets left on the bed and a flashlight situated upright on the dresser. The thick layer of dust on the flashlight tells you that they never came back.

The room itself is satisfactory enough. Beige, almost green walls, close in at all sides. A cloudy mirror is hung by the window. Moonlight stipples the room. There’s a busted, corded phone on the nightstand that’s propped up on a Bible, a shattered nightlight, and a small table. You toss your pack onto the quilted bedspread and collapse onto the mattress. For an old, creaking thing with a busted spring or two, it’s still the most comfortable thing you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You sigh in relief and nuzzle into the pillow.

Joel clears his throat from the doorway.

“Find your own room, dipshit,” you say, nudging your pack off your bed with your knee. It thunks against the floor.

“I don’t think so.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not sharing with you. You snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

You don’t have to look up to know he’s doing that thing where he pinches his nose bridge again. “You’re a fuckin’ piece ‘a work, kid, you know that?” You hear his pack drop against the ground. He drags a chair across the room and you cringe at how it squeals against the floor until he jams it under the doorknob. Then, the mattress dips.

You look at him sideways. “Get off my bed.”

“‘Your’ bed? You just discovered it two seconds ago.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Well I’m takin’ it from you. Losers weepers.”

You grit your teeth so hard you hear the bone scraping bone in your ears.

“That’s now how this works–”

“We’re even now. You don’t wanna owe me one, and I sure as hell don’t wanna owe you one. So roll your ass over, act like an adult, and go to bed.”

You grouse under your breath, but with Joel, you have to pick and choose your battles. So you roll back over and wiggle yourself under the quilt, tucking your face into the musty pillow underneath you.

You sit in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at how the moon spills milky light along the alabaster ceiling. Then, you roll over again, stretching out the knicks in your back. Despite being the comfiest you’ve been in days, you’re feeling restless. You know Joel wouldn’t hurt you in any substantial way – you’re a bargaining chip to him. Nothing less, and certainly not anything more.

In spite of that, you find yourself drifting off with your face to him.

When Joel first wakes up, he thinks a clicker’s gnawing at his leg

Blinking the crust from his eyes, he realizes nothing’s gnawing on him at all.

Rather, it’s you.

In your sleep, you’ve thrown your leg over his thigh. Your crotch is angled up against the bulk of his leg, a furnace that sears him through his jeans. Your head has dipped, forehead overheated and angled against the crux of his neck. If it were just that, he’d roll you over (maybe hard enough for you to crash on the floor) and hog the blankets for himself.

But you’re thrusting your fucking hips into him, letting out sleepy little whimpers while you fuck yourself on his leg. That explains why you’ve been acting dumber than a box of rocks. He oughta tan your hide for this. Bitching at him all week and really, you just need to get dicked down. Ironic, ain’t it.

He should still shove you off the bed. Call you a whore and leave you to rub your pussy raw in the bathroom instead of on his leg.

You give a particularly hard thrust, a keening little sound catching in the netting of your teeth. He swears you’re soaking through the denim.

He bites his tongue. The moonlight accentuates your closed eyes, your lashes fan out across your cheeks, there’s a cute little pinch in your lips as you unwittingly try to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

He can’t help himself. He raises his knuckles to your cheek and taps, taps, taps at the bone until your eyes startle open.

When you first wake up, you think you’re dying.

There’s a shortness of breath in your lungs. You feel like you’re being burned alive, your skin hot to the touch. You’re mummified in the crusty, flaky hotel sheets. Each intake of breath is musty and clings to your nostrils. You’re throbbing. Between the legs and elsewhere. Confusion puckers your brows. There’s slick between your legs — and Joel’s leg between your legs.

You tear away from him, making a disgruntled noise as the sheets tangle around your legs. His hand is raised to your face. There’s a moment where all you register is the judgmental squint in his dark eyes.

“What the fuck– you pervert,” you hiss, slapping him across the chest. A queasiness squiggles in your stomach as you inch your way back.

“Oh, no, peach. That was all you,” he drawls. He wraps his thick hand around your hipbone and pulls you back. You kick him in the shin, but there’s no real force behind it.

“Y-you’re lying,” you snarl. But a brief look at his lap tells you he’s not. He’s barely touting a semi, yet you’ve got the entire Mississippi River in your YMCA-issued panties.

Joel shakes his head at you. “‘S why you been actin’ up, you little shit? Just needed to get fucked?” He grips your hip so hard that it stings and hauls you against him. You tell yourself that the moan you let out is more of a hiss.

“I don’t– you’re making shit up, old man,” you say, squirming in his grip. You can’t help the way your hips sway at the tease of friction his knee gives you. You feel lightheaded, a freshly kindled bonfire.

“Am I?” Another squeeze to your hip. “Don’t look like it.” He notches his knee tighter against your swollen cunt, and your head dips forward as you bite into your lower lip. “Look’s like I’ve got a ‘lil slut more worked up than a hornets’ nest that spent all night rubbing her needy fuckin’ pussy on my leg.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine.

“Jus’ say the word, peach. I’ll do ya real good. Make that ache go away.” He rubs his thumb in a circle along your skin. The calloused pad of his thumb slips underneath the hem of your tank top, a lit match dragging along your skin.

“I don’t think you have it in you, Miller,” you say. But your voice gives you away. It’s breathy, coarsened by your sleep-stained, lust-stained rasp.

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think you had it in you to be humpin’ this ‘old man’s’ leg, but ya learn something new everyday.” He doesn’t grind his knee into your cunt — more so wedges it up. Pain blurs a watercolor line with pleasure as your back arches. His hand drifts from your midriff to your thigh, arm hooking around it so he can heft you up against his thigh proper. You grunt as you end up chest to chest with him. Your hips rock into his, guided by the North Star of his hands clutching at your hips. “Can feel ya,” he says. “Drippin’ all over me.”

You grind your teeth, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He groans as your nails claw at the skin there. “Shut the fuck up so I can pretend you’re someone else.”

He chuckles. “You can play pretend all you want, but I’m the one you’re soaking, ain’t I?”

You make an aggravated sound. Your left hand drags down his arm, leaving angry red tracks in their wake. Before he can gripe about it, you slap your right hand over his mouth. His eyes flare. Eye for an eye, his teeth sink into the flesh of your palm. You hiss at the sting. It only makes you pump your hips against him faster. The friction of your shorts and panties against the bulk of his leg and the wrinkle of his denim jeans makes your clit twitch against him.

Your flesh stretches as you tug it from his teeth. Your hand plants itself in his hair instead, dragging his head to the side. His eyes flutter, lidded and dark. “Don’t act like you don’t damn near cream yourself when I talk to you like this. You like being told what a nasty. Fuckin’. Slut. You are. Don’t look at me like that. You are. Been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ this whole time — just didn’t know you were after a pussy beating instead of a real one.”

Your eyes roll back. Your hips roll more languidly, only jerking when Joel gives a particularly brutal tug at your waist. You let out a pathetic moan into his neck. You nip at the skin there, tongue laving over the scars and blemishes he’s collected over the years. He reaches down and grabs a handful of your ass, groaning. “Too pretty to be actin’ a fool, baby.”

You dig your teeth into his neck, hard enough to leave cavernous bite marks in your wake. Your tongue digs through the craters your teeth left behind, saliva pulling from your lips to his skin. He smacks your ass hard enough for your hips to jerk, and you almost glare at him as you separate from your throat. Instead, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t wanna look at me, do ya peach? Mmmm, well thas’ okay.” He fists his hand in the roots of your hair and tugs your head to the side. You hear Joel groping at the nightstand in the dark, and then the flashlight ticks on.

Your eyes blink open to yourself reflected in desilvered glass. Mirror rot surrounds your luminescent face, but most of all, you can see your hips and how they rock shallowly into Joel’s leg. “Watch yourself fuckin’ yourself stupid on my leg,” he croons in your ear. When you go still, his thumbs press hard into your skin. You stare at him. “You already fucked yourself stupid or somethin’? ‘S a simple instruction, sweet cheeks.”

“That’s dumb, Joel–” you sneer, going to look away.

He jerks your head back to where he had it and rocks his leg into your clit. You watch your face contort around a ragged moan. Pleasure thrashes through your system. “C’mon, you’re a dirty girl. Watch how pathetic you look while you get yourself off. Pretend I’m your pillow if you have to, but it ain’t gonna change how I’m the one gettin’ you off like this.”

Your thighs clamp around his. He smirks at you in the mirror. Your knee grazes his bulge, and a breathy moan loosens from his lips. “Two way street, Miller,” you say. But you’re weak — and so, so wet.

You give your hips a languid roll, watching yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, mouth parted, eyes lidded, skin slick with sweat. Your hips shudder and start against him as you start to properly buck yourself against the meat of his thigh. With the shelves of your teeth, you try to smother the depraved noises coming out of you. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Gonna wake the fuckin’ dead with all that whining of yours.” Mid-moan, Joel shoves two fingers into your mouth and pries your jaw open. His fingers are bulky and ridged with callouses against your tongue. His thumb presses a dent into your jaw. “‘S okay, baby. I like ‘em loud.”

“I like you shutting the fuck up,” you say around a mouthful of his knuckles. You can’t help it. You bite at his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to sting. He hisses and presses down on your tongue. You make a sputtering noise.

“You were sayin’?” he asks, tensing his thigh. You whimper against his fingertips. He tightens his grip on your hair, and in the mirror, you see yourself bared raw for him to see in all ways but the physical. You rut into his leg with increasing need.

“Mmmph, Joel–” you say around his fingers.

“Oh, now you’re moaning my name? What was it I said? Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, peach.”

Wetness leaks down the insides of your thighs. Your swollen clit hitches on a wrinkle in his jeans. You’re shaking, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. Your fingers grapple for purchase and find some anchored in his hair, tugging wildly. You eye yourself in that damn mirror, the way your chest is slotted against his, how your hips pitch into his over and over again in your pursuit of release.

“Ask for it, baby.” Joel grinds his leg up into your cunt. “You wanna come on me, you gotta ask for it.”

You shake your head wildly. You aren’t a beggar — especially not for Joel Miller. You’d rather throw yourself back into quicksand. Jump in front of a clicker. Step on an alligator.

Joel pouts mockingly at you. “Stubborn for a slut who’s willin’ to spread it open all hours ‘a the day.” You rub your knee into his bulge, tenting his jeans, in hopes that it’ll be a suitable distraction. He groans, knee jerking. His thigh rams against you, and your back arches. You see your brows pucker in your reflection, your hips undulating against him.

“F-fuck,” you whine out, bouncing against him.

“You wanna come, don’t you, peach?” You nod frantically. “Wanna soak me, huh?” At that, you grit your teeth and snarl at him. You do you do you do. But you don’t want to admit it.

You squirm on his leg, desperately rocking into him. You dig your feet into the creaking mattress, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Tremors wrack your body as you work yourself on him. Your cunt flutters, and you almost taste your orgasm.

Joel tosses you off of him.

“You son of a–” you shriek, thrashing and out of breath. Your clit throbs and your hole twitches at the stolen promise of release. You bounce on the mattress, sprawled on your back and twitching.

“I told ya,” he says. “Gotta ask for it.”

“I’m not asking you for shit, asshole–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll change your tune when I stuff your right full.” He grabs you by the back of your shirt and coaxes you into spinning around. He yanks you onto all fours, forehead meeting the mattress.

You back your hips up as he reaches around your shorts for the button. The zipper squeals as it comes down and he shuffles them down your legs. He nudges your knees apart. You can feel his bulge, insistent and pressed against the back of your thigh. He grips the inside of your thigh, fingers sliding through the slick that’s there.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “No wonder you were humpin’ me. Just needing someone to take away that ache, don’t you? Jus’ a horny girl wanting to go cock dumb.” His fingers graze over your clit, barely even a brush, and you let out a mangled sound into the comforter. “See? So desperate and sensitive. You’re cute when you’re not a pain in the ass.”

“That makes one of us,” you say.

Joel snorts. “She’s got jokes.” He rubs a circle into your clit, and then another, and all you can do is rock your hips into his hand. Impatient, you brace yourself on your elbow so you can reach behind him and fumble with his belt buckle. Joel laughs under his breath, working at the zipper while you undo the buckle. It chimes as his belt falls loose and his pants slump on his hips. You work the button open.

You wriggle your hand into his briefs and pull him out, giving him a series of quick pumps. Joel grunts. “Just like that, peach. Fuck, yeah, you know what you’re doin’.”

He teases the tips of his fingers at your entrance. Razor sharp want slices up the insides of your warm thighs as you clench and drip more of your wetness along his hand. “I’ll throw you a bone,” Joel says. Then, with no warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. You claw against the sheets, whimpering.

“Nasty thing.” He hooks his finger and you fully mewl. Heat rushes into your cheeks. “Barely gotta do anythin’ to get you writhing and wanting.”

Warm tears brim at your eyes from the heady, deadly mix of arousal and hatred. Your cunt tightens around his finger, and without warning, he pushes another one in, twisting and hooking them brutally inside of you.

Your fingers fist in the sheets, temple pressed into the mattress. You can see the cocksure look on his face in the mirror, the way his forearm flexes with each thrust into you. “Fuck me already,” you spit. You know it’ll hurt if he fucks you without really preparing you. You want it to hurt. You want it to ache like the tread of his boot stamped on your chest. You want it to sting and simmer like the cuts that the wetlands left in a collage across your arms and legs. You want him to split you open and leave you flayed by your own pleasure.

“Alright, alright,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. He gives your clit a light slap that makes you squeal. You almost black out when you see him bring his slick-stained fingers to his mouth and suck. “Yeah, taste as sweet as a peach, dontcha sugar? Such a tasty little cunt for such a smart-mouthed brat.”

You could cry with how bad you want hi— no, his cock.

“Gonna hurt, baby. But you want it to, don’t you? Wanna feel me all up in here.” He roams his free hand across your stomach, then back around to your ass where he tugs you back. There’s the smack of flesh as your hips meet each other, the whimper between your netted teeth as he nestles his cock between your slippery folds. You nod, head slinging forward. “Don’t gotta tell me. I know ya do. Girl like you, always such a smartass. Yeah, you want it rough.” His voice is gruff, lust-addled. “Act stupid all you want, peach. I got you all figured out.”

He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise into the mattress. Your vision swims as he pushes into you, thumbs dug into your ass cheeks so he can watch how you take him. You mewl, back arching into and away from him at the same time. Your body can’t decide where to go. If it wants to be further, or as close as possible to him. Joal groans as he sinks into you.

“Tight as a fuckin’ hose pipe, peach,” he says. He reaches around to give your flick your clit — a move that makes your entire body spasm.

“So about as small as your dick, then?” It’s bullshit — you know it, and he knows it. He’s not even fully inside of you, but the difference is startling. He’s stuffing you to the brim, leaving you to scrabble and claw against the sheets.

He slams into you, a blatant disregard of your comfort. You feel his balls smack against your clit, and hear the same thigh you’d been humping slot against your own. A ragged cry rips from your throat. “Joel,” you whimper, hips trying to writhe against the bed. “Joel, fuck—”

“Feels pretty big now, don’t it?” You whine, petulant, but it breaks off into a moan as he pulls back and then punches back into you.

All you can do is take it, take it, take it as he bashes your swollen cunt with his fat cock. You gasp raggedly, each snap of his hip bringing pleasure-pain tears to your eyes. Joel’s nails dig into the meat of your ass and yank you back on him. The sting is renewed, then, as he props his leg up on the bed and pounds into you. You whimper, helpless to his whims.

Between one thrust and the next, the bite in your cunt turns into a thrum of pleasure. A persistent swarm of heat and your own slick leaking down his cock. “Like I said,” Joel grunts as he fucks you. “A nasty fuckin’ slut with a sloppy ‘lil cunt.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Your head spins. “Fuck,” he spits.

“Joel, please, please, ple–”

“Quit beggin’, it ain’t ladylike.” You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach behind him, tugging his wrist away from your ass so you can slip his hand between your thighs. His pistoning into you falters. “What’d I say?” Joel grunts. His knees adjust over the backs of your calves to hold you down.

“Keep touching me,” you whine. “Please, you asked me to ask for it, so I’m fucking asking for it.”

“Told you to ask permission, not cry at me like a kicked puppy,” he says. “I call the shots here. Like it or not.” He goes to yank his hand away from your clit, but you yank at his knuckle.

Joel scowls, and so fast you might get vertigo, his other arm’s bicep locks around your neck and heaves you back against his chest. You sputter, drool pooling in your mouth. Your hands briefly tug at his arm, but fall limp when he says, “Oh, shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Gotta keep you on your toes, peach.”

You arguably shouldn’t. But you trust him. Enough to keep you alive, at least.

With another thrust into the warm vise of your cunt, your body’s running hotter than an engine and twice as fast. He squeezes tight enough that your air is in short supply, and with it, everything is amplified. Pleasure crinkles through your body like crumpled aluminum foil, serrated and clinging to you. The crook of his elbow is warm, and you can’t help your head lolling back to give him a look that’s purely salacious. He tips his head down at you and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s my hungry little cockwhore,” he says. With his free hand, he tugs your hair. You seize around him, struggling for what to hang onto. You let out a rasping, strangled moan. With your head tipped back, you can see the tilt to his lips as he moans, feel his scruff scraping at your forehead. “Takin’ it like you were made for it. Shit.”

Joel moans as you clamp down around him again.

Tears might be sliding down your cheeks – you don’t know. You’re too trapped in this, in this moment, in the feeling of his cock slamming into your throbbing, aching cunt. “Mmph,” you whine low in your throat as he fucks up into you. He’s damn near bruising your cervix. Each thrust makes your cunt flitter around him.

“You look good like this,” Joel grunts against your ear, using the leverage of his propped-up leg to bounce you on his cock. “All quiet ‘n sweet ‘n whorish. Goddamn, never thought a slut could feel this fuckin’ tight.”

Your eyes slip shut, vision spotting behind your eyelids. He keeps forcing himself into you. Making room. Making a mark that you’ll never forget he carved into you.

Your body is limp as he gets himself off, his hand moving from your hair. He gropes at your tits, flicking your nipple in a way that draws a sloping moan out of you. He slides it down your side, each callous bumping against your skin until he reaches your clit. You nod wildly, and he chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You think you’ve earned it? All you’ve been doing is whinin’ like a little bitch, baby.” He taps his fingers against your clit, once, twice, mounting the tautness of the tension drawn tight like elastic through your body. You gasp down air as he ever so slightly loosens his grip around your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, jerking tiny moans out of you as he does.

Your legs tremble. Your brain feels like mush. You wring his cock with each strain of your pussy. “I don’t want you,” you gasp out between thrusts. “I want you for what you can — fuck — give me. So I guess… that makes… us even. Doesn’t it?” Joel’s finger stills where it hovers over your clit, and you almost don’t notice the falter in his hips with how subtle it is.

“Yeah,” Joel pants. “Guess it does, peach.”

He presses his thumb down on your clit and the whole world makes sense.

You cry out as your juices soak his cock, dripping down his balls and thighs. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant in between moans. He’s holding you up now by the underside of one of your arms, his fingers toying with your nipples. Each touch sends laser hot electricity between your legs.

He slams up into you again and you shriek. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” Joel says. “All stuffed full ‘a me… yeah, that’s how you’re s’posed to be. Sprayin’ your pussy juices all over me while I ram my cock into this drippy little hole.”

You whine, clit twitching against his finger. Tears burn at the edges of your eyes like fire on parchment. “I wanna come,” you whisper, voice tinged with need. “Please, Joel. I–”

“Who do you want to make you come?” he asks as he rolls his hips up into you. An undulating pace that makes you want to scream.

The curdling pleasure in your stomach brims, stews, steeps. You’re drowning in it, in the fire lashing through your body. Fire that he lit and stoked and now, only he can put out. “You, Joel!” you cry out. “You! I want you to make me come, please, I need it, I want t-”

“I got you, peach,” he says. He mashes the pad of his thumb against your swollen nub, rubbing circles, circles, circles. You scream this time, head slumping against him. “Throbbin’ for it,” he growls out. “All swollen and whinin’ like you’re in heat. You needed this. Needed me.”

“I needed you,” you nod, exhaling. You think you’d agree to anything he said right now. “Fuck,” you wail. Your hands anchor themselves on his forearm.

“Don’t fight it, baby, don’t fight it,” he coos. Your nails scratch angry red tracks down his burly arms. “Come on me, see if it gives you an attitude adjustment.”

To your chagrin, that does it.

Your orgasm shatters you. You’re fragile as it tears through your body, tying knots around your racing heart and making your legs quiver. You feel yourself gush around Joel’s cock, gasping for air as your lungs empty. Your cunt flutters around him as pleasured tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Everything’s hot and melting, your arousal dripping out of you in droves. Joel rubs at your clit through it, coaxing in your ear, “That’s it, theeeeere it is. Shit, baby, I’m comin’— squeezin’ me so damn good—”

Joel twitches inside of you, and you whine at his absence when he pulls out just in time. With a throaty, reverberating groan, he sprays the small of your back with his cum. You gasp as it splashes against you, your chest heaving against his hand.

You sit in the silence, high off of the come down, panting in delirium.

Joel clears his throat. “You alright, peach?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me now that we’ve had sex, Joel,” you say. “I get it. We fucked. We got it out of our systems. Hooray. Do you want me to pop some confetti poppers?”

“I was being courteous, goddamn,” he grunts as he stands up. You watch as he tugs his jeans back up. “Clearly ain’t nobody ever treated you gentlemanly before.”

“Says the man who got off on choking me out.”

He shoots back, “The feeling was mutual, if I remember five minutes ago correctly. I ain’t that old.” He buckles his belt up. As he redresses, you toss your own shorts off to the side. He’s already been in your whole pussy — you’d rather not sleep in the denim shorts.

When you’re done, you give him a look.

He pinches his nose bridge and sighs through his teeth. “We oughta hit the hay. Long day ahead. And you should be too exhausted by now to be wakin’ me up again.”

You clench your fists at your side. “Fine.”

You reach for his flashlight and turn it off.

Reunion Tower is the first building you see.

Dallas. Home sweet home, for better or worse.

The skyline slowly eases up and out of the treeline as you and Joel meander up the car-cluttered I-20. Remnants from a life that’s long gone, all but skeletons with the organs of another time.

You and Joel have scarcely talked. Mostly, it’s just him pointing out directions. But he does other things. He helps you through wreckage or rubble instead of leaving you to muscle through on your own. He gives you part of his rations. He tosses you a magazine he finds in a store. He keeps watch.

You had meant what you said. You fucked. That was that. He was still the man your father told ghost stories about. The thoughtless killer. The unforgiving bullet to a skull. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples’ deliverance to the afterlife. The man who’d betrayed your father all those years ago, a story of which you only know the vague specifics of.

Maybe you’ll ask him while he’s on bedrest from that bullet wound. (Or maybe you’ll just ask him. He’s not the sort of man to stay down for long.)

Regardless, as you two cross the exit a couple blocks from your dad’s base, you ask him, “Do you think he sent people after me?”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Probably went up to Oklahoma instead. Louisiana ain’t famous for bein’ easy hikin’ material. Shocker that them Cockroaches brought you all the way out there.”

You nod and kick a rock with the toe of your shoe. “You think your group’s doing good on their own?”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Joel says. “Left Tommy in charge of the place, I’ll be lucky if it ain’t burned down by now.”

“Well, you’ve got a whole new world ahead of you. Free of debts and all. Maybe my dad will finally get off your ass. Could skip town, if you wanted.”

Joel’s feet drag on the concrete. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he scratches the back of his neck. “There were never any debts, peach,” he says.

Your brows furrow as you stop in your tracks. “The fuck do y—”

“Got you of my own volition,” he says. “Your dad and I might be on shit terms, but that don’t mean I don’t care about him. I…” He pauses. “I know what it’s like to lose people.”

“Everyone does,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel nods. He turns to make eye contact with you. “Everyone does. But I don’t exactly wanna go about losin’ you,” he says.

“That’s a bold claim, Miller,” you say.

“You’re good company. Even if you’re a shitass.” He pats you on the shoulder. His hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he gives it a squeeze before letting it drop. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you home.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #deadfall fic

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darknight3904 · 2 days ago

Text

buy me presents, baby!

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The holiday season is packed enough as it is. On top of it all, Joel has a cute little girlfriend he just can't seem to resist spoiling...

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut Unprotected p in v, literally one spank, riding, missionary, Joel's a bit of a tease, pregnancy mention (no ones actually pregnant, don't worry) No outbreak au, modern au, viagra mention, unspecified age gap (mid/early-20s reader in mind), Rich older bf Joel!! I don't know how Hinge works sorry.

Word Count: 2.7k

Based on the song buy me presents by Sabrina Carpenter

Masterlist

The local mall was a buzz with what you swore was the entire state of Texas. Everywhere you turned, someone was brushing by you, mumbling an excuse me or just grunting an apology.

"Maybe we should just go home...There's so many people here." You say as you stand off to the side.

"Oh c'mon we drove all the way here, don't you wanna take a peek at some things, darlin'?"

Joel's warm southern tone sent a tingle of warmth down your spine. He was always so charming, that's how he won you over in the first place, his charm.

You'd stumbled across his Hinge profile six months ago. Your friend, Jess had jokingly set your profile to look for men over ten years older than you.

"Trust me, Dilfs are a whole different ballpark, girl!"

You hadn't believed her, after all, who would want some old half-bald, blue pill-taking man sitting across from them at dinner?

Things of course changed late one Wednesday night when Joel, 40 popped up on your screen. Not only did he have all his hair (and teeth!) but damn it he was so hot.

For lack of a better word, Joel was the perfect gentleman. He'd picked you up for your first date right at 7, opened all the doors for you, and even pulled your chair out for you to sit at the restaurant. Conversation had flowed so easily with him, that you'd almost forgotten you had just met the man across from you.

Fast forward a few months and here you were walking the mall with the head and Co-owner of Miller Construction Co. Joel's big hand cradled yours as he opened the door to Sephora.

"Said you needed some more of that lip balm you like right? Let's get it now."

You nodded and let him pull you into the store. He always did this, pulled you into stores so you could look at things. Of course, that wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't always buying half the things you picked up to admire. Hell, one time you were at Macy's with him and made a joke about the adult Spiderman onesie that was being sold, two days later it was sitting in your lap in just your size.

Jess had told you to enjoy it, to let him buy you everything your little heart desired but you couldn't help but feel guilty. You already spent most of your time sleeping at Joel's place, showering there, and eating his food. What were you even working for if you couldn't buy a measly lip balm for yourself?!

You pulled the one you wanted from the shelf. You'd run out a few days ago and your lips had begun to crack without it. Your eyes fell down to look at the price that was beside the scent

Twenty-four bucks?! That was nearly two hours of working at the shitty secretary job you had down at the local library! Whoever was setting prices at this company needed a serious reality check.

Joel's back was turned as he was staring at an array of brushes, mumbling that no one needed that many things for their face. Perfect! You could sneakily set this back on the display and-

"What're you doin'? Isn't that the one?"

Shit.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Then put it in the basket."

Joel's outstretched arm came up to present the little black and white basket he'd taken from a worker when the two of you entered.

"I just think that twenty-four bucks is too much for a little tube of lip balm. I think I'll just switch back to Carmex or Burts Bee's."

"Darlin' I'll buy it." Joel gave you a warm smile, "Let me spoil you."

"No way! You just bought me dinner!" You shake your head, thinking of your leftovers that sat in the backseat of his car.

"And now I wanna buy you a lip balm," Joel says taking it from your hands to put in the basket.

"Nope. We're not getting it." You say, pulling it from his hands and tossing it back on the shelf, "Let's leave."

Joel protests but lets you pull him from the store and back to the car.

Three days later...

Joel never liked shopping. He'd always been the kind of guy who bought the same shirt in multiple colors just because it made sense in his mind. Even when the company had taken off and he and Tommy were living comfortably instead of paycheck to paycheck, he hadn't really found an excuse to indulge and spend a lot of his hard-earned cash. Sure, he'd dropped a lot on a new car after his poor pickup truck had gotten rear-ended two years ago, damn teen drivers. Then, there was the new roof that his house needed last summer. But, both of those were easily paid off and Joel often found himself with a bank account higher than necessary.

It never bothered him, after all, it just meant retirement would come quicker, and if he ever had kids they'd have a lot of inheritance. Yes, Joel was happy living his simple lifestyle. Of course, that was until he met you...

You were just perfect in Joel's eyes. From the moment he saw you on that dating app Tommy had stuck on his phone, he'd known you were the one for him. Initially, he'd felt weird when he'd swiped on you, after all, you were so young compared to him. His fears though, they'd vanished the moment you started laughing at his lame jokes, adding your own even worse ones to the conversation. Yes, you were just perfect for him.

Now, it was December, the holiday season was in full swing and Joel found himself itching to spend some of that cash that'd been sitting in the bank for ages. He'd spent the last six months trying to keep the spending to a minimum, you always scolded him despite enjoying all of his gifts and he'd hate to make you feel uncomfortable. But after today when you'd put that little lip balm back on the shelf, he'd felt sad for you. Joel hadn't missed your small frown when it clattered back onto the display next to the others. You wanted that lip balm and, you were going to get that lip balm.

It was as if he was a man possessed. Three hours had passed since he'd walked into this mall and his arms were begging to feel a bit sore. Sure, he'd bought you the lip balm but before he knew it, he was wandering into all the other stores, looking for things that'd make you smile and cover his face in kisses. As he loaded the bags into the trunk a bit of worry crossed his mind. Had he gone overboard?

No, there definitely could be more...

December 25th, Christmas Morning at Joel Miller's

The warm scent of coffee had your eyes slowly pulling open. You groaned and pulled yourself out of bed, fumbling to pull Joel's shirt on before finding your discarded panties from last night. Whoever told you that older men needed Viagra to get it up clearly hadn't met Joel.

You padded down the steps to see Joel hunched over the stove, flipping pancakes while his beloved coffee maker brewed.

"Morning." You chirp, wrapping your arms around him, and resting your hands on his soft belly.

"Good morning." Joel's deep voice filled your ears

You greedily let your hands slip under the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Joel lets out a hum and scoots away from you.

"Keep that up and we won't be eating or opening gifts til noon."

You roll your eyes and go to pour him his coffee.

After a delicious breakfast, Joel pulled you into the living room where your jaw nearly met the floor. Last night when you'd passed out in bed after the third round, there had been six presents under the tree, three from him and three from you. Now there had to be over triple that.

"What did you do?" You ask, spinning around to face Joel.

"What? I'm not allowed to spoil you?" Joel asks, a boyish grin on his face.

"It's like you bought the whole damn store and put it in your living room." You point out

"Not the whole store, just some of it." Joel laughs

Nearly an hour later, you were sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and bows.

"Alright, last one," Joel says, pulling a small gift bag with a snowman on it out.

You sigh in fake exhaustion, "Hand it over, cowboy."

Joel snorts and hands you the bag which a moment later you find has the lip balm you'd put back the other day.

"Went back and bought it for ya. Got a little distracted though..." Joel smiles

"Oh, only a little? Is that why there's lingerie and a new pair of boots sitting in boxes next to me?" You laugh, "Not to mention you even bought me a new frying pan."

"Yeah, just a little sidetracked s' all," Joel says, looking at the many different things he'd found for you.

"Thank you, Joel." You smile earnestly, "It's your turn now."

"Why don't ya model this for me, darlin'?" Joel asks, pushing the red babydoll dress towards you

"But what about your presents?" You pout, "I put a lot of thought into the one with the green paper."

"Give me a fashion show, it can be part of the gift." Joel coerces.

"Ugh, you're lucky you're hot, Joel." You huff, scooping the fabric up and heading off to the bathroom.

Joel lets out a long whistle as you reenter the living room, "Well, would you look at that?"

"Pervert." You scoff as he pulls you into his lap

"Not allowed to appreciate my girl?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek

"You just wanted to see what my boobs looked like in red lace." You point out

Joel gives you a grin, busted.

"Nah, what makes you think that?"

Joel's lips capture yours and his hands secure themselves at your waist. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest.

"What about your presents?" You ask breathlessly when he pulls back

"Got everything I want right here." He says, "Let's go upstairs, this old man needs a bed if he's gonna fuck you silly."

Joel's hands are back on you the moment he kicks the bedroom door shut. His lips find yours again as his hands begin to pull the straps of your outfit off your shoulders.

Your back hits the mattress and one of Joel's big hands snakes down between your thighs.

"Still wet from last night." Joel laughs into the kiss

"Mmm, I think it was from earlier. Seeing you shirtless, cooking for me was hot." You admit

"Yeah? Y'like me cookin' for ya?" Joel asks

"Course, who wouldn't wanna see a hot old man cooking pancakes for them on Christmas?" You tease

Joel delivers a sharp slap to your inner thigh, "Not that old, darlin'."

"Sure you aren't."

You push at his shoulders and straddle him, loving the way his hands gently rest on your thighs.

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. Joel's lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance. Eager, you move to push him in but he stops you.

"What do ya say, baby?" Joel teases

"C'mon Joel..." You groan, "I want it."

"Ask nicely then," he clicks his tongue, "Go on,"

You huff a small breath of frustration and Joel's hands squeeze your hips.

"Please," You mumble

"What was that? This old man needs some help hearin' ya." Joel prods

"Please, fuck me, Joel." You groan, wiggling your hips as the head of his cock teases your hole.

"S' what I wanted to hear," Joel says, pressing a wet kiss to your neck

Joel's loud groan mingles with your girlish one as he lets you go to take him in. Your mind goes blank as your hips begin to rock. Joel's hands roam your body as he pinches and teases the sensitive flesh of your chest.

"C'mon girlie, give it to me." He encourages

"I'm trying." You huff, the feel of your burning thighs was slowing you down

A loud slap rings out followed by a yelp from your mouth. Joel's big hand rubs at the reddened mark on your soft skin.

"Don't worry, I gotcha, sweetheart, let me."

Your world turns as Joel lays you back down on the soft mattress, pushing your knees to your chest you're practically folded in half as he pushes in again.

"Fuck me..." Joel groans in pleasure above you.

"Already am." You laugh breathlessly

Joel shakes his head but you see the smile playing on his lips.

Rough thrusts steal your breath away as Joel begins moving his hips in earnest. The softness of his belly meets yours as he leans over you and presses his lips to yours. A hand pushes into the middle of your shared mess and a finger toys with your clit. A whimper escapes your lips as Joel groans when you tighten around him.

"Gonna let me come inside ya hmm? It'd be the perfect Christmas gift for me darlin'..."

Your brain is mush as Joel's finger plays with you while his cock relentlessly slams into you. Your stomach tightens as he continues.

"I-I'm gonna-"

"C'mon let it out, soak my fucking cock." Joel commands

As if he's magic your body yields to him and you come. A strangled groan leaves Joel's lips while your eyes slam shut.

"Good girl." Joel coos down at you, his hips never slowing.

"Joel!" You gasp, the pain of overstimulation beginning to ebb at your brain.

Joel lets out a soft moan of his own, his brow furred in concentration.

"Where?" He asks

"I-Inside" You gasp

Joel smirks, "Yeah? Gonna take it like a good girl? Let me knock ya up, pop out a brat for me in nine months?"

"Yes!" Your hips arch off the bed when his hand comes down to grind at your clit.

Joel's hips stutter against you and a loud moan escapes him as he fills you. Gentle thrusts follow as he comes down, dropping your legs as he does.

Joel flops down beside you on the bed, his chest heaves a bit as the two of you catch your breath.

"Y'okay?"

"Always." You say looking over at him with a dopey grin on your face

"Wanna go finish those pancakes?" Joel asks

You laugh, Joel was such a typical guy, thinking with his stomach, "You just fucked me and threatened to knock me up but your first thought is pancakes?"

"Well, I was gonna get a washcloth and clean ya up first, if that matters," Joel says

"Wow, what a gentleman." You scoff

"Glad you think so." Joel mumbles

You lay next to him in silence, listening to his breathing and watching his eyes flutter shut in satisfaction.

"What if we did?" You ask

"Did what?" Joel asks looking at you, "If you're talking about round two, I'll need a few more minutes, I'm not twenty anymore."

You slap his shoulder and roll onto your belly, "No, perv. I meant a baby. You were just talking about getting me pregnant."

Joel looks over at you like you've lost your mind, "Are you being serious right now?"

"Totally. You don't want a mini us running around?" You ask hopefully

"Course I do baby, didn't ever think a pretty young thing like you would want that with me though," Joel admits, pulling you towards him so you're resting partially on top of him

"Really Joel?" You scoff, "You're like the hottest guy in the world."

"Now you're just buttering me up." He laughs his head hitting the pillows behind him

"I'm serious!" You smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips

Soft silence flutters around you as you watch the gears turn in his mind.

"Gonna have to marry you if you start popping my kids out." Joel grins

"Of course," You laugh, "You think I'm gonna go into labor without a ring on my hand?"

Joel's nose brushes yours as he leans a bit closer to your face, practically breathing in your scent. His hand grasps yours where it rests on his chest.

"Guess I gotta start looking at jewelry then, darlin'. You're gonna have the prettiest ring in all of Texas."

"Ugh, there you go again, plotting to spend way too much money on me again." You groan in embarrassment.

Joel leans in and steals a kiss from you, the taste of pancakes and syrup lingers on his tongue as he does.

"Gotta humor me here," He smiles into the kiss, "Let me buy you presents, baby."

Consider this a mini-rant against the people behind the prices at Sephora. I'm looking at you Summer Fridays...

Want more Joel? Check out my series All Too Well.

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #romance #joel miller smut #Tommy miller

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cozylittlepigeon · 1 day ago

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Oooh yessss!! So good!

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary: the world crumbled before you could experience the touch of another. Joel does his best to keep you innocent for as long as he can.

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x afab virgin!reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni. established, undefined relationship. PUSSY RUBBING. fluids galore. just the tip. perv!joel. unspecified age gap. fingering. dirty talk. overstimulation. male masturbation. FEELS. Joel is a conflicted old man. reader is able bodied. no Ellie. w.c. 2.9k

an: i watched a porn clip and instantly went rabid thinking about jackson!joel.

-> follow up to a glimpse of heaven but it's not necessary to read the first part.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Like most of Jackson, the house you share with Joel is quiet and calm when night falls. Rain softly patters against the window as you lie in bed, wide awake. Another night of fruitless sleep under your belt.

You huff irritatedly, your hand collapsing against the mattress as you bitterly kick your bedspread onto the floor. Your oversized shirt clings to your body, your skin dewy from the exertion, and you're close to crying. Your limbs are wrought and overworked after hours of touching yourself with no orgasm to show for it.

Your hand won't cut it; it isn't enough. It can't reach all those sensitive spots that make you float among the stars.

Warmth pools in your abdomen as you think of one that's the perfect size.

A hazy hue of yellow light pours under your bedroom door as it spills from the room across the hall.

Joel.

It takes a long time to get to know someone, but they tend to meld with your soul once you do in one way or another.

From the start, Joel was intimidating. He was so frayed around the edges that you were afraid he'd completely unravel in the middle of your journey. He didn't seem to care for your company as the two of you traveled across the plains to Jackson, hesitation poisoning every fiber of your being, but you kept on with the strange man since no one else was willing to trek across the states. You desperately needed a new life, a fresh start away from the Boston QZ, and Jackson sounded like the perfect spot.

Over time, Joel opened up, conversing little by little as you drove for miles across the now barren US. Usually, after you had a close call with raiders or the lone gunman, he'd go silent, the weight of protecting someone other than himself sinking further into his soul, consuming that much further.

What you never expected was for him to be your first touch.

Sweltering tension slowly grew like a wildfire. Catching each other's curious stares, lingering fingers, and salacious banter until, one night, he slid a cautious hand into your panties. He claimed your untouched sex when you confessed over a roaring fire and a bottle of whiskey that you'd never been with another. His weathered hands were gentle as he sunk his fingers into your core, watching with rabid fascination as you came for the first time, gasping from his touch.

The following day, as he drove you across the interstate with the sun slowly rising, he made sure you knew that wouldn't happen again. "I'm much too old. Don't wanna waste your time with a mean ol' grump like me."

You didn't bring it up again.

One month after settling into Jackson, picking bedrooms, and deciding who would do which chores, Joel had his first taste of you.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

You chewed your dinner slowly in the modestly sized dining room across from Joel. You were so lost in thought that he was concerned enough to ask what was wrong.

"What does it mean when a man eats you out?" you naively pondered, causing him to choke on his veggies.

Joel had never looked so red before as he took a long drink of whiskey. You instantly apologized, explaining that you overheard a group of women conversing while you tended the communal garden.

He raised a hand, curbing your frantic rambles. "S'ok. Figured you'd be learnin' things. Just didn' think I'd be the one you'd ask."

"But I trust you."

His jaw twitched at your words.

Later that night, Joel fell to his knees at the edge of your bed and tossed your legs over his broad shoulders. "Never tasted a pussy so sweet," he mumbled against your glistening folds as you ran your fingers through his graying curls. You came multiple times on his tongue, grinding his whiskered jaw while he hungrily lapped at your soaked folds like he was dying of thirst.

You didn't bring it up again.

It's warmer in Jackson now. The sun hangs longer in the sky. Snow boots and jackets are stowed away until the next freeze.

You slink from the warmth of your bed and pad sockless across the hall. Lightening flickers brightly under the starry sky. The night rain storm slowly whirls through the city, soaking everything in its path.

Joel's door is open. A soft smile tugs at your lips; it's his way of saying he's still up. He keeps it ajar while he reads before rolling onto his side and bidding goodnight to the world.

Three soft knocks alert Joel from the guitar-building manual he's currently reading. Dread clouds his mind for a moment, wondering why you'd be knocking on his door at this time of night, but he takes a deep breath and grounds himself in the softness of his bed.

"Yeah?" he calls out. His tone is rough around the edges after a long day on patrol.

You poke your head around the door with a timid smirk. He looks at you over his reading glasses before marking his spot and laying his book on the side table.

You don't say anything as you stride into his room. He notices your oversized shirt swaying at your knees before you climb into his bed and curl against his side like a cat.

He drapes an arm around your shoulder, unconsciously pulling you closer.

"'Nother bad dream?" he questions with a low rumble.

You shake your head. "Can't sleep."

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder and feel him nod, understanding the endless struggle for a night of peaceful sleep. It's improved since moving to Jackson, but the dreams never end.

Silence fills the bedroom except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof. Joel leans against the headboard, sighs through his nose, and lets his thoughts drift. He's content to sit with you in his arms for as long as possible, even if that makes him selfish.

He wonders if you hope to find someone to settle down with, someone less ridged and mentally maimed, someone less him.

The thought drives a stake through his heart.

He'd be crazy to say he didn't love being around you. Your laugh and lopsided smile took the first brick out of his impenetrable fortress when you spied a deer and her calf frolicking in an open field in Kansas. From then on, it became easier for him to let his walls down.

When you came to him with those big doe eyes and urges about wanting to know what it's like to be touched and desired, he gave in each time despite his reasoning.

He would masturbate each time after getting his hands on you, also thinking about the early days when he'd catch glimpses of you changing or the time he first saw you naked while showering at the YMCA.

He's still trying to figure out what to make of you. Friends? Lovers? He certainly didn't mean to fall head over heels. Love had no place in his heart, but he'd be a fool to say he wasn't extremely fond of you.

"Can you make me feel good again?" your lithe voice broke the silence.

Joel stops breathing. Your question doused him like a cold bucket of water. He knew this would come back and haunt him.

His hand curls tight around your shoulder as he wrestles with the devil on his shoulder. "Told ya we shouldn't keep doin' this, Sweetheart," he reasons, trying not to break your heart.

"But I can't make myself feel as good as when you've done it. I've tried!" You whine, burying your face into his chest.

"S'not that I don't wanna," he admits, soothing your soft cries. "S'just, you're too precious to do that wit' someone like me."

You lift your head and brazenly brush your lips against the exposed skin of his collarbone, earning a low groan as he curls a large hand around the back of your neck. He tugs you away from his skin, your lips still forming a tight 'O', and pins you with a stern gaze.

"Joel, it hurts." Your watery eyes and trembling bottom lip are his downfall.

"Lay back, Sweetheart, and spread your legs," he orders with a husky tone.

You don't make a noise; too afraid he'll stop if you do. Your cunt beats against the gusset of your panties as you lay on your back, spreading and bending both legs at the knee, just like he taught you.

A warm breath fans down your face as he shifts down your body before kneeling between your legs and tracing teasing fingers over your covered mound. His nails lightly scratch along the worn cotton, making you suck in a frantic breath. He slips a practiced hand beneath the crotch of your panties and deftly explores your folds, gently rubbing small circles on your clit after wetting his fingers with the arousal that's pouring from your cunt.

"Oh, she's achin' real bad, huh?" he groans as your opening clenches beneath his wandering touch.

"Joel, please, I need-" You gasp, hips wantonly grinding against his hand, desperate for any type of friction.

The muscles in his jaw ache. It's only natural you'd be wanting more.

Before he thinks twice, Joel draws his cock out from his sweatpants. Your stomach cramps at the sight as it smacks against his belly; he's massive.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs like a solid, dangerous threat. It weeps from the dusky tip, shiny liquid dripping from the crown as he squeezes his hand around the girthy base peppered with dark gray, wiry hair.

"Got somethin' that'll make you feel good, sweet girl." he grits, tapping his cock against the covered crux of your pussy. It thwaps devastatingly against your clit, forcing a gasp from your lips as mind-numbing pleasure races up your spine and leaves you staring dumbly up at him.

"S'that what you need? Need my cock to keep 'er from achin so bad'?" his cock is searing as it lies in wait atop your panty-clad mound. You swear you can feel his blood pumping steadily into his shaft.

He cautiously thrusts his hips, sliding his length along your cotton-covered mound. Your slick arousal seeps thru the material, wetting the thin cotton and creating a sensuous touch as he glides along your cunt.

He shoves your shirt up over your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He licks his lips, "Such'a beauty."

Your cheeks flame at his words. Having such a man say things about you makes you lightheaded.

Joel groans as your panties practically are now see-through from your combined fluids staining the cotton, "Oh, baby." You whine at his pet name. "I got ya. Keep those legs open, just like I taught ya. S'good girl."

He keeps a steady pace, sawing back and forth over your extremely soaked mound. Your puffy pussy lips stick to the soaked cotton, leaving nothing to Joel's imagination. He glides easily along your slit, your juices smoothing his path until your arching your back and chanting his name like a prayer.

Watching you orgasm under his touch is enough to drive him wild. He throws all sense of logic out the window. He's okay with being selfish again.

"Let's get these off, yeah." He hooks two fingers under the elastic and slides your panties off before his words register in your euphoric haze. "Feel even better without 'em."

He swallows hard at the sight laid out before him. The sheets splay and curve around your naked body, making you look like an ethereal being sent to test his limits.

"Gonna give 'er a kiss, Sweetheart," his deep timbre vibrates your body as he draws close and touches the bulbous tip of his cock to your exposed folds. Blood rushes to your cunt instantly, bordering on the edge of pain. You cry out from the intense contact, and arousal slips freely down your crack as he traces his cockhead up and down your soaked slit.

"How's she feel?" He anchors his head, looking down at you from under his lashes.

"S'nice," you half whisper, half moan. The wanton bliss slowly consumes you the more he rubs against your sticky folds, keeping a hand locked around his girthy base, his crown glistening with your combined arousal.

Your eyes tear open, back arching like a bow, when he cants his hips and taps his cock square in the center of your cunt.

"M'not gonna fuck you, sweet girl, wanna keep you whole," he declares, holding true to his word despite the overwhelming need to claim you.

He can't be the one to sully you. "Ain' much left'a this world that's as sweet n' pure as you."

Your core quivers as his dusky, throbbing crown glides along your glistening seam. He tentatively explores uncharted areas, brows furrowed with concentration, fighting with inner demons who want to claim, corrupt, and mold you for only his touch.

His name leaves your lips with a mess of desperate, frustrated moans, "Please, Joel."

He snaps out of his haze. He's done almost everything he can to keep you safe and protected in this new way of life. He'll be damned if he doesn't grant you anything you ask for.

"S'hurtin' somethin' fierce, huh?" He grunts, angling his hips until his cock lines up with your fluttering hole. "Bet she needs somethin' big'er than fingers to ease 'er throbbin'."

His cock catches on your opening, forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth. As tight as you are, he can't stop from pushing into your warmth. He blocks out any sense of reasoning that's shouting from the back of his mind as he slowly nudges his cock into your weeping, inviting hole.

Joel goes brain-dumb momentarily, watching in immoral awe as your core ever so slowly swallows his fat tip and breaches your quivering hole, forcing a raspy whine from your throat.

So warm, safe, and wet.

Joel's never felt anything like you. He wants to bury himself, slide his cock as deep as he can, claim every inch, endlessly fill you with his cum, and keep you only for him.

You frantically reach for him, hands clutching the air as he rubs a callous thumb over your clit while keeping a steady hold on the base of his cock.

"S'all she's gonna get," he states, returning to his senses and hissing when your cunt tightens. "S'just the tip."

A soft begging whine bubbles from your lips as you extend your arms, needing something solid to hold before latching onto his wrists.

Your hips move on their own, desperate to feel his length completely shunted in your velvet warmth, but brute hands envelop your hips and pin them to the bed.

He shakes his head, salt and pepper curls fraying across his forehead. "Don' be greedy now." He tuts, narrowing his gaze down at you.

A garbled mess of nonsense tumbles from your lips as your fingernails dig into his muscular, hairy forearms.

"I know. S'big, huh?" He lands a solemn thumb on your clit, rubbing tender circles around the tiny bud. "Stay wit' me, sweet girl. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

Your mind spins. It's all too much, and yet, not enough. Your head tosses from side to side, and you're frantic to survive, breathing hard and fast, waiting for the drop to come and, at the same time, never wanting it to come.

"Don't I deserve it? Keepin' you safe all this time." Joel muses, stroking his cock in time with his teasing thumb. His eyes never leave where he's splitting you open. He's barely penetrating you, but it's enough to know if he had, you'd be struggling to take him.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let go f'me," he urges, his touch growing faster. Severe, tightly drawn circles tease you closer to the edge.

Your stomach flips. A heaviness settles in your throat, your heart lodging in the tight confines, your blood pumping faster and faster. A lithe whine slithers free, escaping into the dimly lit room and burrows into Joel's mind.

His jaw clenches, and a dark growl rumbles from his chest, "Thatta' girl. Make'a fuckin' mess'a me."

Your dripping hole quivers and throbs around his swollen tip as you come with a silent scream, body locking taut, trying its best to engulf his length entirely.

Joel curses, jerking his length with long, steady tugs and rubbing his weeping, cream-covered tip around your soaked folds before his spine goes straight, and he yanks his cock from your core, curling in on himself and spilling his seed all over your belly with a deep, gravelly moan.

You sag into his sheets, spent with a shiny thin layer of dew and white ropes of spend painted across your abdomen.

"Shit." Joel curses, breathing heavily as he holds himself by his hands, which press into the mattress by your head, keeping you locked beneath him.

You hold his studious gaze. His dark eyes ruminate, tinged with mood, as his gaze drills down into your very core, threatening to demolish your soul. You resign that this was nothing special. Just another night you won't talk about again.

Joel eases off of you with a grunt, his bones aching from the tension despite the brief, pleasurable relief, and tucks his cock back away into his sweatpants. He shuffles to the bathroom momentarily before returning with a damp washcloth.

He wipes the cloth over your belly and between your thighs, cleaning the combined arousal from your skin before chucking the rag into the hamper with a sigh.

"I know," you mutter, grimacing as you roll onto your side and sit up, tugging your shirt down. "I won't mention it again."

A solid, warm hand on your shoulder stops your retreat. "Stay," Joel whispers with soft, yearning eyes. "I wan' you to stay, sweet girl."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller

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layaispunk · 2 days ago

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a warm escape | joel miller x reader

summary: joel comforts you when you're having a hard time back home during winter break.

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: age gap (25/35), mentions of smoking, mentions of a dysfunctional family & family conflict, fluff, pet names, mentions of reader having long hair

wc: 1.2k

note: This is a personal one, and its my first time writing in first person!!!! 🫶🏼 i hope u enjoy and let me know if u want a part two

The chilly december air bit into my cheeks, my heavy breathing coming out like smoke. My nose was red and stinging, but it wasn't like I could spend another second in that house. Not with the yelling. I had to go for a walk for the sake of my mental health. I needed air, space - anything to gather my thoughts, and I was too angry to journal.

As I turned the corner, Joel Miller, my neighbor, was sitting on his porch with a cigarette glowing faintly in hand. He noticed me before I could pretend that I hadn't seen him.

"Cold out," he said, his voice a low rumble that somehow felt warm compared to the freezing air.

I nodded, pulling my coat tighter.

"You walkin' or runnin'?" he asked, tilting his head towards my childhood house.

I blinked. "Bit of both."

I wanted to go sit next to him. I didn't want to talk about what happened, but there has always been something fatherly about him, almost as if his presence would instantly make you feel better.

I hesitated for a second, the cold biting at my hands as I stuffed them into my pockets.

Then, without saying a word, I walked up to his front porch, and sat next to him. Joel glanced at me, he wasn't surprised at all. Didn't make me feel like I was bothering him, or intruding. He just held the cigarette out in my direction without a word.

I took the cigarette from his hand, the warmth of it was comforting against my numb fingers. Raising it to my lips, I took a small puff, and handed it back to him. It's been a while since I smoked last, but I needed it.

As if reading my mind, he mumbles, "You can keep it." Joel shook his head. "You doin' alright, sweetheart?" he said, his voice low and calm.

I glanced at him then, properly, really looking at him. The soft glow of the porch highlighted the crow's feet at the corner of his eyes. His hair was ruffled, dark brown and shiny, almost making me want to run my hands through it.

He didn't say anything else, just leaned back slightly, waiting for me to take the cigarette again.

Lost in thought, I wasn't sure what I was doing here, sitting on Joel's porch. Or, even better, I wasn't sure what I was doing here, visiting my family for the holidays, when I know things would never change. The same fights, the same bitter words ... It was hard to ignore the ache in my chest.

Joel must have sensed the shift in me, the way my gaze had turned distant, like I was in a place he couldn't quite reach. He didn't push it. The quiet attention he gave me was enough.

At that moment, his presence was enough. Breaking the fog of my thoughts, he placed a hand on my thigh, the weight of it grounding me, pulling me back to the present moment.

His touch was demanding, firm - but not aggressive. He was letting me know he was there.

Joel's voice cut through the air again. "You want to come inside for a cup of coffee?" he asked, his gaze steady on me. I liked the way he looked at me. Like he was seeing me. It was the first time that evening that I felt like someone was actually hearing me, like all the noise in my head faded away.

I nodded, the idea of a warm cup of coffee sounding like exactly what I needed. "That would be nice" I replied softly, my voice coming out really small.

Joel put out his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it with a quick motion before rubbing his hands together to warm them. Then, without a word, he reached for mine, his fingers warm against the cold. He pulled me inside, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace.

The moment his arms enveloped me, my brain went quiet - like the world had stopped spinning for just a second. It felt safe. Secure. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t have to think.

He pulled away, his hands still resting on my shoulders, eyes steady. "You can stay here for as long as you’d like," his voice was soft. "You know that, right? You know Sarah wouldn’t mind. I wouldn't mind."

I smiled softly at him, and nodded. "Thank you," I whispered.

As we made our way into the living room, I found myself missing the feel of his hand around mine. It was strange, an unusual emptiness that I couldn't quite understand.

The house was quiet. Sarah was probably out with her friends. It felt strange knowing we had the house to ourselves. Most of the time, Joel and I had always hung out in group settings before, rarely meeting one-on-one like this. He had always been the protective, friendly neighbor, the kind who made sure I was alright- while keeping a respectable distance, never pushing.

When I had told everyone I was moving to London for my masters degree, Joel was the one who went out of his way to make sure I had everything I needed. He cared more than my own family had, making sure I was prepared, asking if I needed anything before I left. And even after I’d moved, he’d called me a couple of times—just to check in, to see if I needed anything from back home, or if I needed help with my apartment.

It made me feel… tingly, in a way I couldn’t explain, like someone actually cared beyond the usual pleasantries. I often wondered how he felt about me. I was young - ten years younger than him - but he never treated me like a child.

Joel made two cups of coffee, one for him, and one for me. He grabbed the mugs and started heading towards the living room. He glanced over his shoulder when he realized I hadn't moved, giving me that familiar smile. "C'mon, darlin'."

As I followed him into the room, my eyes caught sight of the guitar tucked in the corner. I wondered if he played often, or if it was just there for the rare moments when he has some time to himself. The fire crackled in the fireplace facing us, casting a warm, golden glow on the room. It was so peaceful.

Joel turned on the TV with a casual motion, then grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it around me, the warmth settling over my shoulders as I sank into the comfort of his brown leather couch. It smelled like him. I wondered if he needed this company the same way I did. Knowing he was usually by himself, ever since Sarah grew up - spending more time with her friends, leaving him by himself most evenings.

I leaned against him, quietly, as we both drank our coffees. After a few minutes, I felt his fingers gently brush through my hair. At first, I didn't notice it, or maybe it just didn't register it as anything more than a casual touch. But then, it became more intentional - his fingers slowly running through the strands, almost like he was testing the waters, unsure of how I would react.

I didn't pull away. My body was trying to communicate that I didn't want him to stop. His touch was so soothing, and before long, my eyelids started to grow heavy. My eyes fluttered closed, and before I knew it, I was resting against him, my breathing slow, as I dozed off.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #marcus acacius

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punkshort · 23 hours ago

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Evergreen | Chapter Five: Acceptance

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: It's almost Christmas, so you take the time to reflect on your accomplishments while enjoying the peaceful life you've created with Joel.

Chapter Warnings: language, soft!joel, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, food and alcohol consumption, Christmas, so much fluff it hurts

WC: 5.1K

Series Masterlist

"Alright, try some of this."

Ellie set down her spiked hot chocolate on your kitchen counter and stood to take the spoon from your hand. She blew on the soup before sampling a small taste and vigorously nodding her head.

"That's fucking amazing, we should make that a regular item."

You grinned and tossed the spoon in your sink before maneuvering around her to reach the spice rack. Your new house was just a two-bedroom ranch and the small kitchen took some getting used to, but you finally made the rented space feel like home. Although when you and Ellie occasionally found yourselves crammed in your kitchen to test some new products for the food truck, you couldn't help but long for the beautiful kitchen you used to have.

"I think I'll add this and take off the turkey chili, it doesn't do too well," you said before turning to your fridge and scribbling something on the white board. It was close to Christmas and you had already introduced your cold-weather menu for the food truck, but you were always actively looking to make tweaks where it was needed.

"Sarah really likes the chili," Ellie reminded you.

"I'll make her a big batch and divide it up so she can freeze it when she goes back to school."

"Is she helping out on the truck tomorrow?" Ellie asked before picking her hot chocolate back up, then she wandered over to your living room to examine some ornaments on your tree.

"Yeah, she's helping all day. Joel's gonna get a kick out of seeing her on the truck for the first time," you laughed. You checked the time and turned off the burners before lifting the huge pot of soup with a grunt and setting it on an unused side of the stove to cool. Joel and Tommy's crew were working on a retail storefront and you had promised to stop by with the truck for lunch the following day. You had figured it was in a busy part of town and you were hoping to also capitalize on all the holiday shoppers.

Chicks 'n Chicken specialized in, well, chicken, as the name implied, but when the weather turned colder, you realized sandwiches just wouldn't cut it for the winter, so you began to add soups and stews to pair with your signature sandwiches like The Ellie, The Sarah, and The Joel. It was the first big idea you had when you finally took the plunge and started a food truck: every sandwich was named after someone important to you, including sandwiches named after Mia and Daniel.

At first, it was hard. Really fucking hard. Harder than you expected. There was so much to do behind the scenes: bookkeeping, inspections, keeping the truck and your machines up to code just to name a few. Joel was a huge help with the business side of things and you were eternally grateful for his insight. In return, you let him be your taste-tester, a job he adored and took very seriously.

Once you got the boring stuff out of the way, things got much better. You hired Ellie to assist you, and even her girlfriend Dina worked part-time. The two of them painted the truck these gorgeous, vibrant colors and helped you design the menu, and before you knew it, you were up and running.

The first couple weeks were slow and steady. You didn't expect to make much right off the bat, but you would have been lying if you said you weren't slightly disappointed you didn't do more business.

But then Sarah and Ellie came to the rescue, and your entire world changed.

They had clued you in to the latest social media app and helped you create an account. They must have been avid users because they always knew what was trending, which is how you managed to create a video that went viral overnight. It was the three of you doing some silly dance to a song you had never heard before inside the truck. When you watched it, you cringed and begged them to delete it, but they promised it would be a hit. And boy, were they right.

Just a few months later, you were closing in on one million followers. The girls kept your page fresh and relevant and if you were a lesser person, you might have been a little put out that your marketing degree essentially became useless when competing with two girls in their twenties who were apparently chronically online.

But you absolutely loved it. You were beyond thrilled you had been so unexpectedly successful so quickly. It was the best gift you could ever have received, and you told them so every time they pestered you for Christmas gift ideas.

"Your parents coming up for Christmas?" Ellie asked when she spotted a framed picture you had of them next to your couch.

"Uh... my mom is, yeah," you said, dusting your hands on the sides of your jeans as you moved around your kitchen. Ellie picked up on the tone in your voice and swiveled around.

"But not your dad?"

You shook your head and pulled out the biggest Tupperware containers you could find.

"No. He's not thrilled with some of the choices I've made," you told her, keeping your gaze focused on your work so she wouldn't see the hurt in your eyes.

"The food truck or Joel?"

You cleared your throat and shrugged. "Both. He thinks I'm investing Daniel's money in something where I'll end up failing and he is not okay with Joel being a few years younger than him."

"Shit. I'm sorry," Ellie said softly, joining you back in the kitchen. "That's fucked. But at least your mom sounds cool, right?"

"Well, she's coming around to it. It'll be her first time meeting Joel and I'm really hoping once she sees us together and how great he is, she can report back to my dad and maybe change his mind."

"Ha, no pressure, right?" she laughed. You grinned and finally turned to face her.

"You know what? I'm starting to not even care. Is that bad?" you asked with a guilty look on your face. But before she could answer, you continued. "I mean, I'm happy. I'm successful. Joel and Sarah are amazing. Should I even care if they agree with my choices or not? I'm an adult. I don't want to ruin my relationship with my parents but I'm not willing to sacrifice my own happiness for it."

"Hell yeah, man," Ellie said while toasting you with her hot chocolate. "You got the right headspace. Therapy is doing you good."

"Yeah, surprisingly, it kind of is," you said with a chuckle. An alarm went off on your phone and you glanced at it curiously before your eyes widened in panic. "Shit! I promised Joel I'd be over for dinner, I gotta clean up and get the hell out of here." You snatched your apron off and then your eyes locked onto the huge vat of piping hot soup on your stove.

"I'll handle it. Go!" Ellie said, waving her hands. "I'll lock up before I leave."

"Are you sure?" you asked, but you were already backing out of the kitchen.

"Absolutely. I'll watch some movie or something while I wait. Dina's working at the bookstore til ten, anyway."

"You're the greatest, Ellie, thank you!" you called over your shoulder as you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

"How is it you look prettier every time I see you?"

You giggled when Joel's scruffy beard scraped against the side of your neck, then melted into his arms when they circled around you from behind.

"Did you know you left the oven on? You're lucky you didn't burn the place down," you teased, tilting your head to give his lips better access.

"I was just takin' a quick shower, I knew there was plenty of time left."

He wasn't wrong. The lasagna he made still needed fifteen more minutes. Joel had actually gotten a lot better at cooking over the last few months. He liked to give you all the credit since he spent so much time watching you in the kitchen test new dishes for the food truck.

"And look at that," he murmured when he glanced at the timer. "Still got extra time. Any idea what we should do?"

"Are you looking to get dessert before dinner?" you asked, feigning shock. Joel chuckled against your throat before pressing himself against your ass and - shit, he wasn't joking.

"Been almost a week," he groaned against your ear. "Missed you so fuckin' much

"I missed you, too," you whispered before twisting around in his arms. You pressed your lips eagerly against his, getting lost in the familiar way you fit together. Whenever you were with Joel, your soul felt at peace. Everything seemed to make sense again and any stress faded away. But those things were difficult to explain to your parents without sounding insane, so you stopped trying, perfectly content with keeping the happiness he provided just between the two of you.

You blamed your weak resolve on the fact you had a stressful few days without him, craving the comfort only he could provide. That was why you found yourself less than five minutes later straddling his lap on the couch with your jeans abandoned somewhere on the floor behind you. Joel didn't even take his pants off all the way. He had shoved them down to his knees in a frenzy, desperate to feel you again after a long week.

The air stilled when you sunk down on his cock, the both of you too caught up in the feeling to remember to breathe.

"Oh, baby," he breathed, head tipping back to rest against the back of the couch. "Oh, that's it. That's my girl. There you go," he whispered, eyes glued to the way he disappeared inside you. You shifted and a small whimper slipped past your lips, pulling his gaze back up to you.

"How is that? Feel good?" he asked while circling his arms around your waist. You hummed and nodded before you started to move a little in his lap. You went slow at first while sharing deep, messy kisses. The hair from his beard burned your chin when he pried your mouth open wider, tongues swirling together amongst shared moans.

His big hands spread wide over your ribs, holding you against him to feel as close as possible while you slowly rocked your hips. He finally gave you a chance to breathe and broke the kiss, but then his mouth trailed down your throat and you held your breath anyway when his teeth grazed against the sensitive spot he made a mental note of last time.

"Missed you," he reminded you again as his lips ghosted over your collarbone. "Missed this. Missed feelin' this close to you."

"I know," you gasped, hands grabbing at his shoulders when he mouthed at your breast through your shirt. You started to move faster, encouraged by the delicious sting from his bite. "Fuck, Joel, do that again. Please," you whined.

He smirked and did the same playful bite to your other breast, cock twitching inside you when a low moan slipped past your lips.

"You like that?" he pressed. He loved it when you lost yourself in the moment, too engulfed with pleasure to hold yourself back. When he had you like that, you had no trouble asking for what you wanted. Your polite little filter vanished and you allow yourself to be selfish, to take what you want to make yourself feel good, and his chest puffed with pride every single time that you would choose him to be vulnerable with. You chose him to seek out everything you desired. You trusted him.

"Yes, Joel," you rasped. Your head was tipped backwards and your eyes had slid shut as you began to bounce faster on his lap. "Yes, Joel, I love it. I love it. Fuck, you feel so good. I can't - ah! - Christ, Joel, I love you-"

Time stood still with your words sitting heavy in the air. It took you a few seconds to realize what you said, then your eyes snapped open and you slapped a hand across your mouth in shock, hips freezing mid-air.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, staring down at his surprised expression. "I didn't mean for that to be the first time-"

"But you did mean it?" he asked, stopping your muffled ramblings. Slowly, you nodded with watery eyes. He yanked your hand off your mouth and pulled you down for a searing kiss.

"I love you, too," he whispered happily against your mouth. His hips began to rock up into you, encouraging you to move with his hands firmly on your waist. "Keep going. Want you to come for me," he said with a grunt, lips still hovering centimeters away from yours. You nodded and began to move again, chasing the release you were moments away from tasting before you had panicked and stopped.

"C'mon, make yourself feel good. Take what you need, baby," he groaned when you bounced faster, breasts swaying underneath your shirt right in front of his face, teasing him. He lunged forward and pinched your nipple between his teeth right when his thumb began to work quick circles over your clit. You cried out his name, fingers clawing at his shoulders until he finally heard that content little broken moan and your release slowly trickled down his cock.

"Shit - gonna come," he growled. His hand left your clit so he could wrap both arms tightly around your middle, using you for leverage as he roughly fucked up into you. You had sagged forward, head resting on his shoulder while placing sweet kisses against his throat. You heard his harsh pants for air in your ear and smiled at the soft noises he made right before he stilled with a loud groan, pumping you full of his seed until his shoulders relaxed and he leaned back tiredly against the couch.

Your hand snaked around the back of his neck, turning his face towards you for a lazy kiss before whispering I love you one more time.

"I love you so goddamn much," he sighed, making you giggle. You pushed yourself up with a sigh, feeling groggy and satiated. You were in the middle of lovingly tracing the creases next to his eyes while he gazed up at you when the timer on the stove went off. You both groaned, neither of you ready to pull apart just yet, but the last thing you wanted was the smell of burnt lasagna permeating the house for the rest of the evening. With a gasp, you lifted yourself from his lap and turned to hunt for your panties on shaky legs.

"Go clean up, I got it," Joel said, standing and pulling his jeans up the rest of the way. You nodded and waddled towards the bathroom with your clothes while he tended to your dinner in the kitchen.

"So, you're comin' by the site tomorrow?" Joel confirmed around a mouthful of food. You nodded, only half listening to the television, your brain still blissfully quiet from earlier.

"Yep. Then after I'm meeting with this woman from the paper. They want to run a small piece on the truck, talk about the viral stuff, all that."

"My girl's gonna be in the paper?" Joel asked excitedly. You laughed, wanting to tease him for being one of the few people who still read an actual newspaper, but his support for you and your dream was so sweet that you didn't want to ruin it.

"Yep. Maybe even a picture, too."

"Well, damn. Look at you," Joel said softly, and you smiled at the tender look in his eye. "Gonna be famous. Can't wait to frame it. I'mma put one in my office at work and one here," he told you matter of factly. He pointed to the mantle, currently adorned with garland and christmas lights, where an old picture of him, Sarah and Mia sat, along with a picture of Tommy and Maria from their wedding day.

"I get to be on the mantle?" you asked excitedly.

"'Course you do. Woulda been up there sooner if we ever took a decent picture together."

"We take tons of pictures together," you began, but he quickly waved you off.

"And in all of 'em I look like shit."

"You do not! You look better than me most of the time with that goddamn smirk of yours," you teased, pinching his side when you added, "and you've lost almost twenty pounds."

Joel just laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking your plate and stacking it with his before turning his attention towards the television. His thumb drew mindless circles over your arm and you listened to the peaceful, steady beat of his heart with your ear pressed against his chest.

Closing your eyes, you breathed deep and thought back on your life from the past several months. You had some curveballs thrown at you, sure, but given the circumstances, you were pretty damn happy with where you ended up: curled up next to the man you loved, listening to him mumble the wrong answers to Jeopardy amongst the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree.

"Howdy, girls!"

"Hey, Uncle Tommy!" Sarah called down from the window of the food truck. He grinned at her crooked black cap stitched with your company's name and logo on the front. Wild little pieces of hair stuck out from underneath, framing her face which was dusted with flour.

"Looks like you're workin' hard," he said, waving when he spotted you hurrying by behind her.

"It's crazy busy! We've been moving non-stop since we parked!" she exclaimed.

"Well, get ready, 'cause I just brought twenty hungry construction workers," he replied while jutting his chin down the sidewalk where his crew had been carefully walking around piles of snow that had been packed down and pushed around by the feet of holiday shoppers.

"Good timing, 'cause we just got through the lunch rush," she said before straightening up and turning to you and Ellie. "Hey, guys - my dad and his crew are on their way! Want me to drop some chicken in the fryer?"

"Yeah, toss in a tray of breasts and a tray of tenders to get us started," you said, wiping your hands on your apron before turning to Ellie. "And-"

"Yeah, I know, I got the bread out of the oven already."

You grinned and turned to give the three soups of the day a quick stir and did a quick check on the stock of paper products, confirming you were in a good enough spot to take on another wave of business when you heard a woman's voice call your name from the sidewalk, stopping you in your tracks. When you saw it was the reporter you had promised to meet with for the write up she was going to put in the paper, you felt your heart sink.

"Carmen, hi! We're getting another rush, I'm so sorry!" you said while leaning through the window to shake her hand. "Can I get like, twenty minutes?"

"Of course!" Carmen replied. "I have some shopping to do anyway, take your time."

You were in the middle of expressing your thanks when the truck was suddenly bombarded with Joel and Tommy's crew, their deep voices laughing and talking over one another while Ellie began to take some orders at the register. Before you got back to work, you spotted Joel and excitedly waved him over.

"Hey," you grinned as you practically hung half your body out of the window to grab his face and pull him in. He chuckled and leaned up to kiss you, his cold lips pressing against yours and urging them apart so he could slip his tongue inside your mouth.

"Hey! People are tryin' to eat!" Tommy laughed while playfully swatting at Joel's shoulder. You both laughed and pulled apart, too giddy and love drunk on each other to care.

"You're cold," you said after you pulled yourself back inside the truck. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes, please," Joel replied, eyes glittering with pride as he watched you move around the truck. When you stretched forward to hand him the cup, you winked and said, "On the house."

"How's the job going?" you asked as you worked on slicing up the bread Ellie had pulled from the oven. Tickets fluttered in front of you and Sarah gave Joel a big smile and wave when she dropped off chicken fresh from the fryer.

"Alright. Glad we're workin' inside today but place ain't rigged for heat yet so we're makin' do," he replied, taking a sip from his cup. "How's business?" he asked, nodding towards the truck. His eyes drifted fondly over the front where you had printed out the menu in huge letters. Every time he saw his daughter's or his wife's names, his throat tightened. You didn't have to name dishes after them, but you did. Practically insisted on it. It made him emotional back then and it continued to make him emotional whenever he saw it.

"Great! I was hoping to capitalize on holiday foot traffic and boy, did I."

Your eyes were glued to your work, chopping and slicing, making sandwiches and wrapping them in paper while scooping out soup from the huge vats behind you and bagging everything with ease.

You were in your element. This was what you were meant to do.

"Joel! Did you order yet or what?" Ellie called from the register.

"He always gets the same thing," Sarah reminded her with a playful hip check. Ellie rolled her eyes and stifled her grin.

"Oh, yeah, duh. You," she said, narrowing her eyes in your direction. You felt your cheeks warm and you smiled but kept your focus on your work.

"You don't always have to order my sandwich, you know," you teased him.

"Now how can you blame me when you taste so damn good?" Joel smirked from the sidewalk, instantly eliciting a groan of disgust from each of the girls.

"He means the sandwich!" you laughed, feeling all flustered and praying your embarrassment didn't show.

"Do I?"

"Joel!" you hissed with wide eyes as Sarah called him gross and Ellie covered her ears. He threw back his head and laughed while you shook your head with a permanent smile stretched across your face.

This is true happiness, you thought. This feeling could never be topped.

Once Joel and his crew ate and slowly disappeared back down the street towards the storefront they were working on, you washed your hands and checked your reflection before stepping out of the truck with your coat draped over your arm. You glanced around the now mildly crowded street, searching for Carmen and smiling when you locked eyes with her a few doors down carrying a couple shopping bags.

"Perfect timing," you said when she was within hearing range. "Thanks again. My boyfriend is working around the corner and brought his entire crew."

"No apology necessary," she replied warmly, then glanced around with a shiver. "Mind if we pop into this coffee shop? Shouldn't take more than half an hour."

You happily agreed and followed her inside the warm café, breathing in deep the scent of cinnamon and smiling to yourself when you heard the faint sound of Christmas carols filtering through the speakers.

Carmen wasted no time. She dove right in, asking you how you came up with the idea for the food truck and then segueing right into the viral video Ellie and Sarah created that got you such a cult following. You explained that Ellie was a friend, leaving out how you met for her own privacy, and how Sarah was Joel's daughter.

"I'm noticing these names are familiar," Carmen said with a smile.

"Yeah, I named sandwiches after important people in my life. It felt like a sweet way to honor them and express my gratitude," you explained. Carmen hummed and reviewed her notes, phone recording quietly on the table between you.

"May I ask, then, who are Mia and Daniel?"

You cleared your throat and gave her a brave smile.

"They're no longer with us," you began. Softly, Carmen murmured, oh, I'm sorry, while scribbling something on her notepad. "It's okay. Daniel was my fiancé. He passed away over a year ago from a car accident. And Mia was Sarah's mom."

Carmen nodded thoughtfully as she continued to write.

"Oh, so you knew Sarah's mom, too?"

"Well, no," you said, "but based on how much Sarah and Joel have told me, it feels like I've met her."

"That's sweet," Carmen said, letting her pen drop on her notepad. "And these sandwiches - do they reflect anything significant about the people they're named after?"

"They do," you replied while straightening in your chair. "I tried to make the sandwiches based on each person's preference. For instance, Mia loved spice, so hers is a fried spicy chicken sandwich with chipotle mayo. Which I find hilarious because neither Joel or Sarah can handle any amount of spice," you said with a soft laugh.

Carmen nodded and laced her fingers together.

"And how about the sandwich named after you?"

"Well, that was the very first one we created and decided should be on the menu," you said. "I hadn't even thought about names yet but the girls convinced me I should name it after myself and I guess they've got a knack for persuasion."

Carmen laughed and you felt your shoulders relax a bit, not even realizing you were tense until that very moment.

"Well, it's incredible, I must say. I was sneaky last week and got one for myself when you were out on Brunswick."

You gasped, feigning dismay and making her laugh.

"Thank you, I'm so happy to hear that," you replied with a wide smile. "It happens to be my boyfriend's favorite, too."

"Joel doesn't order The Joel?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow.

You shook your head and tried to forget his earlier comment when you said, "Guess not. But he helped design The Joel. In fact, he also helped with The Mia. Sarah did, as well."

"That's so lovely to hear," Carmen said softly, pressing her lips together and leaning forward. "I think it's such a wonderful detail, by the way. How the two of you came from relationships that ended in tragedy and managed to find peace and happiness with one another. And to honor your partners in this way is incredible."

"Thank you," you answered. Your chest warmed at her compliment. "Even though I never met Mia, she was important to the people I love the most, and therefore, she's important to me. Joel and Sarah feel the same about Daniel. Grief is a complicated thing, but I like to think I've found a way to live beside it."

Carmen smiled and dropped her gaze to the table. "That's so comforting and reassuring to hear. And an incredible quote to leave me with because it looks like our time is up."

"Quote?" you asked with a tilt to your head.

"I usually like to run a quote from my subject as my byline," Carmen said while she packed up her things. She began to stand and you stopped her.

"Wait - could I give you something else to put as your byline instead?"

She grinned and sat back down before pulling out her phone and pressing a button.

"Of course."

One Week Later

"You nervous 'bout your mama comin' up?" Joel asked, tugging you closer to his side as you walked up the snowy sidewalk.

"A little," you admitted. "But whatever she ends up thinking doesn't matter. I love you, Joel," you said, tilting your chin up to meet his eye. "I love you and nothing is ever going to change that."

He smiled and gave your lips a quick peck as you rounded the corner, closing in on the nearest grocery store.

"Well, back in my day, I used to be a big hit with a girl's parents."

"Oh, yeah?" you teased.

"Yep. They all loved me. I'm real respectful, you'll see."

You wanted to tell him to just be himself and to not stress about your mother's visit, but you knew there was no use. He was going to do everything possible to win your mother over and while you found it admirable he cared so much, you didn't want him to feel like he needed to make your parents come around. In your several talks with Ryan in therapy, you had come to the conclusion that nobody's approval was needed for you to be happy. It would be nice, sure. It would make holidays and special occasions easier. But nothing was going to change anything between you and Joel.

"Alright, now. Here we go," Joel said excitedly when the automatic doors slid open and you were met with a blast of warm air. You grinned and squeezed his arm while letting him drag you towards the newspapers and magazines. You both scanned the rows of periodicals before Joel spotted it first and grabbed the whole stack. He handed you the extras and eagerly flipped through the pages of the one on top before he paused with a slow smile.

"What? How does it look? What picture did she-"

You cut yourself short when you peered over his shoulder. Your breath hitched and you caught Joel's eye before looking back at the page.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmen and grabbed a quick shot of you leaning out of the food truck to kiss Joel. You were both smiling as snow lightly fell around you, the background highlighted by twinkling Christmas lights and laughing holiday shoppers. It looked like a photograph straight out of a movie: two people finding a quick moment for love in the midst of a busy street.

"You think that's a good enough picture of the two of us?" you asked, looking up at him adoringly, but his focus was on the byline. His eyes kept scanning the words over and over until you swore you saw tears begin to cloud his vision.

"You like it?" you found yourself whispering. He swallowed and nodded, bottom lip quivering before he let the paper drop to his side so he could cup your jaw and pull you in for a kiss.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too," you said softly against his lips. He gave you one more kiss before he sniffled and opened the paper again so he could reread the words:

This was all made possible because of Daniel, who taught me what true love is, and because of Joel, who showed me love during my darkest days - I owe you everything.

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#joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #comfort Joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #the last of us au #joel miller au #joel miller angst #Joel miller grief #the last of us angst #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #evergreen fic #joel miller smut

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cozylittlepigeon · 1 day ago

Text

Ohh I love this so much!!!

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller

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cameronwillow · 3 days ago

Text

Warm me up

Joel miller x fem reader

Joel wakes to you coming into his room. You tell him how cold you are and he gives into his needs.

Warnings! Porn no plot! Age gap! (Reader is my age) oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, cum play, (?) degrading, praise and talk of male oral.

Written for my love @starkeysprincess I love you!!

“Joel? It’s so cold. Can I sleep in here with you?” He stirred from sleep, his shirtless body exposed from the messy blankets. He grunted a yes and you climbed underneath.

You were wearing an oversized tshirt, pair of black panties and knee socks. Joel felt his dick twitch. A pretty girl in his bed, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Your supple skin exposed as you moved closer to him, your arms looped around his waist, legs wrapped around his own.

Joel made a small noise and instinctively pressed you against him. His large hand splayed on the small of your back. His thick fingers feeling your cool skin.

“Better?”

“Still cold. Need you to warm me up.” Your soft voice caused Joel to groan. How could he refuse such a plea?

“C’mere.” He pulled you on top of him, your thighs caging his middle. Joel’s palms kneaded your legs, moving up to your hips and gently squeezed. “Is that helping?”

He felt a little guilt, the age gap between you both was large. Especially as you started rocking your pelvis, your pussy underneath your panties rubbing against his stomach.

“Mmmm, thank you, Joel.” He could see your smile even in the darkness. Joel broke, leaning up on his arm, he caught your lips in a searing kiss. Yours were soft, his tongue licked yours and he moaned deeply when you cupped his jaw.

You sloppily kissed each other and Joel put his whole body into it. He rocked his dick against your ass that pressed against it, his hand reaching to bury in your hair. He growled against your mouth and flipped you on your back.

“God, I don’t know if you know what you’ve done, little one. Rubbing your pussy on me.” He snarled and yanked your shirt up. Exposing your panties.

He dragged his fingers against your slit, feeling your arousal and smearing it on your clit. “Fuck, you’re wet. I bet you’re sweet,” He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking softly. Joel felt something unlock in him, an animalistic urge taking over and he pushed you back. You landed in a heap with your head on the pillow and he hauled your legs apart. He shoved your panties to the side, pressing his nose to your inner thigh and inhaled deeply.

“You smell so good.”

He shoved his face in your cunt, very gently nipping your clit before sucking it between his lips. You threw your head back, clutching his hair as Joel spit on your pussy and licked it up with his tongue. Whines and whimpers escaped you as he fucked your entrance with his mouth.

He was aggressive, moaning and palmed himself as he kept you against his face with his free hand. Your pussy was fluttering and leaking all over him. You were wailing, reaching your peak and finally it broke. You cried out and trembled.

“J-Joel!” You squeaked as he climbed up. Joel’s thick hands gripped your knees and pushed them up. He brought them over his shoulders and you noticed his boxers were gone.

His thick dick, throbbing between his legs was noticeable even in the haze. Joel slapped his tip against your clit, merging his precum with yours and then he pushed into you. The bulbous head straining and you mewled. Your nails dug into his shoulders as Joel thrusted into you.

“Atta girl, that’s a good little slut. Taking my dick like you have nothing else to live for.” He huffed and pounded into you harder. “Bet you’ll never be fucking cold again.”

Drool slipped from your mouth and Joel reached down to grip your jaw.

“Stay with me, baby girl. Need you awake so you can take it. Fuck, your pussy’s squeezin me. That’s it, yeah?” His vocal appreciation made you impossibly wetter and your eyes rolled back in your head.

Your second orgasm came embarrassingly fast and Joel grunted. He fucked you through it, still lasting as his hand wrapped around your throat. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. I know, I know, there you go.” He smirked as you jerked with aftershock.

“Gonna cum in you. Watch it spill out from that pathetic little hole then cover you with it.” He promised and amped up his depth. His balls slapped against your ass as he fucked you deeper.

Seconds went by and Joel let out a sigh. His cock twitched inside you and his cum coated your insides. You let out a shudder as he pulled out, jerking his dick and more cum sprayed on your stomach.

“Messy girl,” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. He let go of your legs but didn’t remove contact. Joel lifted you by underneath your arms and set you on his lap.

“Give me five minutes, doll and I’m gonna train your throat.”

“Who said I need training?” You giggled as he smacked your ass.

“Training for a man’s dick, sweetheart. And you’re gonna be a good girl and suck it clean.”

Tagging: @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @userchai @stillwjk-channie-lixie

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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joelsrose · 2 days ago

Text

First Date? Part 4

it's finally here!!! she's a long one pookies i apologise so grab your popcorn!! also warnings !! no explicit smut, but contains very sexually implicit context so 18+ only!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

All my work here :)

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

Since your fight with Joel—though calling it that didn’t feel right, not with all the unspoken weight hanging between you—it seemed like an uneasy truce had settled. It wasn’t something you talked about, and it wasn’t something either of you dared name. But there was something different now, something that felt like slow, careful mending, like stitching a torn seam with hands that weren’t sure they could hold steady. The mess with Tiffany and Toby felt distant now, like a shadow cast by someone else’s life.

But even still—today was different. You felt it in your bones, a tension that twisted sharp and restless in your chest as you stood in the stables, readying Winnie. Your hands moved out of habit—tightening straps, adjusting saddlebags—but your mind was somewhere else, stuck on the way Joel had stood silently beside you, checking his rifle with that same quiet intensity.

This patrol wasn’t routine. You weren’t headed to the outskirts of town or to some half-cleared route. This was farther—farther than you’d ever gone. The task was simple enough on paper: sweep a remote lodge and its surrounding area, catalog supplies, bring back anything Jackson could use. Tools, medicine, ammo. It didn’t matter. If it could help, you took it.

But nothing about today felt simple.

You could handle the infected—there was something almost methodical about their terror. A pattern to their madness. A predictability to their hunger. You’d learned how to read them, how to anticipate the movement of their broken bodies like reading the lines on a map. That small sliver of control made it easier to push through the fear.

But men? Men were different. Men could be quiet in their cruelty, their malice deliberate and personal. There was no pattern to their violence. No way to predict what they might do or who they might become when the world showed them it no longer held consequences. You’d seen it before—too many times to count—and the thought of it made something curl tight in your stomach.

The water crisis was worsening, stretching everyone dangerously thin. Resources were depleted, manpower spread too far, and urgency growing like a storm cloud on the horizon. Normally, a task like this would demand at least four, maybe five people—more hands, more eyes, more safety in numbers. But now, it was just you two.. Joel hadn’t said it outright, but you knew—he wouldn’t be taking you out this far unless there was no other choice.

Now, he stood across from you, his presence filling the quiet of the stable like a shadow that had always been there, steady and immovable. The faint light leaking through the wooden slats fell unevenly across him, catching on the lines of his face and the tousled disarray of his hair—soft in a way that clashed with the sharp edge of his gaze.

His arms were crossed tight over his chest, a tension in his posture that told you everything you needed to know: this wasn’t routine. This mattered.

“Alright,” Joel started, his voice low, the rough timbre of it carrying the weight of every unspoken warning. “This ain’t a normal sweep. It’s an overnight run—further out than we’ve gone. We can’t afford to mess around.”

His words landed heavy, final, cutting through the stale air of the stable. The rhythmic rasp of the brush in your hand was the only answer at first, the quiet sweep against Winnie’s coat grounding you more than you cared to admit. You paused mid-stroke, the bristles hovering just above her flank as your gaze drifted back to Joel, lingering longer than it should have.

“I understand,” you said finally, breaking the silence. You gestured toward the modest bag slung over your shoulder, forcing your voice to sound even. “I packed light. Just extra clothes, some rations. Not much else.”

Joel’s gaze flickered down to the bag, his brow furrowing slightly as though he were running calculations in his head—weight, distance, the chances you’d both make it back in one piece. He nodded, short and curt, but didn’t look away, his eyes lingering like he was searching for something he hadn’t quite found.

“Good,” he said at last, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “You don’t want more than you can run with.”

It sounded practical enough on the surface—just another piece of advice, one of the many Joel had given you over the years. But something about the way he said it made the words land differently, like they carried more than just instruction. No more than you can run with.

Joel took the brush from your hand with a movement that was firm but not rough, his calloused fingers grazing yours for the briefest moment before he set it aside. There was no room for softness now, not with what lay ahead. He stepped closer, close enough that the space between you felt tight, close enough that the faint scent of him—leather, woodsmoke, something unmistakably Joel—crowded your senses. His voice cut through the quiet, low and clipped, each word carved out with purpose. “Say it back.” His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his stance unyielding.

The demand hung in the air, sharp and immovable.

You exhaled sharply, the weight of his voice pressing down like a hand on your chest. The words were bitter on your tongue, a promise he’d drilled into you too many times this morning. Your gaze flicked to Winnie, as if the horse might somehow pull you out of this moment, but her dark eyes watched you, unbothered and unmoved, a silent witness to the tension that hung between you.

Still, Joel waited. His stare was relentless, pinning you in place like a blade to a board.

“I listen to what you say,” you murmured finally, the words quiet but clear. You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “If we’re in danger, I…” The rest of it caught, refusing to come. Your chest ached with the effort of holding onto it, of refusing to let the final piece fall, but Joel didn’t waver.

“Go on.”

His voice was gentler now, but that only made it worse—like it cost him something to say it, too.

You forced yourself to look at him, meeting those dark, unrelenting eyes. The words slipped out like splinters, each one sharper than the last. “I leave you and go get help.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the soft sound of Joel’s boots shifting against the straw. He stepped even closer, the crunch of it grounding and disorienting all at once. When he stopped, there wasn’t much space left between you, and the line of his jaw was tight, like he was holding back more than he wanted to say.

“And?”

It was one word, soft but unyielding, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Your shoulders stiffened, rebellion sparking somewhere deep inside you. You hated this—you hated him for making you say it, for forcing you to promise something you weren’t sure you could give. But Joel was staring at you with that steady intensity of his, like he could see right through you to the parts you tried to bury.

“And I don’t argue,” you bit out, the resistance lacing your voice clear despite your best efforts to hide it. The words tasted bitter, your jaw clenching so tightly you thought it might snap.

Joel’s gaze stayed on you, unwavering. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the air coiling tighter and tighter. “That last part’s not negotiable,” he said, his voice low but razor-sharp. “Out there, you listen. You don’t think twice. You don’t second-guess. Not if it’s between your life and mine.”

“I know, Joel,” you murmured, your voice small and subdued.

“Do you?” he pressed, his voice rough and edged with something that wasn’t just frustration. It was sharper, heavier, laced with the kind of urgency that came from experience—from loss.

“Do you really get it? Because this ain’t just somethin’ I’m sayin’ to piss you off.” He stopped, just shy of touching you, his eyes burning into yours as though the sheer force of his stare could make you understand. “If somethin’ happens out there, you don’t get to argue. You don’t get to waste time thinkin’ you know better.” His voice dipped lower, softer, but no less intense. “You leave. You get help. You survive. That’s the deal.”

The bluntness of it hit like a blow, scraping against every fragile edge you’d been trying to hold together. Your throat tightened, your pulse stuttering beneath the weight of his words. You looked away, the floor suddenly far more interesting than Joel’s face, his eyes too sharp, too knowing. “I get it,” you whispered, the words barely audible, the tremor in your voice betraying you.

Joel’s silence was heavy, stretching like a thin wire between you, so taut it felt ready to snap. You braced yourself for more, for another sharp command or a biting remark, but when he spoke again, it was quieter. Gentler.

“I’m not sayin’ it to be mean,” he murmured, his voice steady now, stripped of its earlier edge. “I’m sayin’ it because I need to know you’ll make it back. That’s all.”

The quiet plea in his words was enough to make you look up, your gaze meeting his again despite yourself. Joel didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. Hell, he barely asked for anything. But here he was, asking—with words, with that rawness he rarely allowed to show.

Your chest ached with something unnameable as you swallowed hard, steadying your voice. “I’ll make it back,” you said, stronger this time, every word laced with quiet resolve. “I promise.”

For a long, tense moment, Joel held your gaze. His eyes searched yours, looking for cracks, for hesitation, for anything that might betray you.

Finally, he nodded, slow and gruff, the tension in his shoulders easing—just enough to make you breathe a little easier. “Alright,” he muttered, stepping back and motioning toward Winnie. “Let’s get movin’.”

The spell broke, but something lingered in the space between you as you climbed into the saddle. Joel mounted his own horse without another word, and the two of you rode out into the chill of the early morning, the sky painted pale with dawn.

The cold bit at your skin, sharp and merciless, but it wasn’t the wind that made your hands tremble around the reins. It was the fear that burrowed deep and refused to let go.

Fear of what might happen out there.

Fear of what it would mean to live in a world where Joel didn’t come back.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The hours stretched endlessly as you and Joel rode through the dense, untamed woods. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried a certain gravity—a weight that seemed to echo in the hushed whispers of the forest. No one from Jackson had ventured this far in years, and the wildness of the terrain felt as much a challenge as it did a threat.

He rode ahead, his shoulders broad and sturdy beneath the leather of his jacket, his frame bent slightly forward with the kind of quiet focus that only came from years of surviving. His sharp eyes never stopped moving—darting between the overgrown trail and the treeline, watching, waiting, always searching for something he’d never let take him by surprise.

Occasionally, his voice broke the stillness—gravelly and low, delivering a curt instruction or muttering an observation. Each word, clipped and measured, was so distinctly Joel that it filled the silence in a way that steadied you, though you couldn’t explain why.

“We’ll stop here,” Joel said abruptly, reining in his horse. “They’re tired.”

You glanced down at Winnie, her steps sluggish and uneven, her breaths heavier now, her coat dark with sweat. Concern flickered through you, and you leaned forward to press a soft kiss against the side of her neck. “Good job girl,” you whispered gently, your voice low and soothing.

When you looked up, Joel was watching. His gaze lingered, flickering with something that disappeared too quickly for you to catch, before he dismounted in one fluid motion. His boots hit the dirt with a thud that seemed louder than it should have been in the stillness, and he reached for his pack, already untying supplies from the saddle.

Sliding off your horse, your legs hit the ground stiff and aching from hours in the saddle. You stretched briefly, then sank down against the nearest tree, your back pressing into its rough bark. As you settled, a soft groan slipped free, the ache in your muscles easing just slightly. The earth beneath your boots felt unfamiliar, solid and strange after so long riding, but the air here—cooler, gentler beneath the shade of towering oaks—was a quiet relief. You closed your eyes, leaning fully into the tree, letting the hush of the woods settle over you.

When you opened them, Joel was close by as he sorted through supplies.

“Water.” His voice broke the quiet, low and rough as he held a canteen out toward you without looking up. The canteen was cool against your fingers as you took it, your throat burning with relief as you drank. “Thanks,” you murmured, handing it back. You had your own water in your pack—he knew that—but still, he offered you his, as if yours were somehow too precious to waste, as if the effort to keep you going outweighed his own needs.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He capped the canteen and stood, his gaze moving over the clearing with that practiced vigilance you’d come to rely on. And then, just for a moment, his eyes landed on you.

“You cold?” he asked suddenly, his tone flat but edged with something softer. “Too hot?”

You shook your head lightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’m fine,” you replied softly, though your chest felt tight at the way he was watching you, like he needed to see the answer, not just hear it.

He’s sweet, you thought, the words catching on something tender and fragile inside you, something you couldn’t quite name. It was the way his care came without flourish, without asking for anything in return, that made it linger—made it ache. It wasn’t fair, the way he did this, leaving pieces of himself in small gestures that stayed with you long after.

Joel’s gaze lingered a moment longer, his brow furrowing slightly like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The woods were quieter here, almost serene. You stood, brushing the dirt and stray leaves from your pants, and let your gaze wander. The afternoon light filtered through the dense canopy, painting the forest floor in patches of gold and green. It was breathtaking in a way that made your chest ache—a fleeting moment of untouched wilderness, fragile and rare. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen something so still, so utterly removed from the chaos of survival.

Joel was nearby, crouched low, fussing with his rifle. His brow was furrowed in that familiar look of concentration, the kind of focus that made the rest of the world fall away. He hadn’t spoken in a while, his attention entirely consumed by the task at hand, and for a moment, you let yourself watch him—drawn to the way his hands moved, precise and practiced, the lines of his face set in a look of quiet determination that you knew well.

Your attention drifted, though, drawn to something else—a cluster of dark, plump berries growing just a few feet away. They stood out against the underbrush, rich and inviting. Curiosity tugged at you, pulling you closer. You wandered over, crouching down and plucking a small handful, the berries cool and smooth as you rolled them between your fingers.

“Hmm,” you murmured, holding them up to the light. A smile tugged at your lips, you raised one halfway to your mouth, your tone light as you added, “Yummy.”

“Stop.”

Joel’s voice cut through the stillness like a gunshot—sharp, commanding.

You froze, the berry hovering inches from your lips. His head snapped toward you, his rifle abandoned as he stood, moving toward you with a purposeful stride that made the leaves crunch like brittle glass beneath his boots.

“What?” you asked, blinking up at him, startled by the intensity etched into his features.

“Show me.” His tone left no room for argument.

You sighed, shooting him an exasperated look before opening your palm, the berries resting innocently there. Joel crouched slightly, his shadow falling over you as he inspected them, his sharp gaze narrowing like they were a threat to be neutralized.

“Open your mouth,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You pulled back slightly, incredulous. “Seriously?”

His glare flicked to yours, and you realized he was serious.

“Fine,” you muttered, sticking your tongue out in a dramatic show of obedience. “Ahh,” you said, exaggerating it, hoping it might earn you some amusement.

It didn’t. Joel just stared at you, his jaw tight, the muscle there ticking as though he was fighting to keep a lid on something darker, something far less restrained. His gaze lingered a beat too long on your tongue, the way you’d held it out for him without hesitation, obedient to his command. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with a tension that left his thoughts wandering where they shouldn’t—where they couldn’t—imagining that same mouth, soft and ready, offering him something far more intimate. His hand twitched at his side, as if warring with the urge to reach for you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch.

“Good. Now throw ’em out,” he said, the gruffness in his voice doing little to disguise the way he avoided looking at you as he turned away.

“What?” You gawked at him, utterly indignant. “Joel, they’re blueberries. They’re not gonna kill me.”

His arms crossed over his chest, his stare harder than stone. “Could be poison berries. They look the same. You don’t know the difference, so don’t pretend you do. Toss ’em.”

You held his glare for a moment, your fingers curling defensively around the berries, but there was no arguing with Joel when he looked at you like that. With a dramatic sigh, you dropped the berries, watching them tumble unceremoniously to the ground.

“Happy?” you muttered, brushing your hands off against your pants.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He adjusted the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, his gaze flicking briefly to the trees before landing back on you. “Stay close,” he said, his voice gruff, tinged with that familiar note of exasperation. Then, quieter, muttering more to himself than you, “Do I gotta put a leash on ya or somethin’ to keep you outta trouble?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you snorted, the laughter escaping before you could stop it. A grin tugged at your lips as you leaned against a nearby tree, playful mischief alight in your eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you teased, your voice dipping low, your tone laced with challenge. The insinuation hung there, bold and undeniable, a spark igniting the air between you.

Joel froze, his body going rigid. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his expression stuck somewhere between surprise and frustration. His jaw worked, his teeth grinding faintly as he glanced at you, then away, then back again—like he was trying to find words that refused to come.

And then, it happened. The faintest flush crept up his neck, blooming at the collar of his shirt and spreading up to the tips of his ears. He swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping to the forest floor like the answer might be buried there.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a growl.

You watched him turn sharply, shoulders squared as he moved back to his things, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch. The corners of your mouth curled up as you pushed off the tree, following after him with a bounce in your step that hadn’t been there before.

Joel didn’t look back, but his ears were still red.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The sound of the horses’ hooves echoed steadily beneath you, a rhythmic cadence that seemed to sync with the pounding of your heartbeat. The trail had narrowed as the hours dragged on, with Joel riding ahead of you, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dimming light. The trees on either side stood like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching longer and darker as the sun dipped lower. The sunlight, once warm and golden, now barely pierced through the dense canopy, casting everything in muted shades of green and gray.

Every rustle of leaves or sudden snap of a branch had your hand twitching instinctively toward your weapon, your gaze darting into the underbrush as if the trees might shift and reveal something waiting there. Unease clung to you, winding tight in your chest and mingling with the steady rhythm of the ride.

“You’re quiet,” Joel’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, low and rough, like gravel against steel.

The sound startled you, yanking you sharply out of your thoughts. You blinked, your grip on the reins tightening for just a moment before your gaze lifted to his back. He sat tall in the saddle, his movements steady and sure as he guided his horse down the narrow path.

“So are you,” you shot back, your tone light but edged with something defensive. It was easier to focus on the banter than to acknowledge the gnawing knot of anxiety that had been building in your chest.

Joel huffed out a sound that was almost a chuckle, low and dry, the faintest tug of a smirk visible as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice carrying just enough warmth to soften the bite, “I’m not the chatterbox.”

Any other day, you might’ve rolled your eyes. Maybe tossed a sharp quip back at him—something to tease out that rare flicker of dry humor.

But today, the woods felt heavier.

The isolation pressed too close, the silence too vast. Laughter felt out of place. Even the air seemed thinner, harder to pull into your lungs. You didn’t smile. Didn’t even try.

Joel noticed. Of course, he noticed.

Without a word, he tugged gently on his reins, slowing his horse until it fell into step beside yours. The sound of their hooves merged into one rhythm, steady and constant, but the quiet between you was anything but still.

He looked over at you then—really looked—his gaze dark and probing. Joel had a way of watching people that made it feel like he was peeling them apart, pulling back layers you’d much rather keep to yourself. His eyes flicked to your face, studying every shadow, every line of tension, and for a long moment, he didn’t say a word.

His voice broke through the suffocating quiet, softer now, gentler in a way that made your breath catch. “Hey.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the reins until your knuckles turned white, the leather biting into your palms. You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want him to see whatever it was clawing at the edges of your composure, threatening to spill over. But Joel’s voice—steady, unrelenting—left no room for refusal.

“Look at me.”

So you did.

And it hit you like a punch to the gut.

His eyes weren’t just steady—they were heavy with something raw, something stripped bare and unguarded that settled deep in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. There was no mask this time, no shadow of distance in his expression. It was just Joel—staring at you, open and unhidden, and for once, you saw everything he wasn’t saying. Worry. Frustration. Something deeper, sharper, that you couldn’t name.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that wrapped around you like armor. “You hear me? We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You wanted to believe him—God, you wanted to—but the creeping shadows in the trees, the silence that stretched too long, whispered otherwise. They sank their claws into your chest, cold and unshakable. “You don’t know that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s jaw flexed, his gaze hardening, though not at you. The muscle in his cheek ticked as he looked past you, scanning the treeline like he might fight off the invisible threat himself.

“I promise,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less steady, each word deliberate, like he was forcing them out against his better judgment. His eyes met yours, unrelenting in their certainty, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to that look—like nothing else mattered but the weight of what he was saying.

Joel Miller didn’t make promises. Not like this. He knew better than anyone that the world didn’t care about promises, that it didn’t hesitate to tear them apart, leaving nothing but regret in their place. He’d learned that lesson too many times, carried the scars of it. Promises were dangerous—they were traps, liabilities in a world where survival demanded detachment.

But this wasn’t about logic, and it wasn’t about the world’s cruelty. It was about you. About the way fear clung to you, raw and unspoken, written in the tightness of your shoulders and the way your hands trembled just enough to make him notice. He couldn’t bear to let you sit in that fear alone, to let it eat away at you when he could say something—do something—to make it stop, even for a moment.

So he broke his rule. For you. Because you needed to hear it, even if he couldn’t control what came next. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you,” he said again, the quiet steel in his voice daring the world to prove him wrong, daring himself to make it true.

Your head shook instinctively, the words a hollow comfort, because the truth—the real, aching truth—had already slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m not worried about myself, Joel.”

His expression shifted, like you’d reached inside and knocked the breath out of him. The words sat heavy between you, tangled with everything you hadn’t said before now. Joel stilled, his fingers flexing against the reins as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

And for a moment, the silence stretched out again, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick—with fear, with understanding, with something else.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice softened, a quiet plea that pulled your eyes back to his. He leaned forward just slightly, his presence grounding you as he held your gaze like it was the only thing keeping you both steady. “Nothin’s gonna happen to me either. You hear me?” He let the words settle, his brow furrowing like he was daring you to disagree. “Neither of us.”

The quiet stretched again, but it felt different this time.

Safer.

Joel watched you, his eyes searching, patient, waiting until you gave him even the smallest nod, until the tension in your grip loosened just enough for him to see the edges of your fear start to soften.

“I’ll make you dinner when we’re back,” he said suddenly, his tone quieter now, almost teasing, the rough edges smoothed by something gentler. He leaned back slightly in his saddle, the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth—small, but real. “How’s that sound? I’ll even let you pick what I make. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, the movement small but feeling monumental, like handing over a piece of yourself. Joel didn’t look away, his gaze holding yours, dark and steady. It wasn’t just a look—it was a promise, a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so soft it was almost lost to the stillness.

The words hit you like a spark catching fire, sudden and uncontainable. Your breath faltered, catching in your throat as heat flooded your cheeks, spreading like a slow, uncontrollable burn.

You felt it down to your bones, something raw and visceral that left you stunned, reeling. Joel must’ve noticed—how could he not?—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze lingered for one beat longer, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly before he nudged his horse forward.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice low, rough in that familiar way that grounded you, even now. His horse moved ahead, the steady rhythm of hooves against the earth filling the quiet he left behind.

You nudged Winnie forward, falling in line just behind him, your gaze lingering on the back of his broad shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his frame as he rode. The woods stretched endlessly ahead, the shadows still thick, the danger still lurking unseen—but for the first time, it didn’t feel so close.

You couldn’t explain it, not even to yourself, but it was there. The safety. The trust.

The quiet understanding that as long as Joel was there—this close—you would be ok.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The dense forest finally opened into a clearing, the trees pulling back to reveal a lodge at the edge of the horizon. The last rays of daylight stretched thin and golden across the landscape, pooling in the long shadows that crept toward the building. The lodge loomed, weathered and tired, its sagging wooden frame darkened by years of rain and neglect. It stood like a forgotten relic, its emptiness heavy, as if waiting for something—or someone—to disturb its silence.

Joel pulled his horse to a halt first. The shift in him was subtle but clear—the way his shoulders squared, his spine went ramrod straight, his jaw set in that way you’d come to know so well. He said nothing at first, his sharp eyes sweeping the clearing in a calculated rhythm, scanning for threats like he could feel something lurking just beyond the edge of sight. The air around you seemed to thicken, every rustling branch and distant creak amplified by the stillness.

“We’ll walk the rest,” Joel said finally, his voice low, the gruff edge leaving no room for discussion. Without waiting for your response, he swung off his horse, landing in a crouch with a practiced grace that belied his size.

You followed suit, sliding down from Winnie’s saddle. Your legs wobbled slightly, stiff and sore from the hours of riding, but you steadied yourself quickly, reaching for the straps of your pack. Before you slung it over your shoulder, your hand lingered on Winnie’s mane, your fingers brushing through the rough strands in slow, absent motions. There was something soothing about it—the rhythm, the warmth, the small bit of comfort she offered without knowing it.

“Bye, girl,” you whispered, the words hushed and raw, like you were leaving more behind than just your horse. Winnie let out a soft whinny, her dark eyes meeting yours with a quiet patience that settled somewhere deep in your chest, even as it made your throat tighten.

When you turned back, Joel was watching you. He stood a few steps ahead, the rifle slung across his back, his pack heavy over one shoulder. But it wasn’t the readiness of him that stopped you. It wasn’t the rifle or the sharp lines of his posture or even the way his fingers flexed restlessly at his side. It was his eyes.

There was something in them—something unspoken, unreadable, but unmistakably there. Worry, maybe. Or caution. Or something deeper. The amber light caught in their depths, softening the edges, but his gaze remained locked on you, unmoving.

Joel stepped closer, closing the space between you in an instant. The shift was so deliberate, so him, it made your breath catch. His hands came up to settle on your shoulders, grounding you with a steadiness that you didn’t know you needed until it was there. His grip was firm but not harsh, his palms rough against the fabric of your jacket, calloused from years of work and survival.

But it was the way his thumbs brushed the material—soft, fleeting, almost unconscious—that sent a shiver through you. A gesture so small, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him.

“Yes, Joel,” you said quickly, the frustration already seeping into your voice before he could even open his mouth. “I’ll do what you say.”

It wasn’t enough to satisfy him. His lips pressed into a hard line, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he studied you. He didn’t speak right away, and the silence between you became heavy, dense. His shoulders shifted just slightly, like he was bracing himself, and his eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with something closer to disbelief.

Like he didn’t trust you to listen. Like he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

He shook his head, the smallest motion, full of resignation. “Listen to me,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, a steady edge that made it clear he wasn’t giving you room to argue. “You follow me. You stay quiet. If I say run, you run. You take Winnie, and you leave. You don’t look back. Got it?”

You blinked, unable to speak, the weight of them clawing tight at your chest. Run. Leave.

The very thought of it felt like ice splintering through your veins. You couldn’t picture it—couldn’t imagine a world where you turned your back on him, where you left Joel behind in the dark while you ran ahead.

Your throat tightened painfully, and you shook your head, your voice cracking as you whispered, “Joel, I—”

“Got it?�� he pressed, his voice soft but edged with steel. He stepped closer, close enough that the fire in his eyes became undeniable, that the space between you disappeared entirely. Joel had always been unyielding, but this? This was something more. A desperation failing to hide beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, the words scraping against your throat like they didn’t belong there. “I’ll run,” you said finally, though it felt like a betrayal to even admit it aloud. “I’ll take Winnie. I’ll… leave.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, his eyes locked on yours with a searing intensity that made it hard to breathe. His gaze wasn’t just searching—it was prying, deliberate and unrelenting, peeling back the walls you’d built to keep yourself steady. And under it, you felt seen—exposed in a way you didn’t quite know how to protect yourself from.

Because he wasn’t looking at the stubborn mask you wore, the one you threw on when the world demanded you be strong. No, Joel was looking deeper, into that part of you that screamed a truth you refused to say aloud: You wouldn’t leave him. Not really. Not ever.

“Promise me,” Joel murmured, his voice rough but quiet, threaded with something you weren’t used to hearing from him. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Something that cracked at the edges, barely holding together.

“Joel…” you started, your voice faltering, thin and soft like you might shatter right there.

“Promise me,” he said again, firmer this time, though it trembled just faintly at the edges. Like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

The ache in your chest deepened, spreading through every inch of you like a poison. He was breaking his own rules, showing too much, and it was undoing you piece by piece. Joel didn’t let his guard down. He didn’t falter. But here he was, standing in front of you like this—raw, exposed, and asking for something he needed.

Joel nodded slowly, his expression unreadable as he pulled his hands from your shoulders, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he adjusted the rifle slung over his shoulder. But his eyes—steady and unrelenting—gave him away. He didn’t believe you, not fully. You could see it in the way his gaze lingered, searching your face like he was trying to etch your promise into something solid, something he could hold onto when the time came.

You stayed rooted in place, frozen as you watched him move toward the lodge. Every step he took was deliberate, every turn of his head precise as he scanned the tree line, his hand hovering near his rifle. Ready for anything. Always ready.

And that’s what gutted you—truly gutted you—because you knew, with a clarity that scraped against your ribs like glass, that Joel wouldn’t hesitate. If it came down to you or him, he’d throw himself into the fire, step in front of the bullet, let his body be torn apart before he’d ever let harm come to you. And he’d do it without question. Without pause.

As you began following him, the words echoed in your head, unspoken but deafening. Don’t ask me to run, Joel. Don’t ask me to leave you behind. Each step felt heavier, the thought pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. Because I won’t. I can’t.

You knew he felt it, even if neither of you said it aloud. He felt it in the way your pace never strayed, your steps falling in line just behind his, close enough that he could hear the faint crunch of leaves beneath your boots. He felt it in the way your breaths synced with his, steady but strained, like you were holding something back. He felt it in the moments you lingered too long when his gaze flicked over his shoulder to check on you, your eyes locking with his for a beat too long before darting away.

He felt it in the way your fingers clenched the strap of your pack, white-knuckled and trembling, as if anchoring yourself to the promise you hadn’t meant to make. In the way you hovered just behind his shadow, always there, always ready, like you were silently daring the world to try and take him from you.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t look back to meet your gaze.

Because he knew. Knew what you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Knew the truth that tore at you with every step closer to the lodge—that no promise, no command, no amount of pleading would ever change it.

You’d rather die than leave him.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The lodge emerged from the shadows of the trees like a ghost, its silhouette jagged against the fading sky. Joel crouched low, signaling for you to do the same, his movements fluid and deliberate as he wove through the underbrush with the quiet confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You mirrored him without question, your weapon clutched tightly in your hands, though the prickling sensation crawling up your spine refused to settle.

The building was a monument to ruin—ivy clawed greedily at its sides, creeping through splintered boards and shattered windowpanes. The roof sagged under the weight of neglect, and its walls seemed to lean in on themselves, like they couldn’t bear the burden of holding anything upright anymore. Every creak of the structure, every shift of the wind, sent your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Joel moved closer, crouching low to inspect the ground near the lodge’s entrance. His fingers brushed over the dirt, scanning for prints or disturbances, but there was nothing—just layers of leaves and twigs undisturbed by anything more threatening than the wind. He glanced back at you, his expression unreadable but wary, before tilting his head toward the lodge.

You both edged forward, your eyes darting to the windows for movement, though the shattered panes reflected only the fading light. Joel stopped by a section of the wall, brushing aside ivy to check for signs of tampering or recent use, but the wood was damp and untouched.

He raised a hand, the gesture sharp and commanding, and you froze mid-step, holding your breath as his gaze swept the clearing with hawk-like precision.

Nothing stirred—not in the shadows, not in the lodge, not in the quiet woods that stretched around you like a living trap. Still, Joel’s hand hovered near his weapon, his muscles taut as he nodded for you to follow.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, just loud enough for you to hear.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, your breath shallow as you fell into step behind him.

The front door hung crookedly on rusted hinges, groaning in protest as Joel nudged it open with the barrel of his rifle. The sound scraped through the silence like a knife, too loud, too exposed, and you couldn’t stop the way your fingers tightened around your weapon.

Joel stepped inside first, his silhouette a wall of quiet strength against the dim light leaking through the cracks in the boards. You followed, forcing yourself to move with the same care, though your heart thundered loud enough that you swore he could hear it.

Inside, the lodge was a shell of its former self. Dust blanketed the warped floorboards, and the air hung heavy with mildew and rot. Furniture lay upturned and broken, a chair leg splintered like a bone. The stillness was oppressive, a silence so deep it felt wrong.

Joel stopped, raising his hand again—split up, the flick of his fingers said. Be careful.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as your eyes locked with his. You didn’t want to split up—he could see it, clear as day, in the way your gaze lingered, pleading silently even as your jaw set with determination. But you were a big girl. That’s why you were here. You were his partner, and partners pulled their weight, even if the fear inside you threatened to tear you apart.

Joel’s expression shifted, his own hesitation flickering just beneath the surface. For a moment, it looked like he might say it—that you could stick together, that he’d shoulder this for both of you. But before he could, you forced yourself to speak.

Joel held your stare for a second longer, his eyes sharp and searching, as if making sure you were ok. Finally, he gave a short nod and disappeared down the far hallway, his boots making the faintest creak against the wood.

Then he was gone, and you were alone.

You turned toward what looked like the kitchen, your steps slow, deliberate. Every movement felt amplified, the sound of your boots on the floorboards bouncing off the walls like a warning. The cabinets hung open, their hinges rusted and warped, shelves stripped bare save for a few unidentifiable cans buried under layers of dust. Drawers yawned empty, their contents long since ransacked, and the grime clinging to the countertops filled the air with a damp, sour tang that made your nose wrinkle.

You pressed on, your breathing shallow as you opened door after door, each creak of the hinges slicing through the silence like a threat. Each room you entered felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to pounce the moment you let your guard down. But all you found were shadows and decay.

When you stepped back into the main room, your heart thudded as Joel appeared from the opposite hallway, his rifle still raised, his shoulders squared and tense. His sharp gaze swept the room first, scanning every corner, lingering a second too long as if he expected something to emerge from the shadows. Finally, his eyes found yours.

“Clear,” you whispered, your voice tight but steady, the tension in your chest easing just slightly under the weight of his presence.

Joel nodded once, his reply a low murmur. “Same here. No signs of infected or raiders.”

The stiffness in his shoulders loosened—just a fraction—but it was enough for you to catch. He lowered his rifle, the grip of his hand softening, though his gaze stayed sharp, cutting through the dim light as he glanced toward the darker corners of the lodge. The faint furrow in his brow lingered, betraying the quiet calculations still turning behind his eyes.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Grab what you can. Then we move.”

You didn’t argue. There was no room for debate, just the quiet understanding that lingered between the two of you. With a sharp nod, you turned back toward the shadowed remnants of the lodge, splitting up again, each step deliberate as you scoured opposite sides for anything that might help you survive.

The finds were sparse but not useless. In the back of a closet, buried beneath a heap of moth-eaten fabric, your fingers brushed over something cool and familiar. You pulled out a small, dusty box of bandages—the edges frayed, but the contents inside still sealed and intact. “Bingo,” you murmured, though the sound barely broke the silence. In a drawer, you found a small box of ammo, the label faded but legible, and a pair of rusted scissors, their edges dulled but still functional with some effort.

Across the room, Joel worked with practiced efficiency. He knelt, his hand closing around something tucked behind a fallen shelf. Holding it up to the faint light filtering through the shattered windows, he revealed a hunting knife, its blade dulled with age but still capable of damage. Joel turned it over once in his hands, inspecting it with his sharp, calculating eye before tucking it into his pack without a word.

You met back in the main room, the eerie silence of the lodge pressing in around you.

“Not bad,” Joel said when he found you again, his voice steady and grounding, cutting through the quiet like a steady anchor. He turned a wrench over in his hands, the faint light glinting off the tarnished metal as he inspected it, then stowed it with the tools he’d collected. “Could’ve been worse.”

His eyes flicked to your pack. “What’d you find?” he asked, nodding toward it.

“Bandages, some ammo, scissors,” you shrugged, shifting the weight of your pack slightly. “Not a lot, but…”

“Good job,” Joel interrupted, his tone gruff but sincere. The simple words settled something in your chest, the heaviness easing just slightly as he gave a brief nod.

“Alright,” he said, his gaze shifting to the staircase that loomed ahead, its warped wood groaning faintly under the weight of the silence. “I’m gonna check upstairs quickly. You stay here—I’ll be ten minutes tops.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes landed on you then, steady and searching, and you felt yourself stand a little straighter without realizing it. It wasn’t a look that checked for injuries or exhaustion—it went deeper, something quieter, something anchoring. His gaze carried a weight that pressed against you gently, like he was grounding you in a way words never could. It made the world seem to pause, holding its breath for just a moment.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, the gravel softened by a note of concern he didn’t manage to hide in time. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t just protocol—it was real, slipping through the cracks of his usual guarded demeanor.

You hesitated. “Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. It wasn’t a full lie—you were fine enough. But there was something about the lodge, the way the air felt wrong, like it wasn’t meant to be this quiet. It stayed with you, tugging at the edges of your nerves. Still, the steadiness in Joel’s gaze was enough to hold you upright, to keep the words from cracking. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

Joel’s eyes lingered on you a moment longer, his brow furrowing just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe you but didn’t see the use in pressing further. He gave a small, tight nod. “I’m here,” he said simply, like it was a promise—because it was. It always was.

Before you could answer, Joel turned toward the stairs, his boots creaking softly against the worn wood as he began to ascend, his figure fading into the dim shadows above. You stood there, rooted in place, your fingers tightening instinctively around your weapon.

The lodge still felt wrong.

The air still felt thick.

The room too quiet.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

You stood planted for a few minutes, your ears straining to track the faint sound of Joel’s footsteps overhead as he maneuvered through the rooms. The steady rhythm of his movements was oddly comforting, a reminder that you weren’t completely alone in this place. Still, the unease gnawed at you, curling tighter in your chest with every creak of the old wood.

You sighed, turning reluctantly. If you were waiting, you might as well keep looking for something useful.

As you moved deeper into the lodge, the air seemed heavier, like the walls themselves were pressing in. Your boots crunched softly over the debris littering the floor, your eyes scanning each corner with wary precision. A collapsed shelf caught your attention, leaning crookedly against the far wall, its splintered remains scattered like an afterthought. But it wasn’t the mess that made you pause—it was what was behind it.

A door.

Half-hidden, almost like it didn’t want to be found. The frame was warped, its paint chipped and peeling, the edge barely visible against the shadows.

You froze for a heartbeat, instincts tugging at you, warning you to wait for Joel. To call him. To let him take point, like he always did. But something—curiosity, stubbornness, or maybe just the restless hum of adrenaline in your veins—made you step closer instead. Your hand brushed the debris aside, and the door groaned faintly as it gave way under your touch.

A rush of stale, frigid air met you, sharp and sudden, crawling against your skin like unseen fingers. You swallowed hard as your gaze fell to the narrow staircase leading down into the basement. It was steep, shrouded in darkness, the light from above barely brushing the first few steps. Something about it felt wrong, ancient in its silence, like the lodge itself had buried it for a reason.

You lingered there, the weight of uncertainty pinning you in place. You could turn back. Go find Joel.

Just a look, you thought, forcing yourself to believe it.

Your fingers curled around the grip of your weapon, the metal cold and grounding against your palm. You took the first step down. The wood creaked under your weight, loud enough that you winced. Quiet, you told yourself. Be quiet.

The silence was unbearable, so thick and oppressive it almost buzzed in your ears. Without realizing it, you began to hum softly under your breath—a faint, wavering melody that meant nothing and everything, a trick to steady your pulse and force the tension back into something manageable.

Then you heard it.

Voices.

They slipped through the darkness, muffled and low, with an edge to them that turned your blood to ice. You stopped cold, your breath catching in your throat as your heart slammed hard against your ribs. You couldn’t make out the words, but they were unmistakably human. Not infected—humans. That realization did nothing to settle the nausea twisting in your gut. If anything, it made it worse.

You strained to hear, your head tilting slightly, every muscle in your body coiled tight. The voices were distorted by the walls and distance, but they were close. Too close. Your grip on your weapon tightened until your knuckles ached, sweat slicking your palms.

Turn back.

The warning flashed through your mind like a flare in the dark, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t. You flattened yourself against the wall, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding like a war drum in your chest. Slowly, carefully, you peered around the edge of the doorway, and there they were.

Three men stood clustered near a ring of dim lanterns, their shadows stretching long and jagged against the crumbling basement walls. The tallest of the three—a wiry figure with gaunt cheeks and a scar bisecting his right brow—commanded the space, his voice cutting through the stillness like the scrape of a blade against bone.

“She was a fuckin’ bitch,” he spat, his knife twirling restlessly between his fingers. The blade caught the flickering light, winking like a predator’s eye. His movements were sharp, erratic, as though violence lingered just beneath his skin, waiting for an excuse to break free. “Got what was comin’ to her.”

“Jesus, Tom,” the broad one muttered, his voice a low, gravelly drawl. He leaned against the wall with a forced laziness, one hand brushing the edge of the handgun strapped at his hip. Everything about him—his stretched vest, his patchy beard, the sneer that seemed permanently carved into his face—radiated menace. Even his stillness felt dangerous, like the coiled pause before a snake strikes. “That was your girlfriend.”

“Ex,” Tom snapped, his voice dripping venom, the scar over his brow twisting with his sneer. “Skank.”

The youngest of the group lingered just outside the lantern’s glow, his presence twitchy and uncertain. His rifle was clutched tightly to his chest, the whites of his knuckles visible against the stock, his eyes darting constantly toward the shadows as though they might swallow him whole. He wasn’t built for this. You could see it in the slump of his shoulders, in the way he flinched every time Tom’s knife flashed.

“How far’s the settlement?” the kid asked finally, his voice thin and hesitant, as if he already feared the answer.

Your stomach dropped like a stone. Jackson.

“A few hours,” Tom said, flicking his knife toward some vague point in the distance, his tone dismissive, almost bored. “If we don’t hit any patrols.”

The broad man scratched his beard, considering. His sneer deepened into something uglier, the edges curling with grim satisfaction. “They’ve got guards,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, as though he were savoring them. “Ain’t no easy pickings. We wait. Arm the rest of the crew first. Then we hit ‘em.”

The floor felt like it shifted under your feet. Ice pooled in your veins, spreading outward until you couldn’t feel your fingertips wrapped white-knuckled around your weapon. They weren’t scavengers. They weren’t drifters looking for a warm corner or forgotten scraps. These men were here for blood.

Jackson—your home —was in their sights.

The kid shifted uncomfortably, his boots scuffing against the concrete. “You sure this is a good idea?” he muttered. “We don’t know what they’ve got. What if it’s more than we can—”

Tom rounded on him in an instant, the knife snapping to a stop in his hand. The kid flinched as Tom stepped close, his scar twisting with his sneer. “What, you scared?” he hissed. “Gonna piss your pants, kid? You signed up for this, remember? Or you wanna end up like the bitch we left back there?”

The kid’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his knuckles somehow tightening even more on his rifle. “No,” he murmured. “I’m good.”

Tom turned away, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

Your heart hammered so loudly you swore they could hear it. You couldn’t stay here—couldn’t listen to another second. The world around you narrowed to the single, desperate thought pounding through your mind.

Get out. Find Joel.

You moved, forcing yourself back a step, slow and deliberate. Another step. The floor beneath your boots creaked—loud, impossibly loud—and your breath caught in your throat.

The kid’s head snapped up. “Did you hear that?”

Shit.

You froze, pressing yourself hard into the shadows, your pulse so frantic it was a miracle you didn’t pass out right then.

The broad man sighed, disinterested. “Probably rats. Place like this, I’m surprised we ain’t wading through ‘em.”

Tom grunted, but his gaze lingered on the dark edges of the room for a beat too long before he turned back to his knife, twirling it once more. “We move at first light,” he said flatly, his voice sharp as flint. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

They didn’t notice you. Somehow, they didn’t notice.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself up another step. And then another. Every nerve screamed at you to run, but you couldn’t risk it—not yet. You climbed the stairs, each step a slow, deliberate fight against panic.

When you reached the top, the cold air of the lodge hit you like a slap. You pushed the door closed with trembling hands, the sound of your breathing ragged in the stillness. For one long moment, you stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide as you fought to push down the panic clawing at your throat.

Find Joel.

That thought broke through the haze, sharp and clear. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself, and turned back toward the main room. Each step felt deliberate, your movements careful as you attempted to stay as quiet as possible.

Joel. You needed to find Joel. Now.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

Joel appeared out of the shadows like a ghost, his presence so sudden and silent that you didn’t register him until he was right there. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and startling in the suffocating quiet, his concern clear though he had no idea what you’d just witnessed.

You reacted instinctively—without thinking. Your hand shot out, fisting the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer with a force you didn’t know you possessed. The other hand pressed firmly over his mouth before he could say another word. Wide-eyed, trembling, you stared up at him, your silent plea screaming louder than any sound ever could.

Joel stilled. Completely. His body went rigid beneath your touch, but his gaze—sharp as ever—locked onto yours. His expression shifted as he took you in, reading you the way only Joel could: the panic in your eyes, the tremble in your shoulders, the urgency of your grip. Then, as if following some invisible thread, his eyes flickered over your shoulder, narrowing on the dark, half-open basement door.

The change in him was instant. His entire frame tensed, his jaw tightening until you swore you heard his teeth grind. The flicker of soft concern vanished, replaced by something colder, harder—Joel the protector, Joel with the sharp edges and the deadly calm.

“How many?” he mouthed, his lips barely moving, his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as your trembling hand rose slowly. Three fingers. Three.

He nodded once, sharp and precise. They see you? his expression asked, his brow lifting just enough to push the question.

You shook your head, the words stuck somewhere in your throat, fear silencing you.

Joel’s eyes sharpened, calculating. His hand shifted slowly toward his rifle, every movement deliberate, measured, a man preparing for war.

He didn’t need to speak—his body said it all. Calm. Controlled. Lethal.

He gestured sharply, flicking his hand toward the wall behind you—a command, clear as day. Get out of sight. His eyes pinned you, unyielding, daring you to argue. Let me handle this.

But your body didn’t move. You couldn’t move.

Your feet felt glued to the floor, your fingers twitching against the grip of your weapon, your chest so tight it hurt to breathe. The idea of Joel walking toward that basement alone—that black hole of danger—sent ice shooting through your veins.

Joel turned back just in time to see you still standing there, your eyes flicking between him and the door. His expression darkened like a storm cloud. He adjusted the strap of his rifle, the motion sharp, almost angry, before his voice cut through the quiet like a whip.

“No,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re not coming.”

“Joel—” You didn’t mean for it to sound so small, so pleading.

His head snapped toward you, his glare pinning you in place like a physical force. “No,” he repeated, harsher now, his voice a low growl that reverberated in the small space. “You said you’d do what I told you. You promised.”

Your lip trembled as you looked at him, your fear laid bare in a way you couldn’t hide. It wasn’t for yourself—you knew that. It was him. The idea of Joel walking down there alone, of you standing helpless while something happened to him—it gutted you. You couldn’t let that happen.

Joel saw it. Of course, he saw it. His eyes flickered to the whiteness of your knuckles around your weapon, to the way your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the tears brimming but refusing to fall. His jaw tightened, his shoulders coiled like a wire pulled too tight, but when he exhaled, it wasn’t anger that bled through. It was something quieter, rawer—something meant for you alone.

“Stay here,” he said again, but this time, his voice had gentled, as though he knew he was asking for too much. He paused, and then—just as you thought he might turn and leave—he stepped closer.

Before you could process it, his hands were on your face—broad and calloused, cradling you as though you were made of glass but still the only thing keeping him steady.

His thumbs hovered, the faintest pressure brushing your cheeks, anchoring you, grounding you. His presence overwhelmed everything, the lodge, the danger—it all faded away until there was only Joel.

“No matter what you hear,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with something so desperate, it made your stomach turn. “You do not come down. You hear me?”

His eyes bored into yours, dark and unyielding, as if he could carve the command straight into your soul. It wasn’t just a warning—it was an order, sharp and desperate.

You nodded, small and mechanical, because your throat was too tight to speak. Your eyes burned, blurring the lines of his face, but you couldn’t look away.

Joel didn’t move. His fingers stayed where they were, his palms warm against your skin, and his brow furrowed like he was trying to memorize you. Like some part of him was begging for more time. Then his thumb traced your cheek—so soft, so fleeting that it almost didn’t feel real.

His next words fell like a blow.

“If I don’t come back…” Joel hesitated, his voice breaking like he hated every syllable he was forcing himself to say. His grip on you tightened—barely, but enough to steady himself. “You take Winnie. You leave.”

“Joel—” you choked out, the crack in your voice making him flinch, but he didn’t let you finish.

“You leave,” he repeated, the word a command, a plea, everything in between.

“You get back to Jackson, and you don’t stop. You don’t look back.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he wrestled with something unspoken. “You don’t wait for me.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over, hot and silent as they ran down your cheeks. “Don’t talk like that,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest moment like he couldn’t bear the weight of you breaking right in front of him.

“Promise me,” he rasped, his voice like gravel, his words breaking apart with the effort it took to say them. “Promise me you’ll go.”

Your chest ached, torn apart by the desperation in his voice, by the way he held you like you were the only thing left in the world. You couldn’t breathe past the tightness in your throat, but somehow, you found the words. Barely.

“I promise,” you whispered, the lie slicing through you like a blade.

Joel stilled, his gaze lingering on you—memorizing you, you realized—until you thought the weight of it might crush you. His eyes were dark, burning with everything he couldn’t say, everything he wouldn’t allow himself to feel. It was more than care. More than duty. It was him, all of him, tangled up in that look like a confession carved into silence.

He pulled back just enough to let you go, his hands dropping away with a slowness that made your heart seize. It felt wrong, like he’d taken something with him when he stepped back.

And then, without another word, he turned. His shoulders squared, his rifle steady, every step deliberate and heavy as he moved toward the basement door. He looked invincible, unshakable, a fortress built to protect—but you saw it. You saw the way his steps faltered, just slightly, right before he disappeared from view.

It was so small, so fleeting, but you caught it—the hesitation. The doubt.

And when he was gone, swallowed by the dark, you were left with nothing but the sound of your pulse pounding in your ears, the echo of his voice, and the truth you couldn’t ignore

You’d made him a promise.

But you already knew you’d break it.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

You stood frozen, your weapon clutched so tightly your knuckles ached, staring at the empty space where Joel had been just moments ago. Your breath hitched as your chest caved inward, a frustrated whisper escaping you before you could stop it. “Fuck,” you murmured, wiping the tear that streaked down your cheek.

The silence that followed was suffocating—thick, heavy, pressing against your skin until you felt like it might crush you.

You strained to hear something—anything—beyond the shallow rhythm of your breathing. A voice, the creak of a floorboard, the sharp crack of a rifle.

But there was nothing.

You trusted him. God, you trusted him. Joel was the sharpest, most capable man you’d ever known, his movements precise, his instincts lethal. If anyone could handle this—three men, armed, their voices dripping with cruelty—it was him. But trust didn’t stop the fear.

Your mind spiraled, unbidden. Joel alone in that basement, the shadows creeping too close. Joel outnumbered, surrounded. The scarred man’s knife glinting in the flickering lantern light. Joel going down, because you—because you—

No. You shook your head sharply, forcing the thought back. Joel had told you to stay. Had made you promise. You clung to the memory of his hands on your face, his words—steady, pleading—cutting through the fear like a tether.

“Stay here.”

And then it began.

The first shot shattered the silence like glass, the sound so sharp it felt like it had punched straight through your chest. You sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing your eyes shut as your mind filled in the image: Joel, calm, unflinching, taking the first man out with lethal precision.

Then came the shouting, frantic and chaotic, movement as they realized they weren’t alone. The second shot cracked through the air, echoing with brutal finality, followed by the clang of metal hitting concrete. A rifle? A knife? You didn’t know. Another one down.

Joel was fast. He was sharp. He was—

But then the rhythm changed.

The sounds turned messier, louder. Boots scraping. A grunt—low, pained. The thud of bodies colliding, struggling. Your blood ran cold. Every nerve in your body tensed as you heard it: Joel’s voice. A noise that was undeniably him—guttural, strained, torn from somewhere deep.

Stay here. Joel’s voice echoed in your head, the quiet plea from earlier ringing like a hammer against your skull. You owed him this. He’d trusted you with this. You’d promised.

But that sound—his sound—kept replaying in your head, pulling tighter around your throat, suffocating you. Joel was down there. Fighting. Alone. And you were here. Frozen.

No. Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, instinct screaming louder than any promise you’d made.

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t stay here while he fought for his life. If something happened to him—if you let something happen to him—you wouldn’t survive it.

The old stairs creaked under your weight as you descended, slow at first, your boots deliberate against the wood. But then your pace quickened, reckless and raw, urgency pushing you faster than reason could hold you back. Each sound below sharpened with terrifying clarity as you drew closer: the crash of something breaking, the thud of heavy footsteps, the ragged cadence of Joel’s breathing.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you flattened yourself against the wall, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. The cold concrete pressed hard against your back, grounding you even as your mind screamed at you to move, to act. Slowly, you edged around the corner, just enough to see—and the sight that met you stopped your heart cold.

Joel was locked in a brutal, desperate struggle with Tom, the leader. The raider’s knife gleamed wickedly in the dim lantern light, a wicked arc of steel that seemed to catch the room’s shadows and pull them with it. Tom lunged, his aim sharp and merciless, the blade slicing toward Joel’s ribs. Joel twisted at the last second, his hand snapping out like a vice to clamp around Tom’s wrist, halting the strike before it could land.

The two of them slammed into the wall with a thud that reverberated through the basement, bodies straining, muscles coiled like springs ready to snap. Joel deflected the knife again, his forearm cracking hard against Tom’s, the impact loud and jarring. But Tom was quick—too quick—and he broke free with a snarl, his lip curled into something vicious and ugly.

“Come on, old man,” Tom taunted, his voice drenched in mockery, his grin sharp and mean. “What’s the matter? Can’t keep up?”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His focus was absolute, his movements deliberate, honed by years of surviving men just like this. But you could see the wear creeping in—the slight falter in his step, the way his breath came shorter, sharper. The next swing of the knife was too quick, too cruel. It slashed across Joel’s side, the tear of fabric punctuated by a sickening bloom of red that spread dark and fast against his jacket.

Your breath caught in your throat, the sound choked and ragged as you saw him stumble back a step. Joel grunted, the pain flashing across his face before he swallowed it down, straightening with that same unrelenting resolve. But the blood—his blood—dripping onto the floor sent a bolt of panic through you, sharp enough to shatter any instinct to stay hidden.

“Joel!” The word tore from your lips, loud and unrestrained, a burst of desperation you couldn’t hold back.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in shock—“No!” he barked, his voice hoarse—but the warning came too late.

Tom’s grin twisted into something crueler, something darker, as his gaze swung to you. “Well, look at this,” he sneered, his knife glinting as he straightened. “Didn’t know you brought a partner. Real sweet.”

He moved fast—too fast. Before you could blink, he was closing the distance, the blade flashing as he lunged. You fired, the crack of the shot splitting the air like a whip, but it was too close, too rushed. The bullet skidded off the concrete near his feet, sending up a burst of dust but leaving him unharmed.

“Too slow,” Tom hissed, and then the knife was slashing toward you.

Pain ripped through you, hot and searing as the blade bit into your thigh. You gasped, stumbling back, your vision blurring slightly at the edges.

But you didn’t let go. Your grip on your rifle tightened, and with every ounce of strength you had left, you swung it hard. The butt of the weapon crashed into his shoulder with a dull, heavy thud, the force of it making him stagger to the side.

But he recovered too quickly, his movements fueled by something feral and unrelenting. His eyes found yours again, narrowed with ruthless intent. He came at you once more, his steps predatory, the knife gleaming red.

You didn’t hesitate this time.

You steadied your breath, your hands trembling but sure as you raised the rifle again. Time slowed as you lined up the shot, Joel’s warning, the chaos, the fear—all of it fading into the steady pull of your finger on the trigger.

The shot rang out, louder than thunder in the small space, and Tom jerked back, the force of it ripping through him. The knife slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor as his body crumpled. His eyes were still open, vacant and unseeing, as he slumped against the concrete.

The silence that followed was deafening.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

Silence stretched thin, broken only by the ragged, uneven gasps tearing from your chest, the weapon still trembling in your hands. The sharp sting of the cut on your thigh barely registered, drowned out by the aftershocks of adrenaline flooding your veins. You sank against the wall, its cold, unyielding surface pressing into your back like an anchor, keeping you upright when your body felt like it might fall apart.

Across the room, Joel cursed—a low, guttural sound, tight with pain and something darker. When he moved, his steps were heavy, deliberate, like he was holding himself back, like he didn’t trust himself to close the distance without breaking something.

When he finally stopped in front of you, the air itself seemed to coil tighter, pressing down on your chest until it was impossible to breathe.

You looked up, your stomach twisting as his dark eyes locked onto yours. The weight of his gaze hit you like a physical blow, heavy and unrelenting, and you couldn’t stop the small flinch that followed.

“What did I tell you?” he bit out, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “What did I make you promise me?”

Your back hit the wall as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Joel—”

“No,” he snapped, cutting you off. His palm slammed against the wall behind you, the sharp crack ringing out and making you flinch. “You don’t get to talk right now.”

The anger in his voice was volcanic, but there was something else beneath it—a crack, a tremor, something raw that made it hit twice as hard. He bent down so he was eye-level, his face inches from yours. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might break, his dark eyes burning into yours with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine.

“You promised me,” he ground out, his voice shaking now. “I said don’t come down here. I said no matter what you heard—no matter what, you stay put.” His voice cracked on the last word, his brow furrowing like it was taking everything in him not to lose control. “Why is that so goddamn hard for you to understand?""

Your jaw tightened, the tears that had been burning in your eyes threatening to spill over. The knot of fear and frustration that had been choking you since this all started finally snapped, the words tearing out of you before you could stop them. “Joel, he would’ve killed you!”

“I don’t care!” Joel roared, the sound like thunder in the small, suffocating room, shaking the air between you. His voice wasn’t just loud—it was broken, raw, splintered with something too jagged to contain.

The sheer force of it made you flinch, but not because it scared you. It was what you heard in it—his anguish, his desperation, all of it bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his breaths ragged and hard, like the words had been ripped from someplace deep and untouchable. “Do you hear me? I don’t care!”

“Well, I care!” you screamed back, your voice cracking under the weight of it all as the tears finally spilled free, hot and relentless. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping what poured out now, no holding back what had clawed its way to the surface.

“I care, Joel! You think no one does? You think no one gives a damn what happens to you? I fucking care!”

The last words hit like a gunshot, reverberating through the space, leaving the air thick and choking.

Joel stilled, like you’d physically struck him, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of what you’d said. The fire in his eyes dimmed—just a little—but something else flickered there, something darker and heavier. Guilt. Regret. Maybe even shame.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless and uncertain, like he didn’t know what to do with the emotions you’d unleashed in him. His lips parted slightly, like he was searching for something to say, something to give back to you, but nothing came. His face softened in the slightest way, his fury tempered by the truth you’d thrown at him, but it was still too raw—you were still too raw—for either of you to move past it.

The silence between you pulsed like a heartbeat, heavy and unrelenting, until you swallowed hard, forcing down the sob lodged in your throat. Your voice trembled but carried a quiet, cutting edge as you pressed on. “And you—you—promised me.”

Before he could stop you—before you could stop yourself—you reached for him, your fingers curling around the edge of his coat. “You promised me nothing would happen to you,” you said, quieter now but no less fierce, no less shattering.

The torn fabric gave way easily as you pushed it aside, revealing the steady seep of blood from the shallow cut along his side. Your hands trembled as you let the coat drop, the image of the blood burned into you.

“So let’s just call it even,” you said finally, your voice small but heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only came after fear. You sank back against the wall, your head falling back to rest against the rough wood as you squeezed your eyes shut, like shutting out the world might hold you together for just a moment longer.

Joel’s gaze flicked down to the blood staining your jeans, the dark patch spreading too quickly for his liking. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and he let out a sharp, uneven breath through his nose—like he was trying to hold something back, something he didn’t trust himself to let out.

His hands hovered near your thigh, close but not quite touching, his fingers twitching at his sides. They curled and uncurled, restless and aching, as if he were caught in some invisible war with himself.

“You’re hurt,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, quieter now, like speaking it out loud might make the wound worse. He wasn’t looking at you—he was staring at the blood, his expression so tight it looked painful.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” The last part was barely above a whisper, more to himself than to you, as though he couldn’t reconcile it—like the fact that you were bleeding was something he couldn’t forgive.

“It’s just a graze,” you replied quickly, your tone sharper than you intended. It wasn’t just dismissive—it was defensive, a knee-jerk reaction to the way he was looking at you. Like the blood on your leg was his fault, like it was a wound he’d put there himself. “Joel, I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

But Joel didn’t look fine.

His dark eyes stayed locked on the stain spreading across your jeans, heavy and unrelenting, as though he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t anger in his gaze now—it was something else. Guilt.

“That don’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low, gruff, but you could hear it—feel it—just beneath the surface. He wasn’t angry at you. He was blaming himself. “It don’t matter if it’s a graze or worse. I shouldn’t’ve let it happen.”

Joel crouched, pulling his knife free and slicing through the hem of his shirt without hesitation. “Hold still,” he said, pressing the clean fabric to your leg, his hands firm but careful.

He wrapped the strip tightly around the wound, securing it with a knot. His fingers lingered briefly, checking the tension before he leaned back, his sharp eyes scanning your leg.

“This’ll hold for now,” he murmured, quieter this time. “We’re goin’ to the safe house,” his voice dropping into that tone that left no room for argument. Commanding, but not unkind.

You tried to push yourself upright, to stand on your own, but your legs betrayed you, shaky from adrenaline and exhaustion. Joel was there immediately, his arms slipping around you with the kind of ease that made you think he hadn’t even considered letting you fall. One arm looped around your waist, steady and unyielding, while his other hand hovered near your shoulder, ready to catch you if you wavered.

“Easy,” Joel murmured, his voice softer now, though the crease between his brows stayed etched deep, carved by worry so heavy it made your chest tighten.

You let your eyes drift around the room then, your breath hitching as the scene unfolded in jagged snapshots: the lifeless bodies, the chaos Joel had waded through alone. Your heart clenched, a surge of guilt and helplessness rising in your throat.

“Don’t look,” he said, his voice a quiet command, his tone gruff but layered with something protective. It wasn’t just the violence he was shielding you from—it was the truth of it all, the weight of what survival demanded.

Your knees wavered, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him—more than you wanted to, more than you meant to. But Joel didn’t stiffen, didn’t flinch. You turned to him, burying your face against his shoulder, your sobs spilling out in jagged waves you couldn’t control.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here,” Joel murmured, his voice rough but low, steady, the kind of sound that wrapped around you like a shield. His hand slid up to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair, grounding you with every careful touch.

You pulled back reluctantly, tears streaking your cheeks, your chest tight with the vulnerability you hated showing. You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen, voice breaking as you asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Joel froze. It was barely a second—a hesitation so fleeting you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching so closely. But his hands betrayed him, his grip on you tightening just a fraction, grounding himself as much as you. He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw working, chest rising and falling with an uneven rhythm. The question had shaken him; you could see it in the way his eyes flickered away for just a moment, like he needed time to collect himself.

“You’re mad,” you said again, your voice trembling, words spilling out unbidden, raw and unsteady. “Aren’t you?”

That pulled his gaze back to yours. His eyes—sharp, searching—locked onto you, and you braced for it. The anger. The storm. The hard words that would push you away.

But they didn’t come.

“No,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I ain’t mad at you.” The words hung in the air, weighted with a sincerity that made your heart squeeze. He hesitated again, his thumb brushing the edge of your jacket, the touch so light you weren’t sure it was real. “Could never be mad at you.”

Joel’s hand lingered a moment longer, his fingers twitching like he might reach up, like he might cup your face and hold you still, make you look at him, make you understand. But instead, he pulled back, his hand curling briefly into a fist at his side, as if he had to physically stop himself from touching you.

Joel nodded once, a sharp, subtle motion, like he was giving himself permission to believe you.

With a quiet sigh, Joel shifted, pulling you closer against his side, his movements gentle but decisive as he helped you toward the stairs.

You let him, your body too tired and your heart too heavy to argue.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The ride to the safe house was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy—thick with all the words neither of you could bring yourselves to say. The rhythmic crunch of hooves against the dirt road was the only sound that filled the space between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Every few minutes, Joel glanced back over his shoulder, his brow furrowed deep, his expression hard to read but unmistakably Joel. Protective. Unrelenting.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Joel, you’re gonna break your damn neck,” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness, sharp enough to make him slow.

“Ride beside me,” he said, his voice gruff but steady. It was a command, sure, but you heard the care threaded beneath it.

You sighed, nudging Winnie forward until you were riding alongside him. Joel’s horse matched your pace easily, the two of you falling into a quiet rhythm together. He didn’t say anything right away, but his eyes drifted over you again, scanning you from head to toe with that maddening focus of his—like he was trying to convince himself you were still in one piece, like he could find a hidden injury just by looking hard enough.

“How’s your leg?” Joel asked after a long beat, his voice softer this time, the edge of his usual gruffness dulled by something heavier—something tender.

“Fine,” you replied quickly, maybe too quickly. You sat straighter in the saddle, biting back the wince that wanted to pull at your features. The throbbing beneath the bandage hadn’t eased, but you weren’t about to let him see it.

Joel’s jaw worked tight, his fingers flexing briefly around the reins, knuckles pale. He didn’t look convinced, though he held himself back, his voice dipping low as he muttered, “Should’ve stayed put.” The words came out soft, almost defeated, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You didn’t need to come down there.”

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Are we really gonna do this again?”

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes lingered on yours, then followed your gaze as it drifted to the dark stain where his blood had seeped into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m fine,” he said when he caught you looking. The words were clipped, dismissive, like brushing it off might make it disappear entirely.

“Sure,” you replied, raising a brow, the disbelief clear in your voice. “You’re bleeding, but you’re fine.”

Joel let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, frustration mingled with something else—resignation, maybe.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered.

“So have I,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The safe house was as bleak as you expected: four walls, a fireplace barely clinging to life, and a draft that made your skin prickle.

It didn’t matter. It was shelter. It would keep you alive tonight.

Joel gritted his teeth as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a wobbly chair. His rifle clattered softly onto the worn table nearby, within arm’s reach, always within reach.

The room seemed smaller with him in it, his broad frame commanding the space even as he knelt by the fireplace. You could hear the low rumble of his voice—soft, agitated muttering—lost beneath the crackle of kindling catching flame.

You sank onto the faded couch, its springs groaning beneath you as your body gave way to exhaustion. The pull of sleep was strong, the ache in your leg reduced to a dull throb—manageable, but not forgotten.

You let your head tilt back against the threadbare cushions, your eyes slipping closed for what felt like the first time in hours. The warmth of the fire began to spread, chasing the cold from the air and unraveling some of the tension from your limbs.

“Let me see that leg.”

You blinked, the haze of near-sleep lifting as you tilted your head toward him. He was standing there, bottle of alcohol in one hand, a roll of bandages in the other.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, a groan escaping him as he set the supplies on the dusty coffee table with a deliberate thud, the sound cutting through the silence. He didn’t look at you, his attention fixed on unrolling the bandages, his movements methodical.

“Didn’t ask if it was fine,” he muttered.

His hands were steady and deliberate as he reached for your leg, lifting it with a care that felt almost out of place against his usual rough exterior. He settled it across his lap, his touch firm but gentle.

Joel didn’t say anything as he began peeling back the bloodied makeshift bandage he'd tied earlier. The fabric clung stubbornly to the dried blood, and when the wound was finally revealed, he let out a low, rough sound in the back of his throat—a noise caught somewhere between relief and disapproval.

“Could’ve been worse,” he muttered, shaking his head, his fingers hovering near the edge of the gash but never quite touching. His voice dropped lower, as though he were speaking more to himself. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said softly, your voice catching as you tried to wave him off.

“Don’t.” His voice was low, rough, but not unkind. “Don’t act like this ain’t a big deal.”

Joel shifted, pouring alcohol onto a scrap of cloth, and the sharp scent of it filled the small room. When he pressed it to your leg, the sting came quick, searing and unforgiving. You sucked in a breath through your teeth, your fingers curling tightly into the worn fabric of the couch.

“Shit,�� you hissed, the curse slipping out before you could stop it.

“Easy,” Joel muttered, his voice dipping softer, gentler now in a way that made something catch in your chest. “I know it stings. Just—” He paused, his hands steadying your leg, his thumb brushing absently against your skin. “Just stay still. I’ve got it.”

It was such a small thing—his touch. Thoughtless and unintentional, but it lingered, warm against the ache spreading through you, grounding you in a way that made your breath hitch. Joel didn’t notice; he was too focused, his brow furrowed with that familiar look of concentration, like the world could burn down around him and he’d still finish what he started. But that only made it worse. Or maybe it made it better. You weren’t sure which.

“You don’t have to fuss, Joel,” you said finally.

“Yeah, I do,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “S’my job.”

“Your job?” you echoed, raising a brow in faint disbelief. “Don’t remember signing a contract for that.”

That earned you a huff from Joel—a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t buried beneath layers of frustration and weariness.

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, just barely. “You’re a fuckin' smart-ass,” he muttered, the words gruff but not unkind, and there was something almost fond threaded through the irritation, like he couldn’t help himself.

Joel’s hands slowed as he secured the bandage, his touch careful, deliberate, but heavy with exhaustion. When he finished, he leaned back with a quiet sigh, the sound deep and tired, like it carried the weight of more than just today.

He didn’t move your leg from where it rested across his lap. He didn’t push you away. So you left it there. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded patterns against the fabric of your jeans, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“Even though you didn’t listen to me…” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, trailing off into a sigh. His hand scrubbed over his face, and when he dropped it, the lines of his features seemed deeper, etched with something too raw to name. “Never fuckin’ listen,” he added under his breath, but the edge in his tone was missing.

He turned his head to look at you then, “You did good back there,” he said, “Real good.”

Your throat tightened, and you dropped your gaze, your hands fumbling aimlessly at the hem of your shirt. “That was…” you started, but the words faltered, catching in your throat before you could finish.

“What?” Joel asked, his voice soft but firm, laced with that quiet insistence of his—the one that made it impossible to hide. His brow furrowed as he studied you, his sharp gaze narrowing like he could see right through you. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you lied, the words slipping out too quickly, too softly to sound convincing. You didn’t dare meet his eyes, instead leaning forward, focusing on the task at hand.

Your fingers busied themselves with his jacket, brushing aside the torn fabric and smudges of dried blood as you dabbed gently at the wound. The quiet scrape of the cloth against his skin filled the silence, and you hoped—foolishly—that the distraction might be enough to make him drop it. But the weight of his gaze lingered, steady and unyielding, like he could see right through you.

It wasn’t.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice broke through the silence, low and steady, the sound grounding in a way that made your heart stutter. His hands moved to your wrist, his grip firm but careful, stilling your movements with the gentlest pressure.

The warmth of his skin against yours made your breath catch, and you froze, your eyes locked on where his fingers wrapped around your own. He didn’t let go. He didn’t move. “Look at me,” he said softly.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice impossibly gentle.

“That was really fucking scary,” you whispered, barely able to force the admission past your lips.

Your eyes dropped immediately, your hands twisting nervously in your lap as you added, quieter still, “I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

You braced yourself for the gruff dismissal that always seemed to follow moments like this—Joel waving off fear like it wasn’t worth the air it took to name it. But instead, he stayed quiet, so quiet you thought for a moment he hadn’t heard you.

“Yeah,” Joel said softly, “It was scary.”

Your head snapped up at the admission, your breath catching in your chest. You weren’t sure what you’d expected—an argument, a dismissal, maybe even some clipped comment about how it was all fine now. But there was none of that. Joel’s expression was open in a way that made your heart ache, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen, the firelight painting the lines of his face with hues of gold and shadow.

He dragged a hand slowly over his face, the gesture weighted, as if trying to erase the tension coiling in his jaw. When he finally spoke again, it was quieter, rougher. “Ain’t no shame in bein’ scared.” He paused, his gaze flickering to yours, dark and steady, like he was trying to hold you there with just his eyes. “That kinda thing…” His voice dipped lower, softer, as if the admission was meant just for you. “It should scare you.”

You nodded faintly, unable to form words, though your lips parted like you wanted to say something—anything. But Joel wasn’t done.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, the bluntness of it landing like a blow. It was unpolished, unfiltered, and so distinctly him that it made your throat tighten. He shook his head, his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more of a grimace. “When I saw your dumb ass comin’ down those stairs…”

You let out a shaky laugh—small, unsteady, but real. “My dumb ass?” you repeated, the words trembling on the edge of humor but not quite making it there. “That’s how you’re gonna put it?”

“Seriously,” he murmured, and the laughter fell away completely. . “You scared me.”

The words hit harder the second time, because you could hear everything he wasn’t saying in the way his voice cracked, just barely, on the last syllable. And when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the exhaustion, the vulnerability, the unspoken weight of how close you’d come to losing each other. It wasn’t just his usual guardedness—it was fear. Real, bone-deep fear.

“I’m not scared for myself,” Joel admitted, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His hands curled into loose fists, his knuckles pale, like he needed to hold on to something solid just to say it out loud. “I’m scared for you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession sinking into you like a stone. “Scared one day I won’t be there,” he continued, his voice rougher now, like the words were being dragged out of him. “Or I’ll be too slow. Or someone’ll slip past my bad ear.”

“And as much as I’m still pissed off that you didn’t listen to me…” he started, the gruff edge of his voice undercut by the quiet, worn-out softness beneath it.

“…you saved my life back there.”

“Joel—” you whispered, your voice cracking, but he shook his head, cutting you off with a small, quiet movement.

“No,” he said softly, his voice low and rough but impossibly steady. “Don’t.” He swallowed, his jaw clenching faintly before he spoke again. “Not right now.”

His gaze stayed on you, unwavering, searching, like he was trying to commit you to memory, as if even blinking might make you disappear.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he murmured, his tone dropping even lower, the rasp of it pulling at something deep inside you. “You don’t even know.”

Joel wasn’t a man who admitted his fear. He buried it, pushed it down, locked it away behind walls of steel and silence. But right now, he wasn’t hiding anything. Not from you. Not in this moment.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for a long moment, the world outside the safe house ceased to exist. There was no fire crackling softly behind him, no distant wind howling against the windows—there was only him, his hand on your leg, his eyes on yours, and the quiet, unspoken truth settling between you like a promise.

The tension was too much—thick and heavy, pulling at your resolve until a teasing grin tugged at your lips, breaking the silence like a spark cutting through the dark. “So,” you started, “since I saved your life, you kinda owe me, huh?”

Joel’s lips twitched, and for a moment, you thought he might brush it off, might retreat behind that stoic wall he wore like armor. But then it happened—a soft chuckle, low and warm, rolling through the room like a balm against the weight lingering between you. He shook his head faintly, his hand still resting on your leg as he squeezed it slightly. “That so?” he drawled, his voice rough around the edges, but tinged with something lighter, softer.

You nodded, settling back against the couch with mock seriousness, exaggerating the lift of your chin as you pressed on. “Mm-hmm. Now you’ve gotta do whatever I ask,” you said, letting the teasing lilt in your voice linger just a little longer than necessary. “You know, since I saved your life and all.”

Joel huffed softly, shaking his head again, but there it was—the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, a shadow of a grin. It was barely there, so fleeting you almost missed it, but it made something flutter low in your chest all the same. When his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, the firelight catching just enough to make them gleam, the teasing warmth you’d tried to ignite wavered. His gaze softened, though it didn’t lose its intensity, and you felt yourself sink under it, your breath hitching without permission.

“Thing is,” Joel said finally, his voice dipping low—low enough to send heat curling through your ribs, low enough that it felt like a secret meant just for you—“I’d already do whatever you asked.”

The words landed like a fist to your chest, knocking the air clean out of you. Your teasing smile faltered, disappearing entirely as the meaning of what he’d just said settled in. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t playing along. He meant it.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath, like they’d escaped before he could stop them. He shook his head, his voice low and rough, cutting through the quiet with the sharp precision of a blade.

Before you could respond, Joel exhaled hard, the sound tight, his chest lifting as if the next words were being torn from somewhere deep inside him.

“I’d die for you.”

The words sat there, heavy and unshakable, like they couldn’t be taken back. Joel wasn’t flippant—he never was—but this? This was something else entirely. It wasn’t said for comfort, wasn’t offered as reassurance. It was fact. Truth. Something that lived in him, unspoken until now, but so deeply woven into who he was that you couldn’t tear it out if you tried.

Your breath left you, a shaky exhale as you stared at him, unmoored and speechless. Your throat felt tight, the weight of his confession pressing against your chest until it ached.

Joel watched you, his dark eyes softening, as though he could see the effect of what he’d said written plain as day on your face. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression knocked you off balance all over again—like he wasn’t just offering the truth but handing it to you, placing it in your trembling hands, hoping you wouldn’t drop it.

Joel straightened slightly, breaking just enough of the tension to let you breathe. His gaze dropped to the floor as he gently moved your leg from his lap and stood, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Alright,” he said, the word clipped, as if he’d said too much, come too close to showing what he really felt. His tone dipped back into practicality, trying to mask the faint, unsteady edge that lingered, betraying him.

“You need rest,” he added, his voice quieter but firm. “I’ll take watch. We leave first thing.”

You frowned faintly, the heaviness still wrapped around you like a second skin. “You’re tired,” you said softly, trying to thread some sense of concern through the tension. Your voice barely rose above a whisper, like the fire’s quiet crackle might drown it out. “You need sleep too, Joel. I’ll take watch.”

He was already shaking his head, firm and unyielding, before you’d finished speaking. “No,” he said, the word final, resolute in a way that told you arguing was pointless.

“Sleep,” he murmured, the word gentler this time, almost like a plea.

“I need you to rest.”

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The next day, you stayed home, cocooned in your little room. Normally, on your days off, you’d wander around Jackson, soak in the closest thing to normal life you might ever get again—listen to the kids laughing on the street, visit the stables, maybe stop by the tipsy bison and sit in the comforting buzz of other people’s voices. But after your yesterday, the thought of stepping outside felt overwhelming.

The weight of what could’ve gone wrong sat heavy in your chest. One misstep, one second slower, and Joel might not be here. You might not be here. That thought had rooted itself somewhere deep, growing heavier with every passing hour until it felt impossible to leave the bed.

So you didn’t. The hours passed in a haze of restless sleep, your aching muscles sinking deeper into the mattress every time you tried to drift off.

It wasn’t until a sharp, abrupt knock at your door broke through the fog that you stirred, groaning softly as you forced yourself to sit up.

You shuffled around the room, pulling on a pair of pants and the cleanest top you could find before dragging your hair back into something that vaguely resembled order. Anything to look a little less like you’d spent the day wallowing.

“Coming,” you muttered, your voice hoarse as you padded toward the door. You caught a glance at the clock in the hallway. 7:30 p.m. What the hell?

When you opened the door, you blinked in surprise. Joel stood there, his broad frame filling, he was holding a neat pile of firewood, the lines of his face unreadable as ever but his presence unmistakable, grounding.

“Joel?” you said, your voice caught somewhere between confusion and something you didn’t want to name. “What are you doing here?”

Joel tilted his head toward the firewood. “Brought you some extra,” he said simply, his tone casual, like he’d just happened to pass by. Then his eyes flicked back to you, lingering a beat too long as they swept over you, taking in the slump of your shoulders, the faint tiredness in your face. “Was gonna leave it, but…” He shifted slightly, his boots scuffing against the wood floor. “Figured I’d check up on ya.”

You forced a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as you leaned against the doorframe. “That’s… sweet. I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, I guess.”

He nodded once, though his expression stayed skeptical, like he wasn’t quite convinced. “You eat yet?” he asked abruptly, his tone clipped but not unkind.

You blinked, thrown off by the question. “No,” you admitted, maybe too quickly.

Joel’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “You plannin’ on it, or just gonna starve?”

“Joel,” you groaned, exasperated, but before you could finish, he was already stepping inside, brushing past you and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Hey!” you called after him, your voice rising in disbelief as you turned to follow. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” he muttered, the words gruff and final, like they left no room for argument. He rolled up his sleeves as he opened one of your cabinets, pulling out pots and pans with an ease that suggested he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Why?” you asked, baffled, hovering uselessly near the door as you watched him root around your kitchen.

Joel paused, his hand braced on the counter, turning just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His gaze was sharp, a little too knowing, and it pinned you in place. “Because you don’t eat,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, quieter, with a subtle edge of irritation he didn’t bother masking, “And you wonder why you’re tired all the time.”

He turned back to the counter, resuming his task, but not before adding, almost as an afterthought, “And I promised you yesterday I’d make you dinner.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Fine,” you said, your tone clipped as you turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to go shower.”

But as you reached the bottom step, an idea sprung to mind, and before you could think twice, the words tumbled out. “Can you make pancakes?” you blurted, your grin already forming.

Joel’s brows lifted, his expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Pancakes? For dinner?”

“Yeah,” you said, unfazed, the prospect of pancakes more exciting than his skepticism. You didn’t catch the way his eyes darted toward the pantry or how he muttered under his breath, “Baby, I don’t think you even got the stuff for pancakes.”

“What?” you called, already halfway up the stairs, a skip in your step like you’d already decided it was happening.

Joel shook his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “God help me” as he crossed to the fridge, pulling it open with a sigh. You could almost hear him grumbling, counting the odds that there’d be eggs or flour or anything remotely pancake-adjacent in your kitchen.

From the landing, you glanced down, catching the faint clink of bowls being moved around, the shuffle of Joel’s boots against the floor. “So?” you called, leaning over the railing with a teasing lilt in your voice. “What d’ya say?”

He didn’t look up, but you could hear the smirk in his reply. “Go shower. You’re stalling.”

You sighed dramatically, “Fine,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. “You… figure it out or whatever.”

Joel chuckled low, the sound curling warm in the space between you. “Go on,” he said, flicking his wrist to shoo you off, his voice laced with that familiar gruffness that somehow always felt like home. “Ain’t gonna burn the place down.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips as you turned away. His voice followed you upstairs, the faint sounds of the kitchen already coming alive—clattering pots, the scrape of a knife on a cutting board, all as if he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The bathroom was a quiet refuge, the steady rush of the shower drowning out the noise in your head. You tilted your face up to the water, letting it pour through your hair, down your back, washing away the ache in your muscles and the lingering tension you hadn’t been able to shake.

By the time you’d dried off and tugged on an old sweatshirt and soft, worn sweats, the scents drifting from the kitchen had completely chased away the last of the day’s haze.

Padding downstairs, you were greeted by the faint clink of a spoon against a pot, Joel standing with his back to you at the counter. His sleeves were pushed up, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he worked—familiar, steady, like he’d done this a thousand times.

“Smells good,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet as you pulled out a chair at the table.

Joel turned slightly, his gaze flicking over you—first the clothes, then the damp strands of hair sticking to your cheeks. His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but it softened him all the same. He didn’t say anything at first, just picked up a steaming dish and set it in front of you.

“Eat,” he said simply, like it wasn’t up for debate.

You smiled despite yourself, your lips quirking up as you reached for your spoon. “Yes, sir,” you teased, a playful lilt in your voice as you tilted your head, your eyes flicking to the plate. The corners of your mouth tugged higher as you raised an amused brow. “This doesn’t look like pancakes.”

Joel scoffed, his brow raising just enough to make the gesture feel pointed. “If you’re gonna complain, I can take it back,” he said, his hand moving to grab your plate with mock seriousness.

“Hey!” you yelped, smacking his hand lightly, your grin widening despite the way you tried to keep it in check. “I’m joking, geez. Don’t you dare.”

Satisfied, Joel settled back into his chair, his own plate sat untouched in front of him, but his focus wasn’t on the food. His gaze lingered, steady and intent, watching you as you took another bite.

“You’re like…” You paused, swallowing down a bite before gesturing vaguely at your plate. “The stew king.”

Joel’s spoon froze midair, his brows knitting together as he shot you a skeptical look. “What now?”

You grinned, shrugging one shoulder like it was obvious. “The stew king. This is the best stew I’ve had since—well, probably forever. Better than the shit they serve in the dining hall, that’s for damn sure.”

Joel let out a low, exasperated huff, shaking his head. “Didn’t know I was competin’.”

“You’re not,” you said, all matter-of-fact as you shoveled another bite into your mouth. “It’s an uncontested victory.”

He muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch, but you heard the word ridiculous and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest.

Joel stilled. He didn’t look at you—not at first. His hand tightened around his spoon for just a moment, like he was trying to keep himself steady. But then you saw it: the corners of his mouth twitched, a small, quiet smile breaking through despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ducked his head, pretending to focus on his plate, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased, the way his usual guarded edges softened just a little.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

After dinner, you settled on the living room floor, the cool wood grounding you as you leaned back against the edge of the couch. You thought he might leave after dinner, but he didn’t, and that spoke louder than anything he could’ve said. A glass of whiskey sat in your hands, the amber liquid catching the flicker of the fire Joel had just lit.

He sank onto the couch above you with a low groan, the kind of sound that came from tired muscles and too many years spent carrying the weight of the world. Without a word, you passed him his glass, your fingers brushing his as he took it.

Joel nodded in thanks, his grip firm on the glass.

“You full?” he asked after a moment, leaning back into the worn cushions with a sigh, his eyes half-lidded and fixed on the flames licking up from the hearth.

“Stuffed,” you replied, satisfaction curling your lips into a small smile.

“Good.” His voice was low, almost content, a deep hum that vibrated through the quiet. “So… pancakes, huh?”

You turned your head to look at him, caught off guard. A small smile tugged at your lips. “They used to be your favorite or something?” he asked, his tone lighter than usual, almost teasing.

“One of my favorites,” you admitted, resting your glass on the floor beside you. “Pancakes, sushi, pizza—oh, my God, pizza. I miss pizza.”

A low chuckle escaped him, rough but genuine, and the sound caught you by surprise. “You’re easy to please, huh?”

“What was your favorite food?” you countered, curious now, leaning in just slightly.

Joel shrugged, the movement casual but somehow carrying a weight you couldn’t quite name. “Didn’t really have one.”

“Jesus, Joel,” you scoffed, fully turning to face him, an incredulous smile breaking across your face. “Surely there was something.”

He paused, his eyes distant, lingering somewhere in a memory you couldn’t see. “Maybe…” A faint smile curved his lips, faint enough you almost missed it. “Barbecue. Tommy used to drag me to some hole-in-the-wall joint. Meat so good it’d fall off the bone.”

You smiled softly. “That sounds good.”

“It was,” he said, a note of nostalgia creeping into his voice. His expression softened, his gaze warming, but behind it was something heavier, a shadow of loss that never quite left him. “I remember Sarah…”

You froze. He’d mentioned her only once before, and even then, it had felt like he was handing you something delicate, something fragile and sacred. Hearing her name now felt the same—a glimpse into a part of him he kept locked away.

“I remember Sarah,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Tommy and I’d go, and she’d…” He paused, his lips twitching with a faint, bittersweet smile. “She’d have sauce all over her face. Every damn time. Couldn’t eat a rib without wearin’ half of it.”

A smile tugged at your lips, though your chest felt tight. “Sounds like she had good taste.”

“She did,” Joel said, his voice steadier now, though his eyes glimmered with something the firelight couldn’t explain. “Always wanted the biggest plate. Thought she could finish it all.” He shook his head, the smile lingering but faint. “Never could.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing, letting the moment hang between you. It wasn’t a silence that demanded words; it felt sacred, like it would break if you spoke too soon.

Joel glanced at you then, his gaze meeting yours with a flicker of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. “She’d have liked you,” he murmured, so quiet it was almost lost in the crackle of the fire.

The most cherished person in Joel’s life, and he believed she would’ve liked you—it was a thought that wrapped around you, warm and profound, settling in a place you didn’t even realize needed it.

“I think I would have liked her too,” you offered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Joel nodded, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache, before you turned back to the fire, letting its flickering warmth fill the quiet that lingered between you.

You sipped your whiskey, the burn familiar, grounding, as the silence stretched between you. It wasn’t heavy, not at first, just there—the kind of quiet that only existed between two people comfortable enough to not fill the space with words. But then, as if the fire itself drew it out of you, you broke it, your voice soft and thoughtful, eyes still fixed on the shifting orange glow. “I was in bed all day.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, a subtle movement but enough to catch your eye. His gaze shifted down to you, a faint glimmer of teasing in the way his lips almost quirked. “Really? Couldn’t tell,” he said, the dryness of his tone laced with just enough warmth to make it feel light. You knew exactly what he meant—the half-tangled hair, the tired eyes, the oversized sweater that swallowed you whole when you opened the door earlier.

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you took another sip. The corner of your mouth twitched, threatening a smile that you quickly tucked away. “I just… didn’t feel like leaving. Seeing people. Couldn’t do it.”

Joel’s expression shifted, that guarded softness breaking through for just a moment. He didn’t rush to fill the space this time, letting your words hang in the air, safe and untouched. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, steadier, like he’d weighed each word before giving it. “I get it,” he said, the rough edges of his tone smoothed by understanding. “Sometimes you just… need to sit in it.”

He leaned forward slightly, the glass in his hand catching the light as his fingers tightened around it. “I’m sorry if me comin’ by was—”

“No,” you interrupted, the word escaping you with a firmness that surprised even yourself. His brows pulled together slightly, his gaze sharp and searching, but you pushed through, needing him to hear this. “You’re…”

The words caught in your throat, and for a moment, you hated how vulnerable they felt. You hated how much it mattered that he understood, but you couldn’t let it sit there, unsaid.

“You’re the only one who could’ve come by,” you admitted, softer now, but no less certain. Your eyes flicked to his, the weight of his attention steadying you. “I didn’t mind. I needed…”

A pause, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe, but you swallowed past it, your voice quiet but resolute. “I’m glad you did.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you before returning to the fire, the flames reflected in his dark eyes as he spoke, his tone low and deliberate. “You gotta take care of yourself.”

You turned to face him now, drawn by the weight in his voice. He glanced at you, his brow furrowed just slightly. “First thing,” he said, leaning back against the worn cushions, “you gotta start with eatin’ some damn food.”

“I just ate dinner,” you protested, setting your whiskey glass down with an exaggerated huff.

Joel’s gaze slid to you then, steady and unrelenting. “And if I hadn’t come by?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Would you have?”

You blinked, your retort catching in your throat. Damn. He’d clocked you there, and you both knew it. A flicker of something soft and self-deprecating crossed your face as you looked away, your lips twitching. “Well,” you said finally, your voice quieter, “I’ll just have to hope you always come by then.”

Joel shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward before meeting your gaze again, this time holding it with a seriousness that made your chest ache. “I’m not always gonna be around to check in on you,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something that felt like regret. “You gotta promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

The words hung between you, not a demand but a plea, simple and raw. You swallowed, the lump rising again, and nodded. “I’ll try,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not try,” Joel pressed gently. “Promise.”

A weak smile tugged at your lips. “I think we both know we’re not great at keeping promises,” you teased, your voice wavering slightly.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, sharp and unyielding, ignoring the deflection. He searched your face, his gaze cutting through your hesitation until you felt it crack. Without thinking, you nodded again, this time with more conviction.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice firmer now. “I promise.”

Joel nodded, his movements slow and deliberate, before leaning forward to set his whiskey glass on the coffee table. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the curse slipping out low and rough.

His other hand moved to the nape of his neck, his fingers digging into the tight muscle there with practiced ease. His jaw tightened as he twisted his head faintly to one side, a quiet grimace flickering across his face.

“You alright?” The question came instinctively, concern threading through your voice before you could stop it. You set your whiskey aside, shifting onto your knees as you turned to face him more fully.

“Yeah,” Joel muttered, the word clipped but gruff around the edges. He leaned back against the couch again, exhaling a breath long and slow. His hand stayed at the back of his neck, rubbing absently like the ache had been there for days. “Just gettin’ old.”

“Joel,” you pressed gently.

He froze mid-motion, fingers still kneading the back of his neck, his brow furrowing as his dark eyes flicked to yours. For a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to decide whether to give you the truth or deflect it like he so often did.

“Just my back,” he said finally, the words slipping out reluctantly, rough and low as though admitting it made it worse. His fingers stilled for just a second before rubbing over the spot again, his gaze drifting toward the fire. “Probably from pullin’ that damn horse outta the mud the other day… and, well, yesterday.”

Yesterday.

The word landed like a blow, heavier than he intended. Your breath hitched, the memory flashing unbidden across your mind—Joel, pinned and struggling, his face pale with strain, the sound of his ragged breaths tearing through the air. The raw desperation in his eyes as you’d fought to pull him free. You swallowed hard against the ache in your throat, forcing the image back down.

“Hm,” you murmured softly, as though the quiet sound could soothe him as much as yourself. Your eyes drifted over him—the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand lingered over his neck.

You hesitated, the idea flickering faintly in your mind, tentative and uncertain. The fire popped in the silence, embers snapping softly, but the moment stretched, and before you could stop yourself, the words were already tumbling free.

“Well,” you started, fumbling as you sat up straighter, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were to him. “I could, um…” You hesitated, heat blooming in your cheeks as you met his gaze. “I mean… I could maybe… give you a massage?”

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his brows lifting slightly, the expression on his face caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. “A massage?” he echoed, like the word itself was foreign to him.

Your cheeks burned under his stare, but you pushed forward, trying to keep your voice steady even as your hands twisted nervously in your lap. “Yeah,” you said, quieter now but no less resolute. “To help. With your back. Since you’re so…” You paused just long enough to let a teasing smile pull at your lips, hoping it might soften the moment. “Old.”

For a split second, he didn’t react. Then, Joel let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that broke through the tension like a wave crashing onshore. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” he muttered, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe you, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Just offering my services,” you quipped back softly, trying to keep the teasing light, but the truth of it sat heavy in your chest. You wanted to help. You wanted to ease some of the burden he carried, even if it was something as small as this.

The humor faded quickly, though, replaced by something quieter, thicker, as Joel’s expression settled. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than it should have, dark and searching, like he was trying to find the catch in your words—like he didn’t quite believe you could mean it.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quieter now, rougher. “You don’t gotta do that for me,” he said, almost gruff, but there was no bite to it. His hand flexed faintly on his thigh, the tension in his shoulders pulling tighter. “I’m fine.”

“Joel,” you said again, softer this time. You leaned forward just slightly, closing the space between you, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh. The fabric beneath your palm was worn and rough, but his warmth bled through it, steady and grounding. You squeezed gently, almost instinctively, your touch a silent plea.

“Something’s better than nothing,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain, coaxing. “And I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

The words hung in the air, You could see the fight in his eyes as he stilled, his jaw tightening, his gaze narrowing as though he was fighting a mental battle. The warmth of your palm on his thigh, your fingers curling ever so slightly, made his skin hum with a longing he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

His thoughts dipped lower, filthier, no matter how hard he tried to push them away. He imagined those fingers trailing higher, your lips murmuring words he shouldn’t want to hear, your touch unraveling him completely. His breathing hitched, a low, uneven rhythm he couldn’t quite control, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look away before he let the fantasy swallow him whole.

If Joel was a good man—if he was honest, whole, and decent—he’d stand up right now. Put some distance between you. Tell you that this couldn’t happen, that it wasn’t right, that you deserved better than what he had to give.

His eyes betrayed him, sweeping back to you almost involuntarily—quiet, considering—lingering just a moment too long. You were sitting so still, your damp hair framing your face in soft, loose strands that shimmered in the firelight like something out of a dream. The glow caught on your skin, kissed your cheeks, and made you look like you didn’t belong in this world, like you were something holy, something untouchable.

God, you looked like an angel.

And he wanted to ruin you.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick and rough, like he was cursing himself for even considering it, for teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t crave it—didn’t crave you. And now, you were offering it to him, your touch, your care, your everything, on a silver platter.

Who the hell was he to deny you? To deny himself?

“Alright,” he said finally, the word escaping with an exhale, low and reluctant. He cleared his throat, refusing to meet your eyes again. “But only if you’re sure.”

The corner of your mouth lifted into the smallest, most unassuming smile, the kind that made Joel’s heart stumble in his chest before he could pull himself together. “I’m positive,” you said softly.

He sighed again, muttering something about “pushy” under his breath, but there wasn’t any real heat to it. Slowly, with the careful stiffness of someone who didn’t trust their own body, Joel lowered himself onto the couch, bracing his weight on his arms before settling with his stomach against the cushions.

His broad shoulders shifted as he adjusted, arms folding beneath his head. The soft creak of the couch was the only sound for a moment, punctuated by the faint hiss of Joel’s breath as his body sank into the cushions.

You stood up and hovered for a second, nerves buzzing beneath your skin as you watched him settle in. Then, without meaning to, you spoke—your voice cutting through the quiet. “Wait.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, his face half-turned into the cushion. “What?” he asked, his voice muffled but carrying that familiar edge of impatience.

You froze under his gaze, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, your courage faltering under the weight of what you wanted to say. “Would you… can you… if you don’t mind—” The words tangled on your tongue, awkward and shaky, and you cursed yourself for not just spitting it out.

Joel shifted, turning his head enough to look at you with a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “What’re you mumblin’ about?” he grumbled, his brows furrowed as his dark eyes scanned your face.

You exhaled sharply, steeling yourself. Just say it.

“Can you… take off your shirt?”

Joel froze.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you—already too small—felt suffocating now. Joel’s back, which had just begun to relax under the promise of your touch, went rigid again.

Slowly, he turned, his shoulders tense as his head tilted just enough for his dark eyes to find yours. His hair was tousled, falling forward in a way that made him look softer, but his expression was anything but. It was unreadable—his brow furrowed, his gaze sharp and searching, as though he was trying to make sense of what he’d just heard.

“What for?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough, cutting through the stillness like gravel underfoot.

Your cheeks burned under the weight of it, of him. “I just—” You swallowed hard, hating how shaky you sounded. “It’s harder with the shirt. I mean, it’d be easier if—” Your hands gestured vaguely toward him, helpless as the words tangled and fell apart.

“Forget it,” you blurted, your voice flimsier than you intended, a weak attempt to recover some semblance of dignity. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.” The words tumbled out too quickly, and you winced internally, wishing desperately you could rewind time. Erase the last thirty seconds, undo the heat climbing up your neck, and take back the way you’d all but unraveled in front of him.

Joel didn’t respond at first, just looked at you. Then he exhaled, a long, quiet breath that sounded both frustrated and resigned. His head dipped slightly, his eyes falling shut for a beat before he muttered, “Christ.”

Without another word, Joel shifted. He pushed himself up just enough to reach for the hem of his shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was giving you time—giving you a chance to stop him. To tell him it wasn’t worth it. To look away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The fabric rasped softly as it peeled away from his skin, loud in the stillness of the room. He tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, his broad shoulders flexing beneath the firelight before he stilled, holding the shirt in his hands like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. For a moment, you thought he might change his mind—might pull it back on—but then he tossed it aside, letting it fall to the floor without ceremony.

He settled back onto the couch, folding his arms beneath his head and turning his face into the crook of his elbow.

You didn’t see the flush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks, the way his jaw tightened with something close to self-consciousness. Joel hadn’t bared himself like this in years—not to anyone, and certainly not to you. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it now. Maybe it was the way you’d looked at him when you asked—so open, so earnest. Or maybe it was something deeper, something he didn’t want to name—the way you’d quietly carved out space for yourself in parts of him he thought had long gone numb.

But even as he lay there, back bare and unguarded, he couldn’t stop the worry gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. What if you saw him differently now? What if you looked at the scars, the weathered skin, the way his body—so strong once—now bore the weight of a lifetime? What if it was too much, and you turned away?

But you weren’t thinking any of that.

You were staring.

Helplessly, shamelessly staring, your breath caught somewhere in your throat as your eyes moved over him, taking in every inch, every detail, every moment of him completely bare before you.

The firelight danced across his skin, casting flickering shadows that seemed to embrace the planes and ridges of his back. It was like watching something sacred, something meant to be admired but never touched—broad, powerful shoulders tapering into the graceful curve of his spine. That line, so achingly perfect, made your stomach twist tight, heat curling low and deep inside you.

Your gaze caught on the scars scattered across his back, each one like a whisper of a story he hadn’t told you. Then your eyes drifted lower, and everything shifted.

There, at the small of his back, where his skin softened, the faint dimples just above the waistband of his jeans made your breath hitch. They were so unexpected, so disarmingly tender, that they hit you like a fist to the chest. Your lips parted as your gaze lingered there, following the curve of his body where denim clung to his hips in a way that made your pulse hammer.

And then you saw it—the faint glimpse of his side where the firelight caught the gentle slope of his stomach, the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

It wasn’t just the sight of him; it was the intimacy of it, the way he seemed so unaware of how devastatingly beautiful he looked in that moment. That single glimpse struck you like a match to gasoline, the heat rushing through your veins so fast it left you lightheaded.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him.

You wanted to press your lips to the curve of his spine, to trace the path of those scars with your tongue, to kiss your way down his chest, his stomach, lower—until there was nowhere left to go.

You wanted to feel the weight of him beneath your hands, the heat of his skin, the way his breath might hitch if you let your lips linger in all the places that were his undoing.

Him. You wanted him. All of him, in every possible way, until nothing else existed.

You wondered what he was like when he came undone— was he loud, or did he keep it all locked inside, biting back every sound, every moan, like he was too proud to let go completely? Did his hands grip the sheets like they might anchor him, or would he let himself give in, surrender to the feeling? The thought made your pulse quicken, your panties growing damp as your imagination ran wild, unrestrained.

You wondered when the last time was that he let himself feel good—really good. When was the last time someone touched him with care, with reverence? Had it been years? Decades?

And then, unbidden, the thought came: Does he think of me?

The question burned through you, igniting something reckless, something needy, that you couldn’t quite smother. Late at night, when the world fell silent and the weight of the day pressed heavy, did his thoughts drift to you? Did he let himself imagine you in those moments when he chased the edge—your hands, your lips, your body guiding him there?

The thought left you breathless, heat flushing through your body as your heart raced. You could almost picture it—his head tipped back, jaw clenched, the firelight catching the sharp lines of his face, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he gave in to thoughts of you.

Your cheeks burned as the images flooded your mind, vivid and unrelenting, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Because the truth was, you didn’t just want him to think of you—you wanted to be there. You wanted to touch him, to make him feel things he hadn’t let himself feel in years. To make him forget everything else, even if it was only for a moment.

God, you wanted him. And you wanted him to want you just as badly.

You wondered if he’d make you wait, if he’d tease you until your breath hitched and your body ached with the need for him. If he’d draw it out on purpose, his voice low and rough as he asked you to say it, to tell him just how much you wanted him. And you knew you’d beg if he wanted you to. You’d let the words fall from your lips, trembling and raw, if it meant he’d touch you the way you craved.

And God, how would he taste? Would his skin taste of salt and heat and Joel, the flavor of him lingering on your tongue like something you could never get enough of? Would his hands tighten in your hair, his breath hitching against your mouth as you kissed him deeper, harder–

“Hope you’re not charging by the minute,” Joel muttered suddenly, his voice muffled against the cushion.

The comment jolted you back to reality, snapping you out of the haze you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen into. You’d been standing there, still as a statue, lost in the illicit fantasy of Joel Miller—of him touching you, holding you, taking you. A rush of heat climbed up your neck, settling in your cheeks as your thoughts scattered into disarray. “Oh,” you stammered, voice higher than you intended. “Right. Sorry.”

Joel huffed softly, the sound more of a low, gravelly exhale than a laugh. He didn’t lift his head, but you noticed it—the faintest movement in his shoulders, the ripple of tension that suggested he wasn’t entirely unaffected by your hesitation.

He stayed there, though. Waiting. Trusting.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to focus, to gather your frayed thoughts and channel them into steadying your hands. You hovered for a moment, brushing lightly over his shoulders, your fingertips barely skimming his skin as you fought to steady your pulse.

God, he was warm. Almost too warm, the faint heat of him seeping into your palms. Your hands began to move again, pressing carefully into the firm muscles beneath your touch. You could feel him—really feel him—the tautness of the knots woven into his shoulders, the quiet strength beneath the surface.

But you weren’t doing a very good job—you could feel it, your hands faltering as you tried to work against the unyielding knots in his shoulders. Your stance was off, your angle awkward, and Joel’s frame was just too much—too solid, too broad, his muscles stubborn beneath your touch like they’d been built for this kind of tension.

You pressed harder, determined, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you focused, but your movements still felt clumsy, too light, like you were trying to push against a wall that wouldn’t budge.

And then Joel’s voice, rough and gruff, snapped you back to reality. “Let me know when you start,” he said, the faint teasing lilt in his tone sending a jolt through you like a live wire.

Your gaze snapped to the back of his head. The nerve of him.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, narrowing your eyes even as your cheeks burned. Your hands pressed back down, firmer this time, your movements more deliberate. “Shut up, Joel.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, a rumbling sound that vibrated through your hands where they touched him, and damn if it didn’t do something to you.

“Just sayin’,” Joel drawled, voice rough and faintly teasing, but there was something beneath it—something that made your pulse skip. “Feels like you’re petting me, not fixin’ me.”

“I know that,” you muttered, frustration threading into your voice as you shifted awkwardly on your feet. You hesitated, your fingers curling into your palms as if anchoring yourself against the words caught on your tongue. “It’s just… the angle. It’s awkward. It’d be easier if…”

Joel shifted, a subtle movement that made your breath catch.

God, why did he have to look so handsome? His face, so rugged and worn by time, somehow managed to soften in the light. His brown eyes, deep and warm, carried a tenderness that cut through the tension like a knife. Puppy-like, almost, but still so distinctly him. And his lips, pink and full, slightly parted like he might say something else—or like he was just waiting for you to close the gap.

“If what, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and slow, the word rolling off his tongue with a warmth that sank straight into your chest.

Darlin’.

Joel Miller didn’t say things like that—not to you, not like this. You were used to the exasperated “kid” when you annoyed him, or maybe the clipped “missy” when you pushed his limits. But this?

The way he said it was enough to make your knees feel weak, enough to send a shiver up your spine that you couldn’t control. Was he trying to kill you? Because it sure as hell felt like it. You could’ve let out a whimper if you weren’t fighting so hard to keep it together, to stop yourself from falling apart under the weight of his gaze and the slow, deliberate cadence of his voice.

Oh God. Now a new wave of thoughts flooded your mind, unbidden and unstoppable. Would he say that again? Would he call you something softer, something sweeter, if you were beneath him, breathless and trembling? Would he murmur baby, sweetheart, darlin’ in that same low, gravelly drawl, his lips brushing against your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he made you his?

The thought sent a flush of heat racing through your body, pooling low in your stomach as your heart pounded in your ears. You couldn’t stop it now, couldn’t stop picturing the way his voice might hitch, rough and wrecked, as he whispered your name like it belonged to him.

Joel’s gaze flickered, and for a moment, you swore he saw right through you. That twitch at the corner of his mouth—barely there but unmistakable—felt like something he was trying to hide. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he’d slipped on purpose, just enough to let you catch a glimpse of what he was keeping locked away.

His voice broke through the haze of your spiraling thoughts, cutting clean and sharp. “You alright there? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, but your voice wavered, too quick, too thin. Your cheeks burned hot, and you cursed yourself for letting your mind wander there again. Were you really that wound up? Had it been so long since you’d felt someone else’s touch that the smallest bit of attention from Joel Miller had you unraveling at the seams?

He tilted his head slightly, studying you, the weight of his stare making your stomach twist. He wasn’t buying it. “What were you sayin’?” he asked, his tone low, steady, but threaded with that edge of authority that left no room for escape. “Finish your sentence.”

You looked away quickly, heat climbing up your neck as your voice stumbled out. “If I could, um… maybe… get on your back?”

The words tumbled into the room, rushed and awkward, like you were trying to rip off a bandage.

Joel stilled. Completely.

His body didn’t move, not even the rise and fall of his chest, like he was processing what you’d just said—every syllable replaying in slow motion. His head turned slightly, enough to catch you in his gaze, one brow lifting so slowly it sent a thrill through you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—steady and intense—made you feel like he was peeling you apart, word by word.

“You wanna…” he started, his voice low, disbelieving, “…straddle me?”

The way he said it—rough, incredulous, and yet tinged with something dangerously close to amusement—made your heart stutter.

“Yes—I mean—it’d just be easier!” you blurted, the words spilling out in a rushed, frantic tumble. “You’re too big for me to—” You flailed a hand at his back, gesturing vaguely, as if it could explain the absurdity of the situation. “It’s just practical, Joel. That’s all.”

Joel blinked at you, deadpan, his face impossibly still except for the faintest twitch of his mouth. “Practical,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue slow and deliberate, like he was testing it out.

And then, he chuckled.

It was low and brief, more of a quiet rumble than a laugh, but it sent a shock straight through you—warm and dangerous, curling low in your stomach like smoke. He turned his head back into the cushion, shaking it faintly like he couldn’t quite believe this conversation.

Your face burned, and you crossed your arms defensively. “Joel,” you groaned, the sound of your exasperation only making him huff out another low, gravelly laugh. “If it’s weird, we don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his voice gruff but steady. “Just go on. Get it over with.”

“Are you sure?” you asked softly, quieter now, your voice uncertain, like you were afraid of pushing him too far.

“I said it’s fine,” Joel muttered, the words clipped and rough, but the faint flush creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him. His face turned further away, burying against the shelter of his folded arms, as if retreating might somehow shield him—from what, you didn’t know. From the moment? From you? But the tips of his ears, dusted pink in the firelight, gave him away, whispering the truth that his gruff exterior wouldn’t allow.

Slowly, carefully, you climbed onto the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him, bracing your hands on his shoulders for balance. The motion was awkward and clumsy.

Joel tensed instantly, every muscle in his broad back coiling tight beneath your hands, like his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee. It wasn’t resistance, not exactly—it was more like instinct, like even now, with you above him, his guard refused to drop completely.

“You alright? I’m not too heavy, am I?” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath, the quiet intimacy of the moment making you afraid to speak louder.

“Heavy?” Joel grunted, his voice rough and low, though his hands flexed briefly against the couch, his grip tightening just enough to make the leather creak faintly beneath him. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice faltering slightly as your fingers hovered uncertainly above his back. “Just… let me know if I hurt you.”

Joel let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Ain’t likely,” he muttered.

You started slow, cautious, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles knotted beneath his skin. Joel didn’t relax—not yet—but as you worked, your touch finding a rhythm, you felt his breaths shift beneath you, deepening just slightly, like he was letting out something he hadn’t realized he was holding.

You pressed your thumbs along the edges of his shoulder blades, tracing the lines of tension there. The silence stretched around you, warm and heavy, the crackle of the fire filling the space where words might’ve been. You let it linger, let it be, your hands working lower along his spine, kneading the hard knots hidden there.

It was intimate, so intimate. The kind of closeness that shouldn’t feel this profound but did. You wanted to press down and kiss his skin, tan and golden from years in the sun, warmed now by the flicker of the firelight.

Slowly, deliberately, Joel was letting go, loosening piece by piece, as if surrendering was a language he’d forgotten how to speak. And maybe it was.

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his voice rough, muffled against the couch cushions. “You’re good at that.”

The compliment hit you like a physical thing, stealing the breath from your lungs. He sounded wrecked already, and you weren’t sure how to handle the way it made you feel—how it set your nerves alight and sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, breathless with the weight of his words. “That feel good?” The question was soft, almost tentative, but there was something else there too—something daring. Like you wanted to see just how far you could take him, how much you could unravel him under your hands.

Joel didn’t answer with words—just a low, drawn-out hum, deep and gravelly, vibrating through his chest and into your hands. The sound felt intimate in a way that made your cheeks burn, your thighs pressing together instinctively as something heavy curled low in your stomach.

Tension coiled in him—not the kind you were kneading away, but something else, something darker, more primal. He shifted subtly, his hips pressing into the cushion as if to ease the ache building there, but you weren’t naïve. You couldn’t stop the flush creeping up your neck, your lip caught between your teeth as you dared to imagine it. Joel Miller, gruff and unshakable, hard under your touch—and it was you who had done that to him.

You imagined how he’d react if your hands dared to drift lower, past the curve of his belly, your fingers slipping beneath the barrier of his waistband to explore the heat waiting there. Would he gasp, sharp and guttural, as your touch made contact? Would his hips lift instinctively, pressing into your hand, his body betraying just how much he wanted this—how much he wanted you?

Your fingers moved carefully, deliberately, tracing the tension along his shoulders and finding a particularly stubborn knot beneath your palms. You pressed deeper, slower, and Joel shifted under you. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, the word rough and guttural, unfiltered in a way that made your stomach twist with want, the ache in your chest spreading like wildfire.

God, you wanted more of that. You wanted to pull more of those sounds from him, to know what they’d feel like when they weren’t muffled against the couch, but pressed against your skin.

Your hands trembled as you pressed into the knot again, harder this time, like you couldn’t stop yourself from testing his limits. Joel groaned, the sound deep and rough, and it sent a ripple of electricity through you, hot and consuming. Your body screamed for relief, the ache so deep it nearly pushed you to grind against his back, consequences be damned. Your breaths were ragged, your chest rising and falling, and the slick heat pooling between your thighs had already soaked through.

“Right there,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less wrecked. The way he said it—low and thick, like the words had been dragged from somewhere deep inside him—made your breath hitch. “Yeah, just like that,” he added, the rasp in his voice laced with something almost dangerous.

“Jesus, Joel,” you murmured under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. But even as the words left your lips, you wondered if it was more a prayer or a curse.

What would his voice sound like if you leaned down and kissed the scar along his shoulder blade, your lips dragging slowly across his skin? If your hands slipped lower, teasing, inviting him to lose control? Would he moan your name, low and ruined, the sound breaking apart as your touch consumed him? Would he groan against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he thrust into you, his words filthy and breathless, begging you to take everything he had to give?

And then you heard it.

“Good girl,” Joel muttered, the words barely audible, low and gravelly, like they’d slipped out unguarded—rough, raw, and utterly devastating.

You froze. Completely.

Your hands stilled where they rested on his back, trembling slightly, and you felt the heat rush up your cheeks, down your neck, down to your aching core in a way that made it impossible to focus.

You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it would sound like if he said it again—what it would feel like if he growled it against your ear, his hands gripping your tits, his breath hot against your skin.

Finally, when you were satisfied with your work—or maybe just too overwhelmed to keep going—you eased off Joel carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you pushed yourself to stand beside the couch.

Joel let out a low, deliberate grunt, his shoulders rolling as he pushed himself upright, his hands gripping the cushions like he needed a moment to steady himself. H

He reached for his shirt, tugging it back on in one swift motion. The fabric stretched over his broad shoulders as he avoided your gaze. His focus stayed fixed somewhere just past you, as though he couldn’t trust himself to look at you directly.

But little did he know, you weren’t meeting his eyes either. Against your better judgment, your eyes betrayed you. They drifted down, hesitant but hungry, until they landed exactly where you knew they shouldn’t.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The worn denim of his jeans was taut, straining against the undeniable evidence of his arousal. There was no mistaking it—the hard outline pressing against the fabric, the way he shifted slightly like he was trying to find relief but didn’t want to make it obvious. Your stomach flipped, heat flooding your cheeks and slick pooling between your thighs as you realized what you’d done to him.

He wanted you.

That knowledge hit you like a freight train—overwhelming, intoxicating, impossible to ignore. You couldn’t look away, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to. The sight of him, hard and straining against his jeans, burned itself into your mind, your heart thundering so loudly in your ears that you almost didn’t hear him clear his throat.

Your breath came faster, your chest heaving as the thought consumed you. You wanted to help him. God, you wanted to. Wanted to take away that tension, to make him feel good in a way you knew he hadn’t let himself in far too long. The idea of his release—of you being the one to give it to him—had your thighs clenching, a needy heat coursing through you.

What would he do if you sank to your knees right now, positioning yourself between his thighs? Would his body tense in shock, his breath catching as he looked down at you, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer? Would he mutter something low and strained, about how this couldn’t happen, how it shouldn’t?

Or would he give in? Would his breath hitch as he whispered your name, rough and almost reverent, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding you with a quiet desperation? Would he let you take control, let you explore him at your own pace, or would he seize it, the tension breaking as he pressed you deeper, showing you exactly what he wanted, exactly how he needed you?

Joel must have noticed the faraway, dazed look in your eyes, the way you lingered in the heavy silence between you both. “Well,” he said finally, his voice quiet and rough, almost hesitant, as though he was testing the waters. “Thanks. That was… that was good.” His hand dragged through his hair, mussing the curls even further.

You forced a small smile, your chest tight and aching as you tucked your hands behind your back, hoping it might steady you somehow. “No problem,” you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. Your eyes flicked to his, and then, almost without thinking, you added, “I like making you feel good.”

The words hung in the air, soft but deliberate, their weight landing squarely between you. Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching audibly as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a sharp gulp.

Fuck, Joel thought. You were making a damn mess of him. He should leave—really leave—go home, take care of the growing ache in his pants, and swear off ever talking to you again. It would be the right thing to do. The smart thing. But, of course, he didn’t.

How could he, when you looked like that? Wide-eyed, red-cheeked, lips slightly parted like you were holding back something that could ruin him completely.

“Did you…” He trailed off, his voice rough and hesitant, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was unsure.

“Did I what?” you asked softly, your tone careful, coaxing, almost gentle.

Joel sighed heavily, shaking his head like he regretted even starting. His hand dropped back to his knee, his jaw tightening as though he was debating just walking out. For a moment, you thought he might.

But then, finally, he said it.

“Did you want me to… y’know, help you out?” His voice was quieter now, gruff and uneven. His eyes darted to you briefly, then away, like he couldn’t quite face whatever was stirring between you.

“Your back,” he clarified after a beat, clearing his throat. “I remember you said somethin’ about it the other day, when you were ridin’ Winnie. Twinge, or somethin’.”

Joel cleared his throat again, the faintest pink creeping up the sides of his neck as his gaze flicked to you and then away. “But, uh, no big deal,” he added gruffly, his voice rough and low, like he was backpedaling, trying to give you an easy out. “I can just head out.”

He was trying to play it off—acting like it didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just offered to touch you, to take care of you in a way that mirrored what you’d just done for him. But the way his voice faltered, rough and quiet, told you everything. He cared—more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, you managed a small smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

Joel stilled for a moment, his hand dropping away from his neck to rest in his lap. He hesitated, his dark eyes flicking back to yours. “You sure? I can leave if you—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you interrupted, your voice soft but steady.

Joel inhaled deeply, the sound heavy and deliberate, before slowly pushing himself to his feet. The movement made him seem taller, broader, as if he took up all the space in the room at once.

“Uh… can’t promise it’ll be any good,” he muttered, a faint vulnerability beneath his words that made your chest ache.

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, too quickly, your voice rushing out as you offered him a small, nervous smile. You hesitated for half a second, biting the inside of your cheek as your heart hammered in your chest. Then, finally, you asked, “How do you want me?”

The words left your lips before you could stop them.

How do you want me?

God - If only you knew. If only you understood the way those four words hit him—hard and unrelenting.

Joel’s chest tightened, his cock hardening as his thoughts spiraled, unbidden and entirely indecent, leaving him gripping for control. He pictured you asking that question with a different tone, a different look in your eyes, and it wrecked him. On your back, your legs tangled with his. On your knees, your hands gripping his thighs as you gazed up at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Bent over the arm of the couch, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

He swallowed hard, his throat working against the heat rising in him, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“I, uh…” His voice was rough, strained, his words catching as though they didn’t want to leave. “Just, uh… wherever you’re comfortable. On the couch, or… wherever.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, his lips parting as he muttered a low, almost inaudible fuck under his breath. The sound sent a ripple through you, your body buzzing as you followed his direction, sinking slowly into the cushions with your back to him. You angled your body slightly away to give him space, though the air between you felt anything but distant.

“Uh… keep your shirt on,” he mumbled, his voice rough and uneven, like he was struggling to get the words out.

“Oh,” you replied, the disappointment creeping into your tone before you could stop it. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. Maybe he didn’t want to see you like that. Maybe this wasn’t what you thought it was.

But God, were you wrong.

Joel knew the truth—knew it with every ounce of restraint he was clinging to. If he saw you topless, in nothing but your bra, he’d lose it. Completely. If he saw your breasts, the curve of them rising and falling with each unsteady breath, if his eyes traced the slope of your bare shoulders, your bare back, he’d be done for. His control would snap like a thread pulled too tight, and he’d ruin everything—you.

So, for now, you had to keep your shirt on. Not because he didn’t want you, but because he wanted you too much.

“I, uh…” Joel started, his voice low and faltering, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides, twitching slightly with hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.

Without thinking, you reached up, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one shoulder, baring the curve of your neck to him. The movement was small, simple, but it felt intimate—like offering something unspoken. Your skin prickled with anticipation, the charged air between you thickening as you turned your head slightly, glancing back at him with wide, steady eyes.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, the words threading through the heavy stillness between you. “You can touch me.”

Fuck. Joel’s chest tightened, his mind spiraling as the words echoed between you. Touch you. God, he wanted to. More than he should. More than he could admit to himself.

He stared at his hands—rough and calloused, worn by years of work and hardship—and for a moment, he faltered. These weren’t hands meant for softness. Not for you.

Finally, slowly, Joel lifted his hands, each movement deliberate, as if he was crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. The hesitation was written in every breath, every twitch of his fingers, a quiet war waging inside him even as he reached for you.

When his hands settled on your shoulders, they were tentative at first, his palms warm against your skin, rough but somehow gentle. Joel’s thumbs pressed carefully into the tight muscles of your shoulders, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

A soft, unbidden sound escaped your lips, barely audible, but enough to make his hands falter mid-motion. His grip loosened slightly, and his breath hitched audibly, like the sound had caught him off guard.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, every word dragged out as though speaking them took effort. His hands hovered, poised to pull away if you gave even the slightest indication of discomfort.

“No,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes fluttered shut. The tension in your shoulders began to melt under his touch, leaving you pliant beneath him. “You feel good.”

Joel exhaled then, a quiet, shaky sound that carried the weight of something unspoken—something he didn’t know how to put into words. His hands settled back into their rhythm, more assured now, his thumbs sliding down the line of your shoulder blades with purpose before gliding back up, tracing the curve of your neck with a reverence that sent your pulse skittering.

It was steady, methodical, almost too careful, but there was something else beneath it—something deeper, darker, like he was learning you, memorizing you with every pass of his hands. His jaw tightened, his thoughts spiraling as the weight of your words replayed in his head—you feel good.

You let your head tilt forward as Joel’s hands found a tight spot at the base of your neck, your body instinctively yielding under his touch. Relief washed over you, a soft sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Joel froze, his hands hesitating, until you murmured hazily, “Fuck, Joel…”

His hands slid lower, kneading the muscles along your upper back with careful precision. “Feels good,” you murmured, the words slipping out, soft and dreamlike, unbidden. You melted further into the couch, into him, your body pliant under his touch, like you were made for it.

Joel clenched his jaw, his hands faltering for the briefest moment before finding their rhythm again. He wanted to tell you to quit it. To stop saying all these things to him—these words that wrapped around him like a vice, squeezing until he could barely breathe. To stop making those noises that made his resolve waver, that made him ache in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years.

But how could he?

How could he tell you to stop when the sound of your voice, soft and wrecked, was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard? When the way your body leaned into his touch, so trusting, so vulnerable, felt like the closest thing to heaven he’d ever known?

You held your breath, heart pounding wildly as Joel’s thumbs pressed—just slightly—into the tight muscles near your lower back. The pressure was perfect, and before you could stop yourself, a soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips.

Joel froze instantly, every muscle in his body going taut, coiling like a live wire as that sound echoed in his head. It hit him hard, sharp and visceral, sinking deep into his chest and sparking a fire he couldn’t control.

That moan—soft, breathless, and so fucking sweet—was seared into his memory now, unraveling every thread of restraint he’d been clinging to. Would you whimper for him? The thought tightened his chest, his jaw clenching hard as his hands faltered against you, his grip tightening briefly before he forced himself to ease up.

Would you gasp his name, needy and wrecked, if his lips pressed to the curve of your neck? If his hands slid lower, over the gentle slope of your hips, past the thin fabric separating him from you? Would you beg for him? For him?

If he touched you now—if his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, sliding lower to feel the heat of you—would you be wet?

God, would you be ready for him? The question burned through his mind, relentless and vivid. He could almost feel it—the way your body might arch into him, the way your breath would hitch when he touched you there. Would you moan again, that same soft, wrecked sound, but this time louder, fuller, edged with need?

The images came faster now, vivid and impossible to suppress. He could see it so clearly: your body trembling beneath him, your lips parted in a breathless plea, your eyes half-lidded, hazy with the kind of need he didn’t deserve but craved all the same.

Joel took a deep breath, sharp and ragged, before abruptly pulling his hands away from you, dropping them into his lap like they’d burned him. “That’s all I got,” he said finally, his voice low and strained, the edge to his words making it sound almost like he was angry—at himself, at you, at the fragile control he was barely holding onto.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, as if waking from a dream you weren’t quite ready to leave. Turning just enough, you caught sight of him leaning back against the couch, a pillow now strategically draped over his lap, his hand covering his eyes as though shielding himself from the sight of you—maybe from the way you made him feel.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft, still tinged with the haze of his touch, the weight of his hands lingering on your skin like a memory. “It was good. Really good.”

Joel’s only response was a single nod, curt and clipped, his jaw tight as though he didn’t trust himself to say more. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word rough, almost bitten out, as though forcing it past his lips was a battle. “Glad it helped.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Joel cleared his throat, shifting as if to stand, his voice low and hesitant. “Look,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, like he was trying to steady himself. “I should… I should really get going. I—”

“Wait,” you interrupted, turning fully toward him now, your voice soft but insistent.

Joel turned to you slowly, his movements deliberate, like he was fighting every instinct telling him to stay right where he was. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything in him seemed to fray at the edges. Please don’t ask me to stay, his mind begged, the words unspoken but screaming in his head. Because I don’t know if I can control myself any longer.

You faltered, suddenly shy, your gaze dipping for a moment before finding his again. “I wanted to ask you something I noticed earlier… when your shirt was off.”

Joel’s brow twitched, the lines on his forehead deepening as his eyes sharpened. His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the weight of your words settling over him.

What was she gonna say?

Was it about the way his stomach wasn’t as flat as it used to be, softened by the years and the hardships he carried? Or maybe the way his body groaned with every movement, the weight of too many fights, too many scars etched into his bones? Or was it the silver streaking through his hair, glinting in the firelight, betraying just how much time had carved itself into him?

The look he gave you was cautious, expectant—like he was waiting for you to confirm the insecurities he worked so hard to bury. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual, softer but guarded. “Yeah?”

Your fingers moved before you could stop them, trembling slightly as they reached out, grazing the edge of his shirt near the collar. Joel went utterly still, his breath slowing, like he was waiting—letting you. You hesitated, your heart pounding, before gently tugging the fabric down just an inch, revealing a little more of his skin.

Your gaze caught on it immediately: the scar.

It was jagged and pale, stark against the warmth of his skin, carved into his collarbone like a brand from another life. Your breath hitched, a shaky exhale escaping as your eyes lingered on the mark. Your fingers hovered close, just near enough to feel the heat of him, but you didn’t dare touch.

“What… what happened?” you asked finally, your voice soft, trembling.

Joel’s gaze followed yours, his face unreadable. He expected the worst—a comment about his body, about the way time and hardship had worn him down. But how could he expect that from you? You, the sweetest woman he’d ever met. This was almost worse, though. Because you cared. And that care, that softness, felt like it would undo him completely.

Slowly, he leaned back, putting a sliver of distance between you as if he needed the space to steel himself. “Knife,” he muttered, his voice rough and clipped.

Your eyes flicked to his face, searching for something in his expression—a trace of the story written into that scar, an emotion he didn’t want to reveal. But Joel didn’t look at you.

“Some guy,” he continued after a beat, his tone measured but guarded. “Long time ago. Tried attackin’ me.”

You hummed softly, the sound filled with a quiet empathy you didn’t know how to put into words. For a moment, you pictured him—Joel, younger but still so unmistakably him. Less gray in his hair, more fire in his eyes. Sharper around the edges, all raw survival and steady hands that had learned how to do what was necessary.

“Had to stitch myself up,” Joel added after a long pause, his voice low, each word deliberate, like it cost him something to say.

Your chest ached with the weight of it, and when you spoke, your voice was barely more than a whisper. “Ouch.”

He huffed a quiet, humorless sound, his lips twitching for the briefest second before settling back into a thin line. Without thinking, you shifted closer, the space between you narrowing until your knees brushed his. Joel stilled at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

And then, quietly, carefully, your hand reached out.

Your fingertips grazed the edge of his temple, tracing the faint curve of a scar that rested just above the bone. It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but now that you’d seen it, you couldn’t look away.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked to yours, his jaw tightening as though he wasn’t sure if he could let himself breathe. But you saw him—really saw him. You always did.

“And this one?” you asked softly, your voice low, reverent, as if afraid to shatter the fragile stillness of the moment.

He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, but when he spoke, his voice was rough and uneven, your name slipping from his lips like a plea. “Don’t.”

The word was soft, almost broken, and the way he said it sent a pang of something deep and aching through you. There was no bite to it, no command—just Joel, asking for something unspoken.

“What?” you whispered, your hand stilling but refusing to pull away. Your eyes searched his face, lingering on the tight line of his jaw, the way his lashes brushed his cheekbones as he closed his eyes.

“It’s nothin’,” Joel muttered gruffly.

“I want to know,” you urged gently, your voice steady but soft, carrying the kind of quiet insistence that could slip past defenses. “Please.”

“Took a hit to the head,” he muttered finally, the words clipped and bitter. “Made a dumb mistake. Should’ve seen it comin’.”

Slowly, you pulled your hand back, the motion deliberate, leaving a trail of phantom heat in its absence. Joel’s hand twitched, halfway between you, like it wanted to reach for you but couldn’t quite make it.

“Why d’you care ‘bout this?” Joel asked finally, his voice low and rough. It wasn’t an accusation. It was confusion, like he genuinely couldn’t comprehend why anyone would care enough to notice, let alone ask.

His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

You stared at him, your lips parting as you tried to find the words, but nothing came at first. How could you explain it? How could you tell him that every time he let his guard slip, even just a fraction, it felt like he was handing you something sacred, something no one else had been allowed to see?

How could you tell him that you cared because he mattered.

How could you tell him that you cared because you loved him?

“Because it’s you,” you said softly, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

His expression faltered—just for a second. His eyes flickered, dark and searching, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe it. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, like he was holding something back—something too big, too fragile to name. Then he shook his head, the motion slow, deliberate, like he was trying to will the moment away.

“Don’t say somethin’ you don’t mean,” he muttered, the words rough and low, swallowing against the literal pain that burned in his throat as he forced them out.

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening as you shifted closer to him, the air between you thick and charged. “Joel you told me a while ago,” you began, your voice steady despite the thrum of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “that you cared about me.”

Joel’s gaze snapped up at that, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharp, almost wary intensity. He looked like a man cornered, searching for an angle, a way out of a conversation he hadn’t realized he’d walked straight into. But there wasn’t one. You both knew it.

Finally, after a long, loaded silence, he nodded once. It was curt but deliberate, his jaw tightening as his Adam’s apple bobbed in a reluctant swallow. “I do,” he said, his voice gravelly, like the words dragged themselves out of him against his will. “Course I do.”

"Then why can't you believe me when I say I care about you too?" The words spilled from you before you could stop them, your voice softer now, trembling with the mix of pleading and frustration that had been building inside you. Vulnerability bled through, and your chest ached as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Don’t look away.

"Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

Joel's jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin, pale line. His eyes flicked down, unable to meet yours. His hand moved absently, rubbing the worn denim of his thigh, the restless motion betraying the storm brewing just beneath his skin.

"It ain't..." he started, his voice faltering, so low it felt like a confession. "It's not the same."

"Not the same how?" you pressed, leaning forward. Your voice was steady now, firm, as if the calmness might coax him into staying—into answering. "I don’t get it, Joel. I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to just… let me care about you."

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, unwilling to face you.

You couldn’t take it any longer. Slowly, you reached out, your hand finding his face, gently tilting it toward you. The contact was soft, tentative, but the gesture felt like an unspoken plea, like you were begging him to let you in.

"I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone like I trust you." Your voice cracked, just barely, as you took a breath, searching for the courage to say what you hadn’t said aloud. "You make me feel safe. Joel... I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Joel’s head snapped up at that.

“Look,” you began softly, leaning forward, your voice threading through the heavy quiet between you. “I’m not fighting you on this. It’s not a battle, Joel. It’s just the truth. Whether you believe it or not, I care.”

“And I know you’re stubborn,” you added, your lips quirking in a small, fleeting smile, an attempt to lighten the moment before it swallowed you both whole. “Maybe even more stubborn than me.”

That earned you something—a tilt of his head, just barely, his brow furrowing as his eyes flickered to you, guarded but curious. “I’m the stubborn one?” he asked gruffly, his voice rough and low, though the faintest thread of incredulity cut through it.

“Yeah,” you replied, letting the smile tug a little wider as you leaned back, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “You can be just as bad as me. Maybe worse.”

“But it’s true,” you pressed gently, the teasing giving way to something deeper, something unshakable. Your gaze caught his, steady and unyielding, holding him there even as you saw the flicker of resistance in his eyes. “I care, Joel. I really do. And it’s not gonna change just because you’re too damn stubborn to believe it.”

Joel’s head lifted fully then, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a focus so intense it made your breath catch. The walls he’d fortified so carefully, so stubbornly, seemed to waver, crumbling at the edges. And for the first time, you didn’t just feel like you were talking to Joel—you felt like you saw him.

The space between you felt smaller, sharper, like gravity was pulling you together. You became acutely aware of how close you were, your knees brushing his as the firelight flickered against his face. And then, his gaze dipped—to your lips.

Oh my god. Is he going to kiss me?

The thought slammed into you, leaving your heart racing in your chest. Time seemed to slow, his gaze lingering there just a beat too long. The air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. Your breath hitched, and for a split second, you thought he might.

But then Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping abruptly to his hands. He shifted against the couch, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was forcing himself to break the spell. “Well,” he said finally, his voice rough and uneven, cutting through the fragile quiet. He cleared his throat, his hands smoothing over his jeans in a nervous, practiced gesture. “I should probably get goin’.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve, a sharp pang settling in your chest. “Oh,” you murmured softly, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

“Yeah, okay.” Your lips curved into a small, fleeting smile, the best you could manage. “Thanks for, uh…” You gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, your voice light but thin. “…the dinner. And the firewood.”

Joel nodded once, his eyes flickering anywhere but you—the door, the fire, his boots—like looking at you might undo him entirely. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “No problem.”

He hesitated, the pause stretching longer than it should’ve. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, the familiar, disarming motion drawing your attention to the tension still coiled in his frame. His bicep flexed subtly, and you hated how that flicker of movement sent heat curling in your stomach even now, when all you wanted was for him to stay.

“And… thanks for, uh… the back thing,” he added gruffly, his voice a shade quieter, more uncertain.

The words caught you off guard, and a soft, unsteady laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “The back thing?” you echoed, arching a brow at him, the teasing edge in your voice betraying the weight pressing on your chest. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

Joel’s lips twitched—just barely—a flicker of something lighter that tugged at the corners of his mouth before disappearing as quickly as it came. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours, warmer now but still guarded, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to let it linger. “You know what I mean,” he muttered, the words rough but softer this time.

“You’re welcome,” you said gently, the teasing fading from your voice as you watched him.

When he stood, you followed him toward the door, the sound of his boots against the floor punctuating the silence between you. Every step felt heavy, the space around you thickening with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say. He reached the door and paused, his hand resting on the knob, his broad shoulders shifting just slightly like he was caught between leaving and staying.

For a beat, he didn’t move. And then, slowly, he turned back to you, his dark eyes flickering to yours with an uncertainty that made your heart stutter. “Good night,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, but there was something in it—something more—that he didn’t let himself say. His fingers curled tighter around the knob, knuckles pale from the tension. “Lock up after me, yeah?”

You nodded, your voice steadier than you felt. “Good night, Joel.”

But you wanted to say more.

Don’t leave.

Don’t walk out that door. Stay. Stay here with me.

Let me show you that I care.

Let me show you that I love you.

For a moment, you held your breath, your pulse pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Please. Just say something. Stay.

But he didn’t.

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his face shadowed in the soft glow of the firelight, and turned away.

The door creaked softly as it opened, the cold night air rushing in, biting against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room. For a heartbeat, you saw the stars outside—endless, distant, uncaring—before the door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden stillness.

You exhaled shakily, the sound unsteady as you pressed your forehead lightly against the door, your eyes fluttering shut. The house felt too big without him, the fire behind you too quiet to chase away the chill that crept into your bones now that he was gone.

“Don’t go,” you whispered, the words breaking like a secret in the empty room—soft and fragile, meant for him but swallowed by the night.

Outside, the stars stretched on forever, distant and silent, but you stayed there, rooted to the spot, the ache of all the words you hadn’t said pressing heavy against your chest.

And you let them linger.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

The next day, you found yourself trudging toward the dining hall with Maria, trying—and failing—to suppress a yawn. Sleep hadn’t come easy after last night. The weight of Joel’s touch, the sound of his voice murmuring your name, lingered stubbornly in the quiet of your mind, replaying like a song you couldn’t shake.

“Late night?” Maria asked, her tone teasing but curious as she nudged you gently.

“Something like that,” you murmured, rolling your shoulders in a vain attempt to shake the ache that still clung to them.

Stepping into the dining hall, the low hum of conversation and the clatter of trays greeted you, a comforting sort of chaos that momentarily distracted you from the exhaustion curling behind your eyes. Maria stopped short and turned to you, motioning vaguely.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the back. “The boys are over there.”

At her words, your gaze followed her subtle nod—and your heart stilled.

As you made your way toward them, it was Tommy who spotted you first. His face split into a wide grin, his arms already opening before you reached him. “Hey, darlin’,” he drawled warmly, his Southern lilt wrapping around the word like it belonged there, soft and easy. “Joel was just tellin’ me how you saved his old ass the other day. You’re somethin’ else, you know that? A damn badass.”

Your heart gave a sharp skip at the mention of Joel, your gaze flicking instinctively to him. He stood just a step behind Tommy, his tray in one hand, the other tucked loosely into his pocket. He was watching you—quiet, steady—but there was a softness in his eyes, the kind he reserved only for you. Without a word, Joel reached for an extra tray and handed it to you, his movements deliberate but natural, like it wasn’t even a question.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice quiet and shaky, betraying you. The faintest blush crept into your cheeks, and you watched Joel’s jaw tighten as he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. His gaze dropped, flicking away shyly—a softness so uncharacteristic of him that it pulled at something deep in your chest.

“You sleep alright?” he asked, his voice low, quiet enough that it felt like it was meant only for you.

You nodded quickly, gripping the tray a little tighter as you found your words. “Yeah. Your, uh… back thing helped, I think.”

Joel hummed, the sound deep in his chest, approving but subdued. “Good,” he said, his voice warm, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again—and then lower, to your lips. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but enough to make your breath catch.

Tommy’s brow furrowed, his tray hovering in mid-air as he looked between you both, confusion clear on his face. What the hell are they talkin’ about? he wondered, his lips twitching as if he might interrupt.

Before you could even process it, the moment shattered.

“Hey, lady,” a sharp, abrasive voice cut through the air behind you.

Startled, you turned sharply, the tray wobbling slightly in your hands as you found yourself face-to-face with someone you didn’t recognize. He was large—towering, broad-shouldered, with a head shaved so close it gleamed under the lights. His scowl was deep, a permanent mark etched into his face, and the way his eyes raked over you felt dismissive, hostile.

“Oh,” you stammered, caught off guard as your pulse quickened. “Hi.” Did you know this guy? No, you decided, swallowing hard. He was new—one of the recent arrivals who hadn’t yet settled into Jackson’s quiet rhythm.

You felt it before you saw it. Joel.

He hadn’t moved, not yet, but you could feel the change in him—subtle but unmistakable. The air between you shifted as if the temperature had dropped, the warmth of his earlier softness disappearing in a heartbeat. His posture stiffened, shoulders squaring, and Tommy turned too, his expression darkening as he registered the tension.

“Not sure what you think you’re doin’, cuttin’ in line like that,” the man sneered, his voice rough, laced with something sharp and ugly. His eyes flicked over you again, dismissive in a way that made your stomach twist. “Think you’re special or somethin’?”

“I’m—” you started, flustered, the words sticking in your throat. “I didn’t realize—”

You felt Joel move before you saw him.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice cut through the hum of the dining hall like the edge of a blade—low, deliberate, and unyielding. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be.

Joel stepped forward, his broad frame eclipsing yours completely as he inserted himself between you and the stranger, shielding you with a movement so instinctive, so deliberate, it made your chest tighten. Without turning his head, his hand found your waist—firm but gentle—as he nudged you back toward Tommy.

Tommy let out a quiet, resigned “Oh boy,” under his breath, his grip on your arm steady, like he already knew where this was headed. Around you, the energy shifted. Conversations dimmed to nervous murmurs, trays clinked against the tables, and chairs scraped as people turned to watch.

Everyone in Jackson knew better. They knew Joel Miller. His name carried weight—a reputation forged in blood and grit, etched into every line on his hardened face. He didn’t need to bark orders or shout threats; his presence alone did the talking. Joel was a man who didn’t bluff, and everyone who’d lived here long enough understood that much.

But this man didn’t. Or he was too new—too reckless—to realize what kind of line he’d just crossed.

“She’s with me,” Joel said, his voice quiet and cold.

The stranger scoffed, his lip curling as he stepped forward, puffing out his chest in a challenge that only made him look smaller next to Joel’s unflinching presence. “Does it look like I care?” he spat, his tone dripping with mockery.

You flinched instinctively, but Joel didn’t react—not at first. He stood stock-still, his profile unreadable except for the faint tick in his jaw, the slow curl of his fingers into a fist at his side. His stillness was terrifying, the kind that signaled restraint—restraint that could snap at any moment.

When Joel spoke again, his voice dropped lower—deadly and cold, each word a warning wrapped in a promise. “It does,” he said, and his eyes sharpened like twin shards of glass. “If you wanna keep breathing.”

The newcomer didn’t take the hint—or worse, he did and chose to shove it aside with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He rolled his eyes, his scowl twisting into something cruel and sharp, a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, man. Tell your brat of a girlfriend she can’t just go around cutting in line. That’s not how things work.”

Brat.

The word struck like the crack of a whip, each syllable biting deeper than the last. A flare of heat surged through you—anger, humiliation, a wild tangle of words clawing their way up your throat. Who does this guy think he is? Brat? Your mouth moved on instinct, the retort already forming, sharp and searing: “Who do you think you’re—”

But the words never landed. Tommy’s hand found your arm, firm and grounding. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight, his presence a tether against the storm building inside you. His voice was low, a quiet murmur meant only for you, but the warning in it was unmistakable.

“Don’t,” he said, his tone a weary drawl laced with a hint of something heavier. Experience. Resignation. “Trust me. Don’t.”

It happened in a flash—so fast you could barely process it. One moment, Joel stood beside you, his presence solid and unyielding like a dam holding back a flood. The next, that flood broke.

Joel surged forward with a force that was all precision, controlled fury, and raw intent. His hand shot out, gripping the man’s collar with a strength that sent him stumbling back. The motion was seamless, deliberate, like the inevitable force of a storm bearing down on its target. The man’s back slammed against the nearest wall, the impact reverberating through the dining hall like a clap of thunder.

“What,” Joel growled, his voice low, dangerous, and deadly, “did you just say?”

It wasn’t a yell. Joel didn’t need to raise his voice. The menace in his tone—the quiet, simmering fury—was far more terrifying. His grip on the man’s collar was ironclad, his knuckles white against the fabric.

The man squirmed, his bravado already cracking like thin ice. “Get the fuck off me!” he barked, shoving weakly at Joel’s chest. His hands trembled with effort, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Joel didn’t budge—not even a flicker of motion.

“Say it again,” Joel snarled, his voice dropping to a whisper that coiled through the room like smoke, suffocating and inescapable. He yanked the man closer, their faces level now, his grip tightening like a vice. “Go ahead. Say it again. And see what happens.”

“I didn’t—” the man started, his voice hitching, but Joel slammed him harder against the wall, the sound louder this time, sharp enough to make a few people in the crowd flinch.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” Joel snarled, his voice low and venomous, each word laced with a fury that could melt steel. “Hell,” he growled, his breath steady but deliberate, like he was holding back a storm, “you don’t talk to her ever. You don’t look at her like that.” His grip tightened on the man’s collar, knuckles white, and with a sharp shove, he slammed him against the wall again. The dull thud of the man’s head meeting the surface reverberated in the tense silence.

Joel leaned in, his face inches from the man’s now paling one, his voice breaking through the quiet like a crack of thunder. “And you sure as hell don’t get to call her—” His voice cracked, raw and seething, but he pushed through it, his hand jerking the man forward only to slam him back again, harder this time, the impact leaving no room for argument.

“Anything but her goddamn name.”

The man’s bravado shattered completely. His eyes widened in panic, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. “I—I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology,” Joel cut him off, his voice quieter now but no less menacing. His gaze burned into the man, and his grip didn’t falter. “Try again.” He yanked him closer, the venom in his words unrelenting. “And look her in the eye while you do it.”

The man’s head jerked toward you, his movements jerky and frantic, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out, the words spilling over themselves in his panic. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry!”

The dining hall felt like it had frozen in time. Conversations had ceased, forks hung mid-air, the faint crackle of the fire in the corner the only sound to break the silence. Joel was unyielding, a pillar of unrelenting fury. You could see the man squirm beneath his grip, his panic rising with every second that passed.

And then Joel’s gaze shifted.

His head turned slightly, just enough to look at you, and it was like the air shifted entirely. That sharp, cutting edge in his expression softened—not fully, but enough that you felt it like a physical thing. His dark eyes searched yours, asking a silent question, his brow lifting just slightly in that way only you knew meant he was waiting. Not for the man’s apology. Not for Tommy to intervene.

For you.

The vulnerability in that look was enough to unravel you. Joel wasn’t questioning whether he should let go, wasn’t trying to justify the raw, unyielding force behind his actions. He was asking you—quietly, silently—trusting you to decide if the apology was enough, if you were satisfied.

It was such an intimate thing, so deeply personal, completely at odds with the way his knuckles had gone white from the force of his grip, his forearm trembling with restrained fury. The contrast was stark—his quiet deference to you and the raw, unrelenting protectiveness that radiated off him, daring the world to push him further.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as you held his gaze. “Joel,” you said softly, your voice steady but laced with something tender. “It’s okay. Let him go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, like he needed to be absolutely certain. His shoulders rose and fell with a sharp, deliberate breath, the tension rolling through him in waves before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

Then, finally, his hand loosened. It wasn’t abrupt—it was deliberate, controlled, as though every motion carried weight. Joel released the man with enough force to send him stumbling forward, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.

The man’s breath came in quick, panicked bursts as he scrambled to steady himself, his trembling hands clutching at his shirt like it might protect him. But Joel didn’t even look at him now. His gaze stayed on you, his eyes still softer, still yours.

“Go,” Joel said simply, his voice low, quiet, but no less commanding. The word carried the same weight as if it had been shouted, and the man didn’t hesitate. He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, his steps hurried as he all but fled the dining hall. The door swung shut behind him with a sharp creak, the sound punctuating his retreat.

Joel turned fully to you now, his broad shoulders relaxing by degrees, though you could still see the tension coiled beneath his skin. His gaze softened further as it met yours, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away. There was a question there, unspoken but loud enough to feel in the air between you: Did I do right? Are you okay?

Joel’s voice broke through the hum of the dining hall, rough but quieter now, carrying an edge of concern so sharp it sent a pang straight to your chest. “You good?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you in a way that felt like the rest of the room had disappeared. There was something about the way he stepped closer, his body angled toward you as though nothing else mattered—like the entire world could crumble around him, and he’d still be here, making sure you were okay.

You nodded, swallowing against the lump forming in your throat. “Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Joel didn’t look convinced. His dark eyes scanned your face, his jaw tightening as if he could will the truth out of you, even if you didn’t want to give it. His chest rose and fell in steady, deliberate breaths, but his hands flexed at his sides like they were still fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you behind him and keep you safe.

Behind him, Tommy let out a low whistle, the sound breaking through the suffocating quiet like a crack of thunder. “Damn, Joel,” he muttered, shaking his head as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Didn’t know you still had that in you. Hell, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

But Joel didn’t react. He didn’t turn. Didn’t even flinch. His focus remained on you, unwavering, like he couldn’t spare even a second to acknowledge anything else. And when he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter, almost tender in its roughness. “You should sit,” he said, nodding toward a table in the far corner of the hall. “I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.”

“Joel” you started, your voice trailing off as you searched for the right words. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He motioned toward the table again, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as if to guide you. “Sit.”

Joel turned back to the line without another word, his broad shoulders tense and Tommy’s chuckle following him like a low rumble of thunder. You noticed the way the people behind Joel in line stood a few paces back now, their movements cautious, like they were navigating the aftermath of a storm.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax as you glanced around the dining hall. The noise had returned to its usual rhythm—a soft din of clinking trays and overlapping conversations—but the weight of what had just happened still lingered in the air. Without waiting, you slipped toward the back of the hall, seeking the solace of a quiet corner where you could collect yourself.

Sliding into the farthest seat, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The tension in your chest eased, though the moment was short-lived. Maria appeared almost out of nowhere, her movements fluid as she took the chair beside you. She crossed her arms, her sharp gaze sweeping the room before landing on you. Her brows arched in silent curiosity, but her expression carried an edge of amusement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, “Why’s everyone looking at you like you just threw the first punch?”

You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped you, bubbling out unexpectedly, light and tinged with disbelief. Maria’s brow furrowed deeper, though her lips twitched as if fighting back a smile. “What?” she pressed. “What’s so funny?”

“Joel,” you said, shaking your head and gesturing vaguely toward the front of the hall where the line stretched out. “He… handled a situation.”

Maria’s brow arched higher, her interest visibly piqued. “Handled a situation?” she echoed, leaning forward like a cat ready to pounce on juicy gossip. “Do tell. What kind of situation are we talking about here?”

You hesitated, the memory of Joel’s fury still fresh in your mind. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the wood grain of the table as you searched for the right words. “There was this guy. New, I think. He said something, and Joel—” You paused, the image of Joel pinning the man against the wall flashing in your mind. “Joel made sure he regretted it.”

Maria tilted her head, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “Made sure, huh?” she said, her tone teasing. “Let me guess—intimidation, maybe a little bit of his special brand of physical persuasion?”

You smiled despite yourself, the corners of your lips tugging upward. “Something like that,” you admitted quietly. “He grabbed the guy, slammed him against the wall… scared the hell out of everyone watching.”

Maria’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across her face. “Classic Joel,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. But her expression softened as she watched you, her gaze turning pointed. “And I’m guessing it wasn’t just for show.”

Before you could respond, movement caught your attention. Joel was weaving through the dining hall, two trays balanced carefully in his hands. His face was set in that familiar stoic expression, his jaw tight and his steps deliberate. But then his eyes found yours, and for the briefest moment, they softened.

“Here,” Joel said simply, setting the tray down in front of you with the kind of care that felt oddly out of place in the bustling, noisy dining hall. “They didn’t have any more of that cornbread you liked, so I grabbed you this instead.” He slid a warm muffin onto your tray, its golden top glistening faintly, the scent of honey and cinnamon wafting up.

“Oh,” you breathed, your fingers brushing the edge of the tray, feeling the lingering warmth of the muffin. You glanced up at him, the words catching in your throat before finally tumbling out. “Thanks, Joel.”

He didn’t respond right away, just gave you a slight nod. Joel lowered himself into the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud in the quiet corner you’d tucked yourselves into. His knee brushed yours briefly under the table as he adjusted his seat, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Tommy arrived seconds later, sliding into the chair next to Maria with his tray in tow, his face lit up with a grin that was equal parts amused and mischievous. He stabbed a fork into the potatoes on his plate, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well,” Tommy drawled, glancing between you and Joel, “guess we’re sittin’ at the safest table in Jackson now.”

Joel’s head snapped toward his brother, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that signaled his patience was wearing thin. “Knock it off,” he muttered, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth like he could end the conversation by sheer force of will.

Tommy chuckled, undeterred. “Can’t help it,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an unapologetic grin. “I mean, I’ve seen you get protective, Joel, but that back there?” He gestured vaguely toward the line where the earlier incident had unfolded. “That was somethin’ else.”

“Tommy,” Joel growled, his voice dropping into a warning. But instead of snapping, he glanced at you, his expression softening just slightly before his gaze darted back to his tray.

Maria finally chimed in, her voice carrying that same sharp amusement. “Well, Joel, if nothing else, you’ve definitely set the tone for how new arrivals should behave.”

Joel let out a soft huff, his head dipping as he dragged a hand over his face. “For the last time, I don’t wanna hear about it,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Then you felt it—his hand, warm and solid, squeezing your knee under the table.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to. The weight of his hand, the silent reassurance in the way his fingers pressed gently but firmly against you, said everything he couldn’t. It wasn’t just a touch—it was a message. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m yours.

─── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ───

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celiababy · 18 hours ago

Text

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

#smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #drabble #I need him so carnally

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arcanefox207 · 3 days ago

Text

@joelmillerisapunk Odi... my goodness. How have I not read this before?! So fucking good.

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 7,103 - oops

Summary: When Joel accidentally stumbles upon your only fans he convinces himself he's only subscribing to help you through college. And then you send him his top-tier subscriber personal video and he's fucked because you don't even know it's him your dad's best friend.

Warnings: 18+, reader has an only fans, unprotected p in v, f!andm! oral receiving, age gap (at least 10 years), reader is in her 20's, alcohol consumption, there's a dick pic, reader posts nudes of herself on her OF so if you do not like that please scroll awaaaaaay thanks <3 two consenting adults.

Notes: I listened to Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter a hundred too many times and couldn't sleep on this random idea. I got carried away, this was supposed to be a short one-shot and then I fell in love and married the idea so here we are. Tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider.

Joel’s never been on a site like this.

But his best buddy's enthusiasm was infectious. Convincing him that it's all the hype, ‘You should see the women on there man.’ So, after a long day at work, followed by a shower, he is perched in front of his computer, the screen's glow illuminating his skepticism.

With a deep breath, he navigates to the website, his fingers poised hesitantly over the keys. He starts scrolling through the front page, taking in the various content that is being shared. It's all very different from anything he's ever seen before, but he can see why his friend is so excited about it.

As he continues scrolling Joel's eyes widen in surprise. There you are right on the front page, not too far from the top, his friend's daughter, exuding confidence in a bikini and a sexy little pose, the very picture of carefree youth.

Denial is his first reaction as he quickly minimises the page, not believing he just saw that. It couldn't have been you. No way. But curiosity, that relentless beast, coaxes him back to the screen. The second glance confirms it; it's undeniably you, and the realization sends a jolt through him. He clicks on your profile, the rabbit hole beckoning.

His heart races as he sees more and more photos of you. Wearing lingerie in some of them, and bikinis in others, but never anything less. Then he finds the section with your paid content, looming like a forbidden fruit. The greyed-out thumbnails tease his imagination. He notices that he has to pay to see them and his mind races. What kinda stuff you got hidin’ here pretty girl?

Joel stops for a moment, unsure if he should really pay to see hidden content but before he can talk himself out of it, he enters his payment information, the justification that he is supporting you echoes hollowly in his mind. He clicks "subscribe." As soon as he does, the greyed-out photos become clear, and Joel's eyes widen in shock. He can't believe what he's seeing. You, completely naked, posing in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He feels a mix of emotions - excitement, guilt, confusion. He knows he shouldn't be looking at these photos, but he can't help himself. He tells himself that it's just for a few minutes, just to see what's there. That he's just being curious, that he's just supporting you. But deep down, he knows that's not the whole truth and he knows that he'll be coming back to these photos again and again.

For now, though, he tells himself that it's okay. He's just satisfying his curiosity, and he's supporting his friend's daughter at the same time. He tells himself that it's a win-win situation, and he settles back in his chair to enjoy the photos. But as he scrolls through the photos, he can feel himself getting more and more aroused. He starts to rub his cock through his pants, and before long, he's jerking off to the images on the screen. knowing that he's doing something wrong but unable to stop himself.

Just as he's about to come, he gets a message from the website. It's from you, and you're thanking him for subscribing to the highest tier, where he gets a personal video from you.

Joel's heart races as he reads the message, wondering if you know it's him. But as he reads on, he realizes that you don't. You're just being friendly, asking him what he'd like to see you do or say in a personal video.

Joel pauses, wrestling with the decision. The offer is tantalizing, and he can feel the pull of his curiosity. He rationalizes that it's merely a harmless video, an extra indulgence. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, he convinces himself that there's no harm in satisfying his curiosity just this once.

Joel takes a deep breath and types out a reply to you, asking if you could wear a school girl uniform in the video. He feels a twinge of guilt for asking, but he can't help being curious what you would look like in one and how he would feel bending you over his knee in one.

—

A few days later, Joel receives a notification that his personal video is ready to be viewed. He takes his time, feeling guilty all over again but evidently he clicks on the link and waits for the video to load.

When the video starts, he's greeted with the sight of you, wearing a plaid skirt and a white blouse, looking as sexy as ever. You start to unbutton your blouse, revealing a lacy bra underneath. Joel feels his face flush with heat as he watches you, his heart pounding in his chest.You continue to tease him, running your fingers through your hair and biting your lower lip. Joel can feel himself getting more and more aroused, his cock straining against his pants.

Finally, you slip out of your skirt and bra, revealing your naked body underneath. Joel watches in amazement as you pose. And if that wasn't enough then you started talking to him, looking directly into the camera and speaking in a sultry voice. "Hi there, cowboy," you say, a playful smile on your lips. "I hope you're enjoying the video so far. I know I'm enjoying making it for you."

You run your hands over your body, caressing your breasts and your hips. "Do you like what you see?" you ask, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I've been thinking about you. Wondering what you're doing right now. Are you touching yourself? Are you thinking about me?"

You lean closer to the camera, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been thinking about you too, baby. Wondering what it would be like to be with you. To feel your hands on my body."

You sit down on a black spinning chair, manoeuvring your legs so youre on full display for the camera, your fingers find your clit. "I'm so wet for you, daddy.” You moan out.

You start to touch yourself in earnest, your fingers moving faster and faster. "M’so close," you say, your breath coming in short gasps. "I want you to come with me. I want you to feel what I'm feeling. I want you to come for me daddy."

You throw your head back and moan, your body shudders with pleasure. "Yes, daddy. Yes! I'm coming so hard for you."

As the video comes to an end, you look back at the camera, your eyes shining with satisfaction. "I hope you enjoyed that, cowboy, can't wait to see what we do next.”

As the video comes to an end, Joel can't believe what he's just witnessed. He feels his orgasm building up inside of him, and before he knows it, he's coming in his pants - just from watching you.

As he looks back at the screen, he sees that there's a message waiting for him from you. You're thanking him for watching the video and asking if he enjoyed it. Damn you're quick with these messages. He didn't even know you could tell he watched it.

He stares at the screen for a moment unsure what to say

cowboy_jm: Yeah, I really enjoyed it. Thanks for making it for me darlin.

He hits send, feeling so awkward and out of his element. He hasn't flirted with another woman in ages and the fact you're at least ten years younger than him doesn't make it any easier.

A few moments later, he gets a reply from you.

you: I'm glad you enjoyed it, cowboy 😘 I had a lot of fun making it for you. Do you want to see more?

He shouldn't, he should just shut his computer down and cancel the membership later. But he can't, he can't help himself.

cowboy_jm: Yeah, I'd like that.

You send him a picture, and he feels his heart race as he opens it. It's a selfie of you, wearing the plaid skirt and white blouse from the video, with a playful smile on your lips.

you: Here's a little something extra for you, cowboy. I hope you like it. 😏

You can't do this for every top tier subscriber, could you? Then again the price tag did promise a lot more than the others did. Maybe not a lot of people were desperate enough to need to be talked up by a pretty little thing like you. But damn was he enjoying it.

cowboy_jm: Wow, you look absolutely stunning in that outfit. I could get used to seeing you like this.

You: Oh, I bet you could. 😉 You know, I've always wanted to ride a cowboy... or his horse.

Joel feels his face flush with heat as he reads your message. He can't believe you just said that, but he's also incredibly turned on. He's never had a conversation like this before, but he's finding that he really enjoys it.

cowboy_jm: Well, I'm sure we can work something out. I've got a pretty big horse.

you: Oh, I bet you do. I've always been a fan of big horses. Maybe one day I'll get to ride yours.

cowboy_jm: You can ride my horse anytime you want, darlin'. I promise you won't be disappointed.

you: I can't wait.

As the conversation comes to a close, Joel feels a sense of dread wash over him. He knows he's made a mistake. He tells himself that he'll figure something out later.

—

As you close your laptop, a thrill of excitement runs through you. The conversation has been so thrilling, so charged with flirtation and innuendo. You can tell whoever is behind this cowboy profile is probably a little older and not too experienced on a site like this.

You decide to do a little more digging before sending him anything else. You navigate to his profile, curious to learn more about this mysterious cowboy who's captured your interest. As you scroll through his vague faceless pictures and read his bio, your heart skips a beat. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks: "cowboy_jm" is none other than Joel Miller, your dad's best friend. The one coming over tomorrow for a BBQ

The shock is palpable. You've known Joel your entire life. He's been a constant presence at family barbecues, holiday gatherings, and birthday parties. The thought of him seeing your content, let alone subscribing to your highest tier, is both mortifying and exhilarating. You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt, but it's quickly overshadowed by a surge of mischievous excitement. The idea of playing a game with Joel, of having this secret, is too tempting to pass up. You decide to have a little fun with the situation. After all, he's the one who's been flirting with you, who's been watching your videos and messaging you. You tell yourself that he's a willing participant in this little charade.

With a playful smile, you decide to up the ante. You want to see just how far Joel is willing to go. You open up your messaging app and start typing.

you: Hey cowboy, I was just trying to get to sleep but need a little help. How about how about you send me a little something? 😉

You hit send and wait for his response. You know you're playing with fire, but you can't help yourself. You want to see if he's really as adventurous as he's been pretending to be. As you wait for his reply, you can't help but feel a sense of power. You're in control of this situation, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it. You know you should probably feel guilty for manipulating Joel like this, but the thrill of the game is too intoxicating.

Finally, your notifications go off, and you see a new message from Joel. You take a deep breath and open it.

cowboy_jm: Oh? And what did you have in mind, darlin'?

you: Well, I was thinking... maybe you could send me a little something to hold me over until I can have that ride. 😉

You hold your breath, waiting for his response. You're not sure if he'll go for it, but you're hoping he will.

cowboy_jm: I don't know, darlin'. I'm not sure if that's such a good idea.

you: Oh, come on, cowboy. I promise I'll make it worth your while. 😏

cowboy_jm: Well, I suppose I could make an exception... just this once.

You feel a surge of excitement as you read his message. You can't believe he's actually going to do it!

cowboy_jm: But you have to promise me something, darlin'. You have to promise that this stays between us. I don't want anyone else seein’

what I'm about to send you.

you: Oh, I promise. I won't tell a soul. 😉

cowboy_jm: Alright, darlin'. Here it is. 😘

As you gaze at the image Joel has sent, your breath hitches in your throat. The sight of his cock is both surprising and incredibly arousing. It's clear that he's not a young man, the maturity of his body is evident in the thick, veined shaft that stands proudly in the photo. The girth of it makes your fingers twitch with the desire to touch it, to feel its weight in your hands.

The skin is a rich, deep pink, stretched taut over the hardness beneath. The head is broad and flushed with a deeper hue, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip, hinting at his arousal and the urgency of his need. You can't help but imagine how it would feel inside you, filling you completely, the friction of his thrusts igniting a fire within your core.

You can't deny the beauty of his cock. It's a testament to his virility, to the raw, primal power that he possesses. The soft, dark and grey hair at the base contrasts with the smoothness of the shaft, adding to the visual feast before your eyes.

You feel a warmth spreading through your body, a heat that pools between your legs as you continue to admire the photo. The thought of having such a magnificent cock at your disposal, of being able to pleasure and be pleasured by it, sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you type out a response

you: Wow, cowboy. You didn't have to send me something so... impressive. 😏 you've definitely exceeded my expectations. I can't wait to see it in person.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself, the thrill of the forbidden fueling your boldness. You know you're playing a dangerous game, but the allure of the unknown, the promise of untold pleasures, is too potent to resist.

As you wait for his reply, you can't help but touch yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to find the slickness that has gathered there. You imagine it's his hand, his fingers expertly coaxing you towards release, and the thought is enough to make you moan softly into the quiet of your room.

cowboy_jm: I'm looking forward to it too, darlin'. More than you know.

You can sense the anticipation in his messages, and it matches your own.

you: Well, I better let you go, cowboy. I've got a lot to do before bed. But I'll be thinking about you... and your impressive horse. 😉

cowboy_jm: Haha, I'll be thinking about you too, darlin'. Take care, and I'll see you soon.

As the evening winds down, Joel finds himself unable to shake the conversation from his mind. The image of you in that schoolgirl outfit, the sound of your voice as you called him 'daddy', the thrill of exchanging messages with you—it all feels like a dream, a forbidden fantasy come to life. He tries to focus on other things, but his thoughts keep drifting back to you.

The next day, Joel wakes up with a sense of nervous anticipation. He's supposed to go over to your dad's house and the thought of it sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tries to push the thoughts of your online interactions out of his mind as he gets ready, reminding himself that he's just going over to hang out with his friend. But the image of you in that plaid skirt keeps creeping back into his thoughts, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

—

As he pulls into the driveway, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come. He walks up to the front door, his heart pounding in his chest. Your dad greets him with a firm handshake and a warm smile, completely oblivious to the secret between his best friend and his daughter. When he walks in he notices you're nowhere in sight, and can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed.

Your dad and Joel make small talk for a few minutes before your dad excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving Joel alone in the living room. And as if on queue you walk into the room with a confident stride, wearing the same plaid skirt from the video and a tight-fitting white blouse. You greet him with a playful smile, your eyes twinkling with mischief

"Hey, Joel," you say, your voice dripping with sweetness. "Can I get you something to drink?”

Joel feels his face flush with heat as he tries to maintain his composure. "Hey there, darlin', uh sure," he replies, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're looking... very nice today.”

You giggle and do a little twirl, the skirt flaring out slightly to give him a glimpse of your thighs. "Why, thank you," you say, batting your eyelashes at him. "You're looking pretty good yourself.”

Before he can say anything else you walk over to the fridge and bend over to grab a couple of drinks, your skirt rides up to reveal a glimpse of your bare pussy, so perfect and fuckable.

You hand him a beer and wink at him, your lips curling into a seductive smile. "Enjoy the view?”

Joel takes the beer from you, his hand shaking slightly. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind filled with images of you from the videos and the messages you've exchanged. He knows that he should excuse himself, that he should leave before things go any further, but he can't seem to tear himself away from you.

Just then, your father walks back into the room, oblivious to the tension between you. "Hey, Joel," he says, clapping him on the back. "I'm glad you could make it. Let's head out to the backyard. I've got the grill fired up.”

Joel nods and follows him outside, grateful for the distraction.

As the afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the backyard, Joel tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. The skirt you're wearing teases him with its familiarity, a tangible reminder of the illicit videos he's watched late at night, alone in the darkness of his room. The way the fabric swishes around your thighs as you move—it's enough to make his head spin and his heart race in his chest.

You seem to revel in his discomfort, your eyes sparkling with mischief every time you catch him staring. You're the perfect picture of innocence and seduction, flipping burgers on the grill, laughing at your dad's corny jokes, all the while subtly taunting Joel with your every move.

With each playful glance, each coy smile, you're pulling him deeper into your web, ensnaring him with the promise of forbidden pleasures. And Joel, for all his attempts at normalcy, can't help but be drawn in.

He reaches for another beer, the cool bottle a welcome relief from the heat that seems to be building inside him. The alcohol loosens his inhibitions, making it easier to laugh at your dad's anecdotes, to join in on the conversation, even as his mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you.

As night approaches and the drinks continue flowing, your dad’s found his limit. He stands up from his lawn chair with a contented sigh. "Well, I think it's time for this old man to hit the hay," he announces, stretching his arms above his head. "You two kids have fun, but not too much fun, alright? Make sure you take the guestroom Joel."

You flash him a cheeky grin, the corners of your eyes crinkling with amusement. "Don't worry, Dad. We'll be good," you assure him, your gaze flicking briefly to Joel, who's suddenly found something incredibly interesting on the bottom of his beer bottle.

As your dad disappears into the house, the air between you and Joel grows charged with anticipation. The playful banter, the secret glances traded throughout the evening have led to this moment, where the unspoken promise of something more hangs heavy in the air.

The stars above twinkle with a knowing light, as if privy to the secret that simmers just beneath the surface. The night, once a backdrop to a casual gathering, now feels like an intimate cocoon, sheltering the two of you from the outside world.

Joel, with his guard lowered by the evening's camaraderie and the remnants of alcohol in his system, finds himself adrift in the sea of your gaze. The laughter and casual conversation that filled the air earlier has given way to silence.

You lean back in your chair, your eyes locked on Joel's and a mischievous smile paints your lips. "You know, Joel," you say, your voice low and teasing, "I've been thinking about our little chat yesterday."

Joel's heart skips a beat. "Oh? And what chat would that be, darlin'?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

You lean forward, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "The one where you told me all about your - impressive horse," you say, your voice dripping with innuendo.

Joel nearly chokes on his beer, caught off guard by your boldness. He coughs and sputters, his face turning a shade of red that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "I... uh... “he stammers, his eyes darting nervously in the direction of the house. Joel feels the color drain from his face, his palms growing sweaty. He had hoped that the anonymity of the internet would keep his secret safe, but now, as he looks into your knowing eyes, he realizes that you've seen right through him this entire time. "I... uh... I'm not sure what you're talkin’ about," he stammers, his gaze darting nervously around the backyard.

You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that sends a shiver down Joel's spine. "Oh, come on, cowboy," you say, using his nickname on the site. "You don't have to be so shy about it."

Joel's eyes widen in shock, and he feels his face flush with heat. "How did you-?" he begins, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"Let's just say I have my ways," you reply, your smile widening. "what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Joel runs a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. He had never imagined that his online interactions with you would spill over into the real world, and he's not sure how to handle the situation. "I just... I didn't think you knew it was me," he admits.

You lean back in your chair, your gaze never leaving his. "Well, I did some digging, and let's just say your profile picture was a bit of a giveaway," you say, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Joel feels his face grow even hotter, if that's possible. He had been so careful, so cautious, and yet, here he is, exposed and vulnerable.

"What's the matter, Joel? Scared?"

“It's not that, darlin'," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... complicated."

"Life's complicated, cowboy," you say, your voice steady and sure. "But sometimes, you've just got to take the reins and ride it out.”

Before he can respond, you stand up and extend your hand towards him, a silent invitation to follow you into the unknown. Joel hesitates for a moment, his mind racing with the potential consequences of what he's about to do and what you could possibly be offering. But in the end, desire wins out over caution, and with a resigned sigh, he places his hand in yours.

You lead him through the quiet house, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. As you reach the guest room, you pause and turn to face him, your hand resting on the doorknob.

"This is where you'll be sleeping tonight, cowboy," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But remember, I'm just down the hall if you need anything.”

With that, you give him a playful wink and disappear down the hallway, leaving him standing there, his heart pounding and his mind filled with images of what he thought was going to happen and what might happen if he takes you up on your offer.

—

The next morning, Joel wakes up with a slight headache, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. He sits up in bed, rubbing his temples, and tries to piece together the events of the previous night. His mind is foggy from the alcohol, but the memory of you in that skirt is crystal clear.

He gets up and stumbles out of the guest room, his bare feet padding against the cool hardwood floor. He's still half-asleep, his thoughts are muddled and disoriented, and in his groggy state, he accidentally turns the wrong way down the hallway.

Before he knows what's happening, he finds himself standing in the doorway of your bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and through the crack, he can see you lying on the bed, your legs spread wide, your hand buried between your thighs. You're completely lost in the moment, your eyes are closed and your lips are parted in a silent moan. You're wearing a thin pair of panties.

Joel's heart stops in his chest as he watches you, his breath catches in his throat. He knows he should turn around and leave, but he can't seem to tear himself away. He's transfixed by the sight of you, the way your body moves, the soft, needy sounds you make as you touch yourself.

And then, as if sensing his presence, your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, your gaze filled with surprise and desire. But instead of stopping, instead of pushing him away, you moan his name, your voice husky and full of need.

“Joel," you whisper, your fingers still moving in slow, deliberate circles. "I've been waiting for you."

Joel feels a jolt of electricity shoot through his body, his cock hardening in his boxers. He steps into the room, his movements slow and hesitant, and you beckon him closer with a curl of your finger.

"Come here, cowboy," you purr, pulling your panties to the side to give him a better view.

Joel's mind is a whirlwind of emotions as he steps toward the bed, his body acting on instinct despite the lingering doubts in his mind. He's acutely aware of the line he's about to cross, yet, the sight of you, so wanton and unashamed, is an irresistible siren call that he cannot ignore.

He reaches the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on the intimate display before him. The scent of your arousal fills the air, a heady perfume that makes his head spin. He watches as you continue to pleasure yourself, your fingers dancing over your clit with practiced ease, your hips bucking in response to your own touch.

"Touch me, Joel," you beg, your voice trembling with need. "I need to feel you inside me.”

Joel swallows hard, his hands shaking as he reaches out to touch you. His fingers graze your inner thigh, the skin soft and warm beneath his touch. With a gentleness that belies the hunger in his eyes, Joel slides your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to his gaze. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him—your pussy glistening with arousal.

Joel positions himself between your thighs, his gaze never leaving yours as he lowers his head to taste you. The first touch of his tongue to your heated core elicits a sharp gasp from you, your body arching off the bed in response to the sudden sensation.

"Oh, God, Joel," you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to explore you with his mouth. His tongue traces the contours of your pussy, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

He takes his time, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your body responding to his touch. His hands slide under your hips, pulling you closer, his tongue delving deeper into your depths. You can feel the tension building inside you, a coil of desire winding tighter with each passing moment.

"You taste so fuckin good, darlin'," Joel growls, his voice muffled by your flesh. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, your moans growing louder and more insistent as he continues his ministrations.

You're lost in a sea of sensation, your world narrowed down to the relentless rhythm of his tongue and the feel of his hands on your body. "I'm close, Joel," you gasp, your body tensing as the first waves of your orgasm begin to crest. "So close..."

With a final flick of his tongue, Joel sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body convulses as the orgasm rips through you, your muscles clenching around his tongue as you cry out his name. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, a white-hot surge of ecstasy that leaves you breathless and shaking.

As the aftershocks subside, Joel crawls up the bed to lie beside you, his body humming with need. You turn to face him, your eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, a sated smile playing on your lips. "That was... perfect," you murmur, your hand reaching down to stroke his rock-hard erection through his boxers. "But now it's your turn, cowboy."

Before Joel can respond, you're pushing him onto his back and deftly pulling down his boxers to free his straining cock. You lean down to take him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, your hand pumping the shaft in time with your movements. Joel groans, his hands fist the sheets as you work your magic on him. He can feel the pressure building in his balls, the telltale tingling that signals the approach of his orgasm. "Fuck, darlin'," he grunts, his body tensing.

“You're gonna make me come.”

You pull back, releasing him from your mouth with a wet pop. "Not yet," you say, a wicked gleam in your eye. "Wanna take that ride.” You straddle him, your hand guiding his cock to your entrance. You sink down onto him with a moan and your body stretches to accommodate his girth. Joel grips your hips, his eyes locked with yours as you begin to ride him, your movements are slow and deliberate.

The sensation of being inside you is almost too much for Joel. He can feel every inch of your tight, wet pussy as you move on top of him, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. "You feel so fucking good, darlin', so fuckin good,” he groans as his hands move to cup your breasts.

You lean forward letting your lips brush against his ear. "I want you to fuck me, Joel," you whisper, your voice thick with desire. "Fuck me like you've been dreaming of."

With a low growl, Joel flips you onto your back, his body covering yours as he drives into you with deep, powerful strokes. You wrap your legs around his waist, your fingers dig into his back as he pounds into you, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the room.

"Yes, Joel, yes!" you cry out as your body arches off the bed. "Harder, fuck me harder!"

Joel obliges, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor, each thrust pushes you closer and closer to the edge. And then, with a final, brutal thrust, you're both coming, your bodies shudder in unison as you ride out the waves of your orgasms.

As the last spasms of pleasure wrack your bodies, Joel collapses on top of you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You lie there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, your bodies still intimately connected. Then, with a playful grin, you nudge him with your hip. "So, cowboy, how was that ride for you?"

Joel lifts his head and his eyes meet yours. A slow smile spreads across his face. "Darlin'," he drawls, "that was the best ride of my life."

You laugh, the sound light and carefree. "I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. We should probably get cleaned up before my dad wakes up."

Reluctantly, Joel pulls out of you and rolls onto his back. You sit up, stretching your arms above your head, and then climb out of bed. You pad over to your dresser and pull out a pair of clean panties and an outfit, then turn to face Joel.

"Coming?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Joel grins and gets out of bed, his eyes roaming over your body. "Yes, ma'am," he says, saluting you with a mock-serious expression.

You both head to the bathroom, where you shower. As Joel steps under the spray of hot water, you take a moment to drink in the sight of him. The water cascades down his broad shoulders, tracing the contours of his muscular back and flowing over the firm swell of his ass. You allow your gaze to travel back up to his face, watching as the water beads on his skin, runs down the sharp angles of his jaw, and drips from the tips of his lashes.

Joel turns, his movements languid and unhurried. The water washes over his chest, highlighting the definition of his muscles and the ridges of his abdomen. A smattering of greying hair adorns his chest, trailing down his stomach to form a line that disappears beneath the water. His cock, still semi-hard from your earlier escapades, rests against his thigh.

For a moment, you're lost in the sheer masculine beauty of him. He's not a young man, but there's a timeless quality to his physique, a sense of strength and resilience that transcends age. You can't help the surge of attraction to him like a primal pull.

Joel catches you staring and a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. "See somethin you like, darlin'?" he drawls, his voice thick with amusement.

You feel a flush of heat creep into your cheeks, but you refuse to look away. "Maybe I do," you retort, your gaze locked with his. "Do you have a problem with that, cowboy?"

Joel chuckles. "No problem at all, feel free to look your fill."

You step forward and reach out to trace the line of hair that bisects his chest. His skin is warm and slick beneath your fingers, the muscle beneath firm and unyielding.

Joel's smile fades, replaced by a look of intense concentration as he watches you explore his body. Encouraged by his reaction, you drop to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding over the wet skin of his hips. Joel's breath hitches as you lean forward and press a kiss to his stomach, just above the line of hair that leads to his rapidly hardening cock.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of innocence and lust. "I want to taste you, Joel," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. "I want to feel you in my mouth."

Joel groans, his hands tangling in your wet hair as he guides you closer. His cock is fully erect now, the head flushed with arousal and beaded with moisture. You part your lips and take him into your mouth, the taste of him mingling with the clean, fresh scent of the soap.

Joel's hips jerk in response to the sensation, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck, such a good girl for this ol’cowboy.”

You hum in acknowledgment, the vibration sending a shudder through his body. You can feel his control slipping, his movements becoming more erratic as you work him. With each stroke of your tongue, each suckling kiss, you're pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna come, darlin'," Joel warns, his voice strained. "If you don't want to swallow, you better pull back now."

You respond by taking him deeper, your hands gripping his ass as you suck him with renewed vigor. Joel's control snaps, his body tensing as he erupts in your mouth. You swallow reflexively, the salty-sweet taste of his release filling your senses.

As the last spasms of his orgasm subside, Joel pulls you to your feet and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

As the water from the shower begins to cool, Joel reaches out and turns off the faucet, the sudden silence punctuated only by the sound of your shared breathing. He steps out of the shower first, taking a moment to grab a fluffy towel from the rack and wrapping it around his waist. Then, with a gentlemanly gesture he offers you his hand to help you step out onto the mat.

You accept his help with a grateful smile, your fingers curling around his as he assists you. He takes another towel and begins to gently dry your body, his movements tender and unhurried. The care he takes with you, the way he looks at you with a mixture of awe and desire, makes you feel cherished and beautiful.

Once you're both dry, you lead him back to your bedroom, the cool sheets a welcome relief against your warm skin. You crawl onto the bed, your body still humming with the aftereffects of your shared pleasure, and Joel follows suit, lying down beside you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. There's a sense of contentment that fills the room.

Joel reaches out and takes your hand in his, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. "That was... something else, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You turn to face him, your eyes locking onto his. "It was," you agree, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I'm glad you took a chance on me, cowboy."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "I think it's safe to say that I'm the one who got lucky."

You giggle, the sound light and carefree. It feels good to let go of the tension, to bask in the afterglow without overthinking the situation.

As the morning wears on, you both dress, the reality of the day ahead slowly beginning to intrude on your private world. You know that eventually, you'll have to face your dad, to pretend that nothing has changed, but for now, you're content to linger in bed with Joel, the world outside temporarily forgotten.

When you finally emerge from your room, you find your dad in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. He looks up as you enter, a smile spreading across his face when he sees the two of you together.

"Well, good morning, sleepyheads," he greets. "I hope you two weren't up too late."

You feel a flush of heat creep into your cheeks, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. "Not too late, Dad," you reply, your voice steady.

Joel, for his part, seems completely at ease, his years of friendship with your dad serving him well in this moment. He claps your father on the back and grins. "You know how it is. Once you get to talking, the time just flies by."

Your dad nods, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. He stands up from the table and stretches, his joints popping in the quiet of the kitchen. "Well, I'm glad you two had a good time. How about some breakfast?

Throughout the meal, you're acutely aware of his presence, the knowledge of what lies beneath his clothes, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of him on your lips. It's a heady secret, one that you carry with you as you navigate the normalcy of the morning.

Eventually, the meal comes to an end, and Joel stands up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I should probably be heading home," he says, his gaze meeting yours. "I've got a few things I need to take care of today."

Your dad nods, pushing back his chair and standing up as well. "I understand. Thanks for coming over. We'll have to do it again soon."

You walk Joel to the door, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the first time you've been alone all morning since the shower. He turns to face you, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I had a great time, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "Thank you for... well, for everything."

You smile up at him, your eyes shining with emotion. "I had a great time too, Joel. Take care, okay?"

He nods, his hand dropping back to his side. "You too, pretty girl."

With a final, lingering look, Joel turns and walks away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the morning. You close the door behind him and lean back against it, your mind racing with the events of the past 24 hours.

As you make your way back to the kitchen, your dad looks up from the dishes he's washing and gives you a smile. "He's a good man, that Joel," he says, his voice filled with a warmth and affection that only comes from years of friendship. "I'm glad you two get along so well."

You nod, a sense of peace settling over you. "Yeah, Dad. He’s really good.”

And as you help your dad finish the dishes, the memory of Joel's touch, the sound of his voice, the taste of his kiss, all of it lingers in the back of your mind, a sweet reminder you can only hope happens again and again.

Special taglist for @milla-frenchy 😘

#fic rec #dbf!joel #joel miller smut

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milla-frenchy · 18 hours ago

Text

Dance with me, darlin'

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his early 40s), Joel is a menace, Tommy’s in the club too, no mention of Sarah. Pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby), pussy and dick pronouns, masturbation (f), oral (m/f), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, soft dom!Joel, piv, creampie. Pic for mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions

a/n: this is written for @sp00kymulderr 's dick pronoun fic challenge | masterlist thank you for the challenge, Gideon 🙏❤️ (I'm so late I'm sorry 😳) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

Saturday night, finally. You had a tough week at work, and you were looking forward to this night, wishing to forget your worries. You had planned to go to a club with your two friends, Maddie and Anna, drink a few shots and let loose on the dance floor.

The place was already packed when the three of you arrived, and you headed to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila that you downed immediately.

“Just what I needed,” you told your friends, sighing in relief, as you felt some of your troubles disappear- at least temporarily, when the strong alcohol flowed down your throat.

You set the glass down, before turning toward the dance floor and placing your elbows on the counter. “Come on, let’s dance,” Anna said, motioning for Maddie and you to follow her.

You danced and sang, your awful week finally behind you, and then headed back to the bar.

“Good evening, ladies.” All three of you turned around when you heard a masculine voice.

“Good evening yourself,” Maddie replied, smiling at the man. He was handsome, seemed to be in his late 30s, with dark hair and brown eyes, a moustache and a short beard. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching his white t-shirt, its already short sleeves were rolled up around his biceps. His hair was tied back with a rubber band.

“I’m Tommy. Can I offer you drinks?”

The three of you looked at each other and agreed.

“Wanna join me and my brother? Over there,” he added, nodding toward a booth. Shamelessly manspreading, the man sitting there gave you and your friends a vague nod with his chin. He was wearing sunglasses, which you found strange in this place, but his attitude was hot and you didn’t want to turn down a drink. Neither did your friends.

“Hi, Tommy’s brother,” you said loudly over the music as you sat down.

“Hey darlin’, I’m Joel. What did you order?”

“Tequila,” you replied, trying not to react to the pet name he already gave you, despite the giggles of your friends.

“Nice,” he said, scratching his beard with his thumb, as the corner of his lip lifted slightly. This man was exactly what you needed tonight: a hot menace.

Tommy came back with the shots, all emptied as quickly as the first ones you’d had after your arrival. He started to chat with your friends and you looked at Joel more closely. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, so tight that his biceps seemed to be begging for release.

He probably noticed you were checking him out and not paying attention to the conversation at all, considering the smirk he gave you.

“Dance with me, darlin’,” he said, standing up right away, as if he already knew you wouldn't say no. He held out his hand to you, while pushing his glasses up on his head. You stood up and met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. His flirty smirk didn’t go unnoticed either- he was full of confidence, and you liked it.

He took your hand in his and you tried to stay focused on the music, the noises around, even though you felt like you were in a velvet box that muffled everything around you, since the moment his fingers touched you.

You started to dance and he was good at it, hips moving sensually. He rested his hands on your hips once or twice, and checked if you were ok with the way he was touching you. Feeling confident, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders while you were dancing, and resisted the urge to press your body closer to his.

When a second song started, you started to spin around to the rhythm of the music, swaying your hips lascively, and stopped when two hands settled on your hips.

“Already showing me your ass, baby? Lookin’ for trouble?” he said in a low voice, his mouth so close to your ear that his beard brushed your skin. His lips slid towards your pulse point and he kissed it, making you shiver.

You turned your face to look at him and held your breath. His stare, like yours probably, exuded sex. “Maybe I am, yeah. The good kind,” you replied finally, trying to keep a confident voice.

“Always the good kind with me, sweetheart,” he replied, leaning against you slightly, but enough for you to feel the bulge in his jeans. Another shiver ran through your body filled with arousal.

You turned around, and Joel kept his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him, determinedly, and you faced him. Two motionless bodies in the middle of the dance floor, while everybody was dancing around you. It was like time stopped for a moment.

He took your chin between his fingers, slowly tilting it left and then right. As if he was scrutinizing you.

“What? You’re gonna ask my age?”

“No. You’re over 21, that’s enough for me,” he said, and you started to dance again.

“Looks like you’re a damn menace, Joel…” you smirked.

He chuckled but didn’t answer.

A couple songs later, you excused yourself to go freshen up in the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to slow down your heartbeat, to take your time before going back. Trying to stop yourself from asking him to join you in the bathroom so you could fuck him there.

When you came back, Joel was no longer dancing, or at the booth. You stopped dead in your tracks, disappointed. You obviously had been mistaken, thinking he was interested in you. You told your friends that you would call an Uber and go home.

When you walked out of the club, Joel was facing the exit, leaning against a truck.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, ogling your body from head to toe, with your dress not covering much, his lips curved in a confident smile.

“And you just left? I could have met another man and completely forgotten about you," you said, half teasing half provoking him, as you were walking towards him.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he replied, the confidence in his voice making your knees weaken. He pulled you towards him, his scent invading your nostrils again. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Could almost hear that little pussy clench on nothin’, while we were dancin’,” he murmured against your ear while his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you against his bulge. You bit your lip, trying not to moan.

“Am I right? Coulda fucked you in the bathroom, but I wanna take my time with you.”

“So you want to fuck me in your car?”

“No. Not with my dick, at least,” he smirked.

“Shit,” you breathed. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, and heat rushed over your whole body.

“Wanna come to my place, darlin’?”

“For ‘good kind of trouble’, like you offered? Yes… yeah.”

“‘Course you do,” he added, cockily.

He grabbed your arms and spun you around, caging you with his broad body, your back against the truck door, his wide thigh between yours. Pressing against your throbbing pussy.

“Is she purin’, baby? This little cunt? She wants to be mine all night, doesn't she?”

“Fuck… yeah.”

He brushed his nose against your cheeks and ear, then kissed your neck, his hands sliding from your ass to your waist.

You wanted to kiss him, but he seemed to enjoy playing with you. Tease you.

“That’s my girl. Get in the truck, sweetheart,” he said, moving away just enough to open the door.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman?”

He tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that seemed to mean “for now”, then he closed the door.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. He was so hot and confident that you felt yourself drooling like never before.

“So you’re a contractor?” you said as he sat down, trying to cool off the atmosphere a bit. “Miller bros,” written on your truck? It explains the arms.”

“You checked out my arms, darlin’?”

“Yeah, like you checked out my ass,” you teased. So much for the cool off.

“I sure did,” he chuckled. “Yeah, Tommy and I are contractors.”

He put his hand on your bare thigh while he was driving. As if you were his. His possessiveness made your core throb and you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to ease the tension you were feeling.

“Oh, baby… need it bad, uh? Don't worry, my place ain’t far. Now, be a good girl, and put your hand between your legs.”

You looked at him, surprised and even more aroused.

“You need some release, don’t you?”

You nodded and did as he said, you were here for it after all, and his soft dominant tone was exactly what you craved. You slid your hand between your thighs, down to your soaked panties.

“Two fingers. You can take them easily, I know you're droolin’.”

You bit your lip when you heard him, and slid your hand under the fabric.

That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Now lemme hear her.”

He watched you each time he could- at every red light, every stop, when it was safe.

You were turned on by the fact that he was there, next to you, this man you had just met. Imagining how he would fuck you, aware that you were already under his control in some way. Under his spell, or whatever you called it. You brushed your folds then pushed two fingers in to let him hear how wet you were.

“Christ, that’s it, darlin’. Ruin my seat.”

You whined, keeping two fingers buried in your cunt, and brought your other hand in your panties to play with your clit and release the tension that was clenching your stomach.

“Oh shit, that’s it baby, two hands,” he said again. “Keep goin’, come in my damn car.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna come, fuck,” you whimpered, when your climax rushed over you, back arched, pussy clenching on your fingers, clit pulsing under your digit. You felt your wetness flow down to his seat.

“Shit,” he said, grabbing his bulge in his big hand, trying to ease his own tension now, before putting his hand on your thigh again. He didn’t release you until he pulled into his driveway. Then he got out of his truck and walked around to open the door, took your hand in his and led you to his house.

He slammed the door behind you and you finally kissed, your lips crashing against each other. There was no restraint, no reserve, just hunger for more. You moaned in his mouth, while growls were roaring from his throat. Bodies pressed in an impatient and greedy embrace, four hands roaming two bodies.

You pulled back to catch your breath, his hands not letting go of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours, full of desire. His lips found yours again, as he led you backwards to the table against which he leaned you. One hand still on your waist, the other on the back of your neck, he kissed you, holding you tight against him, his tongue brushing yours.

Unable to hold back any longer, you slid your hand down to his crotch, just to touch him there, to feel its weight. Your breath stopped for a second and he wrapped his hand around yours, pressing it harder against his manhood, licking your tongue and lips.

“Take off your clothes, and show me that pussy, darlin’. Been teasin’ me for too damn long.”

He stepped aside, leaving you in charge of giving him a show that you gladly offered. You removed your dress, revealing your lingerie. The way he was looking at you took away any shyness or nervousness. You paused for a moment and he didn't hurry you, clearly enjoying it. You lost patience first and unhooked your bra then let it fall. You didn’t give yourself time to think about it and pushed your panties to the side, running your finger along your wet folds. Eyes still fixed on him, you brought your digit to your mouth and sucked it slowly.

“You're a naughty little thing,” he said in a husky voice, and you tried not to moan at this word, and kept teasing him. “You like it?” you asked playfully, feeling your wetness flowing down your folds.

He smirked, before adding “lie down on the table, sweetheart.”

You obliged happily as he walked towards you, and grabbed the hem of your panties, sliding them down your trembling legs then off the ankles. He spread your thighs as he stood between them, and brushed your folds with his thumbs, touching you there for the first time, eyes fixed on your glistening pussy.

“A naughty thing, with a really pretty cunt… looks like you’re gonna ruin more than my truck seat.”

“Fuck,” you murmured, and he leant down, hands clamped on your thighs, once again he didn’t wait and lapped at your cunt with one long stripe. His eyes fixed on you.

“Fuck me… you taste so good,” he growled before going back to eating you out, making you moan against the back of your hand. The emotion and the pleasure felt were so strong that your thighs tried to close instinctively. Growling, he spread them with his warm and firm hands, holding you open on the table.

“Joel,” you whined, feeling another climax already rising. His tongue left your folds, quickly replaced by two thick fingers, an she began fucking you with them as his lips surrounded your swollen and sensitive clit. The tip of his tongue played with it, teased it, before sucking on it, making you groan until you came on his tongue and squeezed his face between your thighs, whining his name.

He straightened up when you stopped shaking, pressed his crotch against your cunt, and wiped his glistening beard and moustache with the back of his hand.

You sat on the edge of the table, thighs spread around Joel’s thighs. His large, strong body took its place almost with authority as if it needed it, but every pore of your skin was more than ready to welcome him.

Eager to return the favor, you unzipped his jeans and knelt down.

“Needy girl,” he said, as if he wasn’t greedy too, his voice almost a growl of impatience.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, struggling to free his cock that you felt hammering against the rough fabric of his clothes. You pulled them just below his balls and his cock sprang free, hard, and slapped against his lower belly.

He took your chin between his fingers, eyes full of confidence and how could he not be, given your inability to tear your eyes away from his fat tip, his thick shaft, and his heavy balls?

“I really love the way you look at my cock, but I’d like to see these lips around it, darlin’, if you want too. Before I fuck her.”

Your pussy was drooling again, calling for you to let him fuck her already, but you were craving of having your mouth and throat full of his cock.

“Needy boy,” you said, teasing him, and making him smile. “Yeah, I’m gonna suck him.”

“Him?” he asked, surprised.

“You called my pussy “her”, right?”

“Right”, he chuckled. “So, you’re gonna blow this big boy, baby?”

“You’re still talking about your dick? Or about you?” you asked mischievously, licking his shaft just to hear him growl.

“Darlin’, shit... Both I guess,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thick thumb.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, still mid-thigh, and with a sharp tug you pulled them down. Your thumb spread the precum over his tip then tasted it on your tongue, sucking your digit, head raised towards him. He growled, hand tightening on your cheek.

You placed your lips around his tip and started to suck it. His taste, his size, all of him made you moan, and he throbbed even bigger.

“Damn, baby…”, he said in a low voice, before you began jerking him off, your tongue sliding down his shaft towards his balls that you licked too and took in your mouth to feel their weight on your tongue. You sucked them and licked the thin skin behind them. Just to make him shiver, grunt. Just to make him think that you were a menace too.

“Shit, shit… darlin’...”

You took him back in your mouth, deeper and deeper, until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grunts turned into the most greedy moans you had ever heard.

“Alright, alright, shit, baby… You’re way too good at this, c’mere,” he added, grabbing your elbow to help you up.

Then he spun you around, making you face the table. One hand on your shoulder, he growled “bend down for me, sweetheart.”

His voice was needy, much less in control than earlier in the evening, and you liked feeling him lose his chill.

“You're gonna let me fuck this little cunt, darlin’? Yeah? You’re gonna let me ruin you?”

“Or maybe I’ll ruin you, who knows?” you answered, head towards him. Hoping that he would only hear confidence in your voice, and not the need to welcome him inside you, mixed with the apprehension of wondering if you could welcome him.

“You’re a little menace, you know that?” he chuckled, nestling his cock between your thighs, and you leaned down, placing your cheek and hands on the table.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” he said in a low voice, “and let me in.”

He pushed in and then stopped, just the tip in, grabbed the back of your knee and propped it over the table to open your core. It was the hottest thing you had ever experienced, and your juices flooded his tip.

“We gotta get her used to him, right?” he said, his hand tightening on your shoulder. You could barely hear his words, waiting for him to sink in, to feel him completely.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please, fuck me,” you whined.

Slowly, he thrust in, leaving you breathless for a moment.

“Oh my god…” you whimpered finally, as his tip, his shaft, were spreading your folds in a mix of delight and light pain.

“Shit, you got such a tight cunt. Tryin’ to swallow me whole.”

He didn't stop, pushing in until he bottomed out and you whimpered. His hand still on your shoulder, he pulled back leaving only his tip in your cunt, before pushing in again. He did this two or three times, to let you get used to him.

“You’re ready, baby? Because he… wants to fuck, now,” he said, voice low, needy.

“Yes, Joel,” you replied, and he began pounding into you, his hands clinging to your hips. Fucking you faster, harder, now that your folds had given way under his thickness, helped by your wetness that didn’t stop flowing from his shaft to his balls.

“Damn you’re so fuckin’ tight…”

“Told you…” you panted, “that I’d ruin you.”

He tried to chuckle, but it got cut in his throat. So he tried to calm his breathing, slowing down the pace, fucking you slower but deeper.

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,” he said between two hip thrusts. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned, hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to keep yourself in position, your moans filling the room.

“You’re gonna come again, darlin’?” he growled, one of his hands running down your back from your shoulder to your waist, making you shiver. “Wanna come on my dick?”

“Yes,” you whined. You wanted to soak him, to make him lose his mind just like you knew you would lose yours.

He slid his hand up to your mouth for you to suck on his finger before sliding it over your clit. Stroking it perfectly, he pulled away slightly to watch his cock sink into you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect baby. Keep takin’ it, just like that.”

All you wanted was to keep taking it. Keep feeling him inside you. But soon your climax hit your core and you shook, clit pulsing.

“Oh shit,” he said, when your cunt clenched on him, and squeezed his shaft.

Teeth gritted, he tried to hold on as much as possible, letting the heat of your pussy drive him crazy. You squeezed his hand in yours, saying “come inside Joel. Inside, please. I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Can’t do that sweetheart,” he panted.

“Please, Joel, wanna feel you… need you to fill me up,” you insisted, hand tight on his.

“Damn sweetheart,” he growled, still pounding you, as if he didn’t want it to end, just before he filled your cunt with his warmth, breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago for the first time. Unable to resist your hot, tight pussy, your moans, your pleas. He came inside, sending spurt after spurt of cum deep inside you, until he covered your back with his chest, and kissed your shoulder.

“Darlin’,” he breathed finally, “you’re dangerous, you know that?” he almost laughed against your skin.

A few minutes later, you were watching him zip up his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, while you were putting on your dress.

“Can I have your phone, darlin’?”

You handed it to him, watched his thumb dance on it before handing it back to you.

“Now you have my number. I’d be glad if you called me.”

You looked at your phone and smiled, when you saw that he saved his number as Joel (menace).

“It reminds me that you didn’t ask my name once tonight,” you told him.

“Darlin’ suits you well,” he smiled. “But you’re right. What’s your name, darlin’?”

You asked for his phone, and added your contact before giving it back to him.

After your first name, there was “darlin’” in parentheses.

You smiled at each other, his cheek dimpled and your heart stopped for a moment.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us hbo

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joelmillerisapunk · 20 hours ago

Text

Lonely Hearts Club

Joel Miller x His Hand ★ 2.5K

Summary: idk Joel meets Sarah's teacher, masturbates about it, and then buys a sex toy about it?

-Or-

Joel's first time with a sex toy

Warnings: male masturbation, use of a female sex toy with female anatomy and breasts.

Notes: I have no words, only a big tysm to @thundermartini for always listening to me ramble off ideas and always being their number one fan I love you so much. A big tysm to my wifey @evolnoomym & @syd-djarin for reading this over as well you're the mvps & finally thank you @enchanthings-a for the divider

Joel Miller wasn’t sure what he expected when Sarah asked him to come to her school for parent-teacher night. Maybe some stern-faced woman with reading glasses and a pencil skirt, the type to make him feel like he was back in high school and getting scolded for not paying attention.

What he didn't expect was you.

When he stepped into the brightly lit classroom, his eyes were immediately drawn to you. You stood by your desk, shuffling papers with a warm smile as you greeted parents. Joel felt like he’d been hit by a truck. You were gorgeous—radiant in a way that knocked the breath out of him. The kind of pretty that made his chest ache, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Sarah tugged at his sleeve, snapping him out of his daze. “Dad, c’mon,” she urged, dragging him closer to the desk where you stood.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you said, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart stutter. “I’m Sarah’s teacher. She talks about you all the time—says you’re the best dad ever.”

Joel felt his face flush. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager again. “She, uh... she says that, huh?”

“She does,” you confirmed, your eyes sparkling with warmth.

He found himself staring, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips, the way your hair framed your face, the faint scent of your perfume that drifted in the air between you. It had been a long time since Joel felt... this. Like the ground beneath him was suddenly unsteady.

“Daddy, stop staring,” Sarah whispered loudly, nudging him with her elbow.

Joel blinked, mortified, and quickly turned his attention back to you. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Miller. Happens all the time.”

He couldn’t tell if you were teasing him or not, but damn if it didn’t make his pulse race.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Joel listened as you talked about Sarah—how bright and inquisitive she was, how she always made you laugh with her clever observations. He nodded in all the right places, even managed to ask a question or two about her progress, but his brain was still stuck on how pretty you were. The way you smiled, the way you spoke, the way you looked at him like he was the only one in the room.

Later that night, back home, Joel sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Sarah was already asleep, her laughter from earlier still echoing faintly in his mind.

When it was finally time to leave, Joel thanked you, his voice gruff but sincere. You gave him another one of those dazzling smiles, and it took everything in him not to trip over his own feet on the way out.

But his thoughts weren’t on Sarah anymore.

They were on you.

He could still see the way your lips curved when you smiled, the softness in your eyes when you talked about his daughter. Could still hear the lilt of your voice, feel the phantom warmth of your hand when you’d shaken his at the end of the meeting.

Joel leaned back, his breath hitching as his mind wandered further, the images of you becoming more vivid. He imagined what it’d feel like to have you close, to run his hands over the curves he’d tried so hard not to stare at in the classroom.

His hand drifted lower as he let himself sink into the fantasy, his body responding to the thought of you—of how soft you’d feel, how sweet you’d sound whispering his name.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. He knew that. But, fuck, he couldn’t stop himself.

For the first time in a long time, Joel allowed himself to want.

He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes slipping shut as he let the memory of you take over. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his sweatpants suddenly feeling too tight as his mind conjured up the soft lilt of your voice and the curve of your smile. He thought about the way your shirt hugged your body, the delicate slope of your collarbone, and how your lips had parted just slightly when you laughed.

“Jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face like he could scrub the image of you away. But it was no use.

With a frustrated groan, Joel shifted, his hand trailing down to undo the string of his pants. He hesitated for a brief moment, guilt prickling at the edges of his thoughts. You were Sarah’s teacher, for god’s sake. This wasn’t right.

But the ache in his body drowned out the protests in his head, and before he knew it, his hand was wrapping around himself, his calloused palm stroking slowly as he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He imagined it was your hand instead, soft and teasing, guiding him with a confidence that left him breathless. In his mind, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, your lips curved into that sweet, knowing smile as you leaned closer, whispering his name like a secret.

Joel’s hand moved faster, his breaths turning ragged as the fantasy deepened. He pictured you on top of him, your hair tumbling around your face as you smiled down at him, your hips rolling slowly, deliberately, as you took him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his mind consumed by thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how perfect you’d look with your lips parted around his cock.

The tension coiled tighter in his stomach, his strokes growing uneven as he chased the release he so desperately needed. He imagined the way you’d moan his name, soft and breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pulled you closer, deeper.

It didn’t take long before the fantasy overtook him completely, and with a low, guttural groan, Joel’s body tensed, pleasure crashing over him in waves as he spilled into his hand.

He sat there for a moment afterward, his chest heaving and his mind still clouded with thoughts of you. Guilt tried to creep in again, but it was dulled by the lingering warmth in his body and the memory of your smile that refused to leave him.

Joel sighed, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning himself up.

Joel sat at the edge of his bed the next night, the box on his nightstand catching the faint light from his bedside lamp. His jaw tightened as he stared at it, an undeniable pull gnawing at his resolve. He’d been alone for far too long, and no amount of guilt was going to extinguish the ache in his chest—or lower—that had been consuming him.

“You're gonna be trouble,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he laid back against the pillows. But even as he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, all he could see was you.

He hadn’t planned on walking into that adult store. Hell, he’d almost turned around and walked out. But the memory of you, with your bright smile, the way your laugh lingered in his ears, and the warmth in your eyes when you spoke to him—it haunted him. Every detail of you was seared into his mind, a constant presence he couldn’t shake.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but his hands were already working to pull the contents free. The toy, a Body Banger Silicone Masturbator, felt heavier than he expected as he set it down on the bed.

The masturbator sat there mocking him, with its realistic breasts, curves, and inviting openings, seemed absurd—and yet, his imagination filled in the gaps. It wasn’t you. It could never be you. But in the dim, lonely quiet of his room, it was the closest he would get to feeling you beneath him.

“Goddamn it what am I doin’,” Joel muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

He placed his hands on the toy, testing the lifelike silicone under his fingers. It was soft—uncomfortably realistic—and when he gave the butt a firm smack, the flesh jiggled slightly in response. Joel froze, his lips twitching into a half-smile despite himself.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He slapped the toy again, harder this time, watching the way it moved under his hand. “Huh,” he said, his voice low and rough as his fingers kneaded the soft silicone.

His hands roamed over the curves, squeezing the hips and brushing over the small of its back. He flipped it onto its back, his gaze drifting over the chest, the inviting curves of the molded breasts. “They really went all out on this thing,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over the silicone nipples.

A spark of heat flared low in his stomach as he explored further, trailing his fingers along the narrow waist and down between the thighs. The openings were tight, smooth, and designed to feel as real as possible. Joel’s breath hitched, his arousal stirring as his imagination filled with thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d react to his touch.

“Shit,” he murmured. His pants were already uncomfortably tight, and he tugged them down. He positioned the toy on the bed, his hands once again roaming over its chest and hips.

Before long, he was lost in the moment, his rough hands squeezing and teasing, his hips shifting as his arousal grew impossible to ignore. He turned it over and slapped the ass one more time, groaning softly at the way it bounced under his palm, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice low. “This’ll do just fine.”

His palms lingered on the roundness of the ass, giving it another firm squeeze before he flipped it back onto its back.

The chest rose invitingly, and his fingers instinctively found their way to the breasts. He squeezed one, his thumb circling over the firm peak, marveling at the lifelike feel beneath his hand. His other hand slid down the toy’s waist, brushing over its soft surface as he adjusted it on the bed.

He paused, his gaze settling on the toy’s inviting opening. For a moment, he just stared, the vivid image of you flashing in his mind. He imagined you lying beneath him, your body trembling as his hands roamed over you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the heat in his stomach flaring as his arousal grew harder to ignore.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath. His hand moved lower, his rough fingertips brushing over the toy’s entrance. The soft material yielded under his touch, and he groaned quietly, his imagination filling in the details of how it might feel if it were you instead.

Joel leaned closer, his thumb teasing at the opening, spreading it slightly as he explored it with his fingers. He slid one thick digit inside, the tightness making him suck in a sharp breath. “So fuckin’ tight,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. He worked his finger in and out slowly, adding another as he imagined the way you’d react—your soft gasps, your body shifting under his touch.

Unable to help himself, he spat directly onto the entrance, watching as the wetness coated the material. He worked it in with his fingers, twisting and curling them as if testing how it would feel to have you clench around him. His breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting against the bed as his arousal pressed painfully against his boxers.

The thought of you consumed him, and before he realized it, he leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste the opening. The silicone was smooth under his tongue as he licked a slow, deliberate path, his breath hot against the toy. He teased the entrance with the tip of his tongue, groaning softly as he imagined the sweet taste of you instead.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to spit onto the opening again, his fingers spreading it wide to coat it thoroughly. His arousal throbbed in response, the thought of finally sinking into the toy was almost too much to bear.

Sitting up, he tugged his boxers down, freeing himself. He spat into his hand, slicking himself up with a low groan as his cock twitched in anticipation. His hand gripped the base as he positioned himself, the tip pressing against the entrance.

He paused, exhaling a shaky breath as he imagined it was you—your warmth, your softness, your voice whispering his name. “Wish it was you, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough with longing.

Joel pushed forward, his tip slipping inside, and he groaned at the sensation. The tightness was almost too real, and he sank deeper, his hips moving slowly as he buried himself to the hilt. “Shit,” he hissed, his head falling back as his hands gripped the toy’s hips to steady it.

His rhythm was slow at first, his body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation. His hands roamed over the toy’s chest, squeezing the breasts, teasing the nipples, but his mind stayed on you. He imagined your body arching beneath him, your lips parting with gasps as he filled you completely.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” he murmured, his hips moving faster now, the sound of his body meeting the toy filling the room. He slapped one of the breasts, groaning at the way it jiggled beneath his palm. “So fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Could have you like this all night.”

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his need taking over as his fantasies consumed him. He pictured your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your nails dragging down his back as you begged him for more. His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse as your name spilled from his lips like a prayer.

The tension inside him built rapidly, his muscles tightening with every stroke. “Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on the toy tightening as his hips snapped forward. The thought of you—your warmth, your voice, the way you’d feel around him—pushed him over the edge.

With a guttural cry, Joel came hard, his body shuddering as pleasure crashed over him. He stayed still for a moment as his chest heaved with every labored breath.

When he finally pulled away, the room was quiet except for his ragged breathing. He cleaned himself and the toy carefully before setting it aside.

Collapsing onto the bed, he draped an arm over his eyes, his thoughts a mess of guilt, relief, and a longing for you that refused to fade. Next time he saw you, there was no way he’d be able to keep himself together.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction

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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter nine ♡

Summary: You confront Travis, and with each passing day, you begin to feel more like yourself. The company of your favorite girls fills your days with warmth and laughter. Someone knocks on your door. WC: 12.0k A/N: OKAY. I had planned to post this over the weekend, but I just couldn’t waittt lol and since I didn’t post for two weeks, here’s part 9 as a little gift for you <3 Don't forget to follow me on capuccinodollupdates for updates!

Monday. Your knuckles throbbed as you hammered on the door, the echo reverberating through the hallway. Three times, then another six—or was it seven? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sharp sting in your hand as you finally dropped it to your side. Your breath remained steady, but you could feel emotion clawing its way through your calm exterior. Your foot betrayed you, shifting restlessly against the wooden floor.

Something had shifted, something you couldn’t quite place. You’d spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing while the hours stretched endlessly. By the time your alarm screamed to life in the morning, you felt more wired than exhausted, like your restlessness had seeped into your bones. At work, nothing held your focus. The papers on your desk blurred together, the words losing their meaning as your thoughts wandered elsewhere. You checked the clock obsessively, willing the minutes to pass, but even when the day finally crawled to an end, the unease clung to you.

What the hell was going on with Joel? His behavior had been erratic, disjointed—like he was holding something back. Every glance, every word from him felt layered, deliberate, but never enough to give you clarity. It was maddening, the sense that there was a piece of the puzzle you hadn’t been given, something vital he wasn’t saying.

“Ask him,” he had said yesterday, brushing you off with a cryptic shrug. But you weren’t someone who could just let things go.

Now, the door creaked open, and there stood Travis, his expression a mix of curiosity and something softer, almost tentative. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets still glistening at the edges. He looked freshly showered, the scent of soap faintly wafting in the cool air between you. His gray T-shirt was inside out, the seams and tag clearly visible, as if he’d thrown it on without much thought. He wore dark blue sweatpants that hung loose around his hips and no socks or shoes, his bare feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor.

He blinked at you, his eyebrows knitting together when he caught sight of your face.

“Hey,” he said, your name falling from his lips with a question mark at the end. “Are you okay?” His voice held genuine concern as his eyes flickered over your face, trying to decode your expression.

Your mouth felt dry, your throat tight. You couldn’t bring yourself to smile or reassure him. Instead, you stood frozen, your arms wrapped around yourself as if bracing against an invisible wind.

“Did something happen?” he asked again, stepping slightly closer. He tilted his head, his gaze searching. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

But you didn’t move. Your feet were rooted to the ground, defying his invitation.

“What happened between you and Joel?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt inside.

He paused, the question clearly taking him off guard. “What?”

“You talked to Joel, didn’t you?” You tightened your arms around yourself, your tone low and deliberate, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I know you did. He told me.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Joel hadn’t told you much of anything, just enough to leave you spinning. Blurry fragments of his words had lodged themselves in your mind, their edges sharp enough to cut. Still, you had pieced together enough to confront Travis now.

Travis’s eyes narrowed slightly, his body shifting against the doorway.

“What exactly did he tell you?” he asked, his voice cautious but far from confused. He wasn’t lost—he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“Enough,” you replied, your voice hardening despite yourself. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was beginning to bubble over. “Don’t play dumb, Travis. What did you say to him?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His lips pressed together, his jaw tight. Then he exhaled through his nose, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze again.

“Look, I… I talked to him, okay? He... we had a conversation.”

“What kind of conversation?” you pressed, taking a small step forward. “Why would he tell me to ask you if nothing happened? What did you say to him?”

Travis leaned against the doorframe, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to work through the tension there.

"He showed up late Saturday night,” he admitted, his voice softer now, carryin’ a hint of regret. “While you were sleepin’, I answered the door. Didn’t wanna wake you."

Your stomach twisted at his words. You could picture it too vividly—Joel standing on the other side of the door, his face shadowed by some unspoken emotion. You swallowed hard, pushing the image away.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to talk to you,” Travis said simply, though the hesitation in his voice suggested there was more to the story.

“And?” You tilted your head, your eyes narrowing. “What did you tell him, Travis?”

"I told him you needed some space,” he said, the words spillin’ out in a hurry. “That you didn’t wanna see him.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “That’s it? You expect me to believe that’s all you said?”

Travis’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second. He straightened slightly, squaring his shoulders.

“I might have… implied some things,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Implied what?” Your voice was sharper now, your frustration cracking through. “What the hell did you say to him, Travis?”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I told him you were movin’ on,” he said at last, his tone a bit defensive. “That you and me… that we spent the night... you know, uh—”

A sharp laugh escaped you, though there was nothing humorous about it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. “So you lied to him? Why? To hurt him? To make yourself feel better?”

“’Cause he deserves it!” Travis snapped, his voice risin’. “After the way he’s treated you, the way he’s acted… He don’t get to just waltz back into your life like nothin’ happened. Someone needed to put him in his place.”

You took a step back, your arms dropping to your sides.

“And you thought that someone should be you?” you asked, your voice cold. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? This isn’t your fight, Travis. It never was.”

“Why do you care so much about what that prick thinks?” Travis’s voice was tight, each word laced with frustration. “Why does it matter if he thinks somethin' happened between us? We’ve been dating for weeks, haven’t we?”

“Because even if something had happened, it would be nobody else’s business,” you shot back, your voice trembling, though whether from anger or disbelief, you weren’t sure. “You had no right to talk about us behind my back, Travis, to talk about me that way. That’s a line you don’t cross. If there’s anything between us—anything at all—it stays between us. That’s how respect works. But you… you just threw it out there like it was some weapon to hurt him.”

“Respect?” Travis repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Joel don’t respect me, so why should I give it to him?”

"I know, you’re right," you said, your voice steady but firm. "I know Joel’s been awful to you from the start, but that's not the point!” you snapped, takin’ a step closer. “Why’d you even say it, Travis? To piss him up? To win some kind of imaginary contest? What exactly did you think you’d accomplish?”

His face darkened, the accusation hitting a nerve. “You’re really asking me that?” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Why the fuck did you agree to go out with me, anyway? I think we both know it’s not me you want to be with.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature. You felt your breath catch, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you demanded, but your voice lacked the sharpness you’d intended.

“It means you never stopped wantin' him,” Travis said bluntly, his jaw set. “You say you like me—liked me—but let’s be honest. That’s not enough, is it? You’re still hung up on Joel, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.”

“I liked you because I thought you were decent,” you countered, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because I thought you wouldn’t pull shit like this.”

“Decent,” he repeated bitterly, the word dripping with sarcasm. “That’s what you look for in someone? Decency?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Guess that explains why Joel’s still got a hold on you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me, Travis,” you warned, your tone icy. “This isn’t about Joel. This is about you, and the fact that you dragged me into your petty grudge match with him. You told him we slept together to hurt him, didn’t you? That’s all this was to you. Some sick way of proving a point.”

“Maybe I did,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice defiant, though his eyes gave away the guilt behind his words. “Maybe I wanted to see him squirm for once. God knows he deserved it. And truth be told, I sure did enjoy watchin’ him die a little inside.”

“Deserved it?” You laughed sharply, shaking your head in disbelief. “At my expense? You really enjoyed pissing him off, didn’t you? You thought it was worth it to drag me into the middle of your shit, just so you could watch him lose it.”

“I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything,” Travis argued, though his tone lacked conviction. “I was protecting you. Standing up for you. Again, Joel doesn’t get to just walk back into your life after everything he’s done and act like nothing happened.”

“Protecting me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You think lying to him about us is protecting me? If you wanted to protect me, you would have stayed out of it completely.”

“I didn’t lie,” he shot back, his voice rising again. “Not really.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, throwing your hands up. “Don’t try to split hairs with me, Travis. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it had nothing to do with me. This was all about you and your bullshit rivalry with Joel. What’s next? Are you going to pull out a ruler and measure dicks with him? Honestly, If you’d just punched him square in the face, it would’ve been far more decent.”

Travis’s face fell, the anger draining from his expression in an instant. Guilt settled in its place, heavy and unmistakable. He opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again, the silence between you thick and suffocating.

You took a step back, your arms crossing over your chest again. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” you said quietly. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I screwed up. I was angry, and I let it get the best of me. I didn’t mean to—”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his words press against the knot already forming in your stomach. You shook your head, trying to hold onto the edges of your resolve.

“You had no right to meddle in my business with Joel,” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor. The words felt sharp, final, as though speaking them aloud might make them easier to believe.

When you looked up, his eyes were on you, calmer now but no less intense. The familiar shade of blue in them seemed darker, clouded with something unspoken. He stood there, silent, watching you like he was waiting for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“I know everything with him is… difficult,” you continued, your voice quieter now, tinged with something softer. “And I know it’s been unfair. But it’s between him and me. It always has been.”

Travis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step forward, then stopped, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides. His lips curved into a faint, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you even agreed to go out with me in the first place. Why drag me into all this? You could’ve just spared me the trouble, saved me from wastin’ my time, from wastin’ energy on somethin’ I was never gonna win.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through your carefully constructed armor. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your voice softer now, though still firm.

“Why would you need to win anything, Travis? This isn’t a competition. It never was.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice cold, though the hurt behind it was unmistakable. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

You took a step closer, trying to close the gap—not just the physical space between you, but something deeper.

“I liked you, Travis,” you said, your words deliberate, each one carefully chosen. “I’ve always liked you. Don’t doubt that for a second. And don’t think I used you. That’s not what this was.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. The words carried something heavier than before, as though he’d just realized how little they could do to fix this.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening.

“Me too,” you admitted. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between you, thick and oppressive. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. Or like you were… caught in the middle of something you never signed up for. That was never my intention.”

“But?” he prompted, his voice quiet but firm, like he already knew what was coming.

You smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.

“But this is as far as it goes,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And it needs to stop here. For both of us.”

Travis nodded slowly, his lips pulling into a thin, resigned line.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice barely audible. He looked at you, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe, or acceptance.

You didn’t say anything else. There was nothing left to say. Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft but deliberate. You felt his gaze linger on you as you left, heard him murmur another apology under his breath, though it did little to dull the raw discomfort still settling over you.

The walk home felt interminable. Each step dragged, your feet moved mechanically while your mind spun, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The crisp air bit at your cheeks, and the faint hum of distant traffic filled the silence you carried. When you finally reached your home, you shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it longer than you should have. The quiet of your home surrounded you, thick and expectant, as if it had been waiting for you to process everything.

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes, leaving them in a messy pile near the door. Your fingers paused on the hem of your sweater as you headed to the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, and you froze. You were startled by how tired you looked—your hair tousled from the wind, shadows ringing your eyes. You didn’t feel like yourself, and seeing that weariness staring back at you was jarring.

The shower’s hot spray offered a small reprieve. You stood under it longer than you probably should have, letting the water drum against your skin and the steam fill the room until it was hard to breathe. You tried to think, to pin your feelings down, but everything slipped away, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands. Anger at Travis still simmered under your skin, but there was something else, quieter and harder to name—a gnawing mix of pain and confusion.

When you finally stepped out, your skin was pink from the heat, your hair damp and sticking to your neck. You wrapped yourself in your thickest robe and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The house felt colder now, the chill seeping through the floor and nipping at your ankles. You filled the kettle and set it to boil. The small ritual of making tea steadied you. The soft whistle of steam was oddly soothing, a thread of normalcy in the chaos of your thoughts.

Back in your bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping your hands around the mug as if its warmth could sink into your chest. You sipped slowly, your eyes locked on a spot on the wall you weren’t really seeing. Travis’s words played on repeat in your head, each one sharp and heavy, making your chest ache. But then your thoughts drifted to Joel—his voice, his face, the way he lingered in your mind even when he wasn’t there. You tried to untangle your feelings, to make sense of them, but everything was a mess. You felt stuck, suspended between anger, regret, and an ache you didn’t want to name.

By the time your tea had cooled, you set the mug on the nightstand and crawled under the covers. You curled into yourself, as if trying to protect your body from the storm inside your mind. Sleep came in fits and starts, your dreams restless and fragmented.

When you woke, pale winter light filtered through the curtains, and the clock on your phone read 5:00 p.m. The realization sat heavy in your stomach, though you weren’t entirely sure why.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, as a decision started to take shape. You needed to talk to Joel. You needed answers—clarity—something to cut through the fog that had settled over you. The thought filled you with both dread and determination, but you knew it was the only way forward. Avoiding this had only left you feeling more tangled.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you headed into the kitchen. The quiet of the house felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you. You grabbed a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you tried to gather the resolve for the conversation you had been putting off. After a few seconds, you forced yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then, after pacing your home for what felt like hours, the walls pressing in closer with every loop around the living room, you decided you needed air. Staying inside had begun to feel suffocating.

You didn’t have a plan when you left, not really. The streetlights buzzed faintly in the cool dusk, casting a yellow haze on the cracked pavement. The air had that sharp, metallic chill of autumn, biting at your cheeks and pinching your nose. You pulled your scarf tighter as you walked, hands buried deep in your pockets, letting your feet lead without much thought.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the small, unassuming cinema tucked between a bookstore and a closed bakery. The marquee flickered with a mix of indie titles and old classics. You chose something without paying too much attention, just handed over your card and took the ticket without caring about the plot or reviews. It wasn’t about the movie, really—it was about the act of sitting in the dark, of letting someone else’s story take up the space in your head that Joel’s had been occupying for too long.

The air inside was warm and thick with the scent of buttered popcorn, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. With your snacks in hand—popcorn and chocolate, the perfect blend of sweet and salty—you found a seat near the back, where the dim glow of the screen felt like a shield from the outside world.

The movie began: 16 Candles. Molly Ringwald appeared, her face falling as her family forgot her birthday. You watched, though your focus wavered, the story blurring into the film’s grainy texture. For long stretches, you weren’t even sure what was happening, your mind slipping in and out of the narrative.

But none of that mattered. For those few moments, tucked away in the darkness, you weren’t thinking about him. And that was enough.

When the credits rolled, you stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the names scroll by in white letters against the black screen. There was something soothing about the rhythm of it, the anonymity of all those people who had come together to create something for strangers to sit and lose themselves in. Finally, you stood, stretching your legs as you shuffled out into the night.

Your stomach growled as you stepped onto the street, and you realized you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Without much deliberation, you turned toward your favorite restaurant, the one you always went to when you craved a little indulgence or comfort. It wasn’t far—just a few blocks away—and the walk, though cold, felt like a balm. The restaurant’s warm light spilled onto the sidewalk, a beacon against the deepening dark.

Inside, you slid into a familiar booth by the window, the worn leather cushioning a kind of second skin to your movements. The server greeted you by name, smiling as they handed you a menu, though you barely glanced at it before ordering your usual. The predictability of it felt steadying, a ritual that didn’t demand any extra thought.

As you waited, you let your eyes wander. The restaurant was only half-full, a quiet hum of conversation blending with the clink of silverware against plates. You imagined snippets of lives that weren’t yours—a couple arguing softly over shared appetizers, a man engrossed in his phone, a table of friends laughing too loudly. You didn’t envy or resent any of it.

When your food arrived, the first bite was a revelation, reminding you just how hungry you were. You ate slowly, savoring every forkful, letting the warmth spread through you like a kind of healing. You didn’t check your phone once, didn’t let your thoughts circle back to Joel or any of the messy, unresolved tangles waiting for you at home. Instead, you let yourself exist in this small, fleeting moment of peace.

By the time you left, your body felt heavy with contentment, your mind quieter than it had been in days. The streets were quieter now, too, the city winding down into its nighttime lull. You took the long way home, the cold air stinging your cheeks but waking you up in a way that felt good. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you felt good.

That night, you slept like a baby.

Tuesday. The afternoon found you typing away at your laptop, the steady rhythm of keys filling the otherwise quiet living room. The soft knock at the door startled you out of your focus. You paused, turning your head toward the sound, squinting as if that might help you see through walls.

Resting your palms on the table, you pushed yourself up and walked to the door, curiosity flickering. Who could it be? You weren’t expecting anyone. When you opened it, a warm smile tugged at your lips before you even realized it.

“Hi,” Sarah greeted, her usual brightness dimmed slightly by a rare shyness. She stood there, clutching a paper bag against her chest, the faint rustling hinting at its contents. “I was home alone and thought… I don’t know, maybe I could come over? Hang out for a bit? They just put 13 Going on 30 back on Netflix, and I thought we could watch it. I brought snacks.” She lifted the bag slightly, a hopeful grin spreading across her face. "Just if you can, obviously."

You tilted your head, stepping aside to let her in. “Of course. That sounds perfect.”

She walked in, brushing past you with an air of quiet confidence, though her smile betrayed how pleased she was.

As she made her way to the kitchen, you asked, “Does your dad know you’re here?”

“He’s working,” Sarah replied casually, already unloading her treasures onto the counter. “I left him a note. He won’t mind.”

You followed her, leaning against the counter as she spread out an array of treats: chocolates, chips, two popcorn bags, Doritos, and a generous stash of her favorite sour gummies. She seemed so at ease in your space, like it was as much hers as it was yours.

“Wow,” you remarked, surveying the haul with mock astonishment. “This is a feast.”

Sarah grinned, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I brought everything.” She paused, holding up a bag of popcorn. “You can’t watch 13 Going on 30 without chocolate, right?”

“Absolutely not,” you agreed, reaching for the bag to help her. As you moved around the kitchen together, the air between you felt light, easy. She chattered about her day, slipping seamlessly between topics, while you found yourself laughing at her sharp, funny observations.

By the time the snacks were ready, the living room was glowing softly in the dim light of the TV. Sarah settled onto the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs, and patted the spot next to her. You joined her, the warmth of her presence a quiet comfort.

As the opening credits rolled, she glanced at you, her expression serious for a moment. “Thanks for letting me come over. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone today.”

A sharp pang settled in your chest at her words. You realized just how much you’d missed her these past few weeks. The two of you hadn’t spent much time together lately, and the thought of Sarah passing her afternoons alone tugged at you in a way you couldn’t ignore.

You remembered how it used to be. How she’d spend hours with you while Joel was at work, her chatter filling the silences in the house, her presence a comfort you’d come to treasure. You loved those afternoons—the way she’d casually sprawl on your couch, teasing you about your tea obsession or insisting on picking the music. But then, gradually, the visits stopped. She probably sensed something was wrong between you and her dad. Sarah was perceptive like that. Too perceptive.

It killed you to think she felt caught in the middle of something she didn’t fully understand. And because of that, you hadn’t pushed her to come back. You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or burdened.

You met her gaze, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re always welcome here, honey. Always. I've missed you a lot.”

Sarah’s expression softened, but she hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the candy bar in her hand. “I missed you too,” she admitted quietly, her voice almost tentative, as if she were afraid of saying it out loud. “I wasn’t sure if… you know, if things were okay.”

“Of course they are,” you said quickly, stepping closer and resting a gentle hand on her arm. “With me and you? They’re always okay. I hope you know that.”

She looked up at you, her lips curving into a faint smile, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t want to bother you, especially with everything going on. Dad doesn’t say much, but I can tell something’s been… weird.”

Your heart squeezed at her honesty, and you took a steadying breath.

“Things have been complicated,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “But none of it changes how much I care about you. You mean so much to me, and I’m glad you’re here, really.”

Her smile grew a little wider, the vulnerability giving way to a familiar brightness. “Okay,” she said softly. Then, almost teasingly, she added, “You’re stuck with me tonight, by the way. I brought enough snacks for a sleepover, just sayin'.”

You chuckled, the sound light and easy, as if a weight had lifted from the room. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The movie played on, its quick-witted humor keeping the two of you entertained. You couldn't count the number of times you'd seen it, though you'd guess it was well into double digits. One of your favorite comedies, it had been an instant hit with Sarah when you'd introduced her to it on a lazy Saturday morning. Since then, she'd occasionally tug at your sleeve, asking for another watch, usually with the promise of snacks you both knew you'd overdo.

As the credits rolled, you noticed the remnants of your indulgence: a half-eaten chocolate bar in your hand and Sarah carefully organizing the bag of sour gummies on the coffee table. She tucked the gummies away with an air of exaggerated responsibility, declaring it a strategic move to ensure there were enough left for another movie night soon.

Feeling the sugar settle uncomfortably in your stomach, you pushed off the couch, announcing, “I need water. Want some?”

Sarah stretched, her arms flopping dramatically onto the cushions. “Yeah, please. But a small glass. I don’t want to explode.”

The kitchen light felt sharp after the dim glow of the TV. You grabbed two glasses, filling one as Sarah called your name from the other room. Her tone was curious, a little tentative. Before you could answer, you heard her feet padding toward you. She appeared in the doorway, her hands fluttering slightly as though brushing off invisible crumbs from her shirt.

“Can I really sleep over?” she asked, stepping closer.

You handed her the glass of water. She accepted it but didn’t drink, her bright, questioning gaze fixed on you.

“Of course,” you said, leaning back against the counter. “But your dad has to be okay with it. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

She shrugged one shoulder, sipping the water. “Yeah, but I’ve done it before. He won’t care.”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head, “you should still ask him.”

She tilted her head right back at you, mirroring your expression. “Why don’t you ask him? You’re the adult.”

You almost laughed at her logic. “If he’s at work, I doubt he’ll answer a call. Just text him.”

Sarah shook her head decisively, the same way she did when you suggested vegetables for dinner. “He hates texts. Besides, I don’t have my phone with me. And anyway,” she added, spinning on her heel toward the bathroom, “you’re the one who’ll need to explain it if he says no.”

Her retreat left you holding your glass of water, staring at the space where she'd stood. You glanced at the clock on the wall: just after six. Joel would probably be home soon. You could wait and let her handle it, or maybe save yourself the hassle and send him a quick text yourself.

From the bathroom, Sarah's voice floated out. “Hey! Don’t forget to ask, okay? But, like, be convincing. Say we’ve had so much fun.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-laughing, Sarah’s earlier comment still replaying in your mind.

The kitchen was dim, and your eyes rested on a blank patch of wall, thoughts moving like syrup. Dinner. You needed to decide. Pasta sounded good—something carb-heavy, comforting. Maybe that spaghetti recipe you loved but hadn’t made in ages.

The refrigerator door creaked open, releasing a blast of cool air that brushed your face as you leaned in. You scanned the cluttered shelves, the faint hum of the appliance the only sound filling the quiet kitchen. Your fingers absently scratched your cheek as your eyes drifted over jars, old takeout containers, and a tangle of half-used bags of ingredients.

A bottle of soy sauce caught your attention, slumped in the door shelf, its label peeling at the edges. You stared at it for a moment, trying to recall when you’d last used it. Christmas before last? Maybe even earlier. It looked so out of place now, like a forgotten relic from some half-hearted attempt at cooking you'd long since moved on from. Had it really lasted this long? You wondered if it was still good.

You were still debating dinner options when Sarah returned, her footsteps soft against the tile. She was drying damp hands on her jeans, smearing faint water trails on the dark fabric. Sliding onto the stool at the kitchen island, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands.

“So?” she asked, her tone equal parts casual and sharp. “What did he say?”

“Huh?” You straightened, caught off guard.

“You called him, right?”

“I... no, I didn’t.”

Her brows lifted slightly, the edges of a smirk tugging at her lips. But when you didn’t follow up, her amusement faded. A shadow of something more serious crossed her face.

“I knew it,” she said flatly, her voice quieter now.

“Wh—”

“I knew something was wrong with you,” she interrupted, her words deliberate. “But no one ever tells me anything.” Her face scrunched into a frown, the kind that tugged at your chest because it was so distinctly hers—and so distinctly Miller.

“No, honey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning your elbows on the counter. Now at her eye level, you tried to hold her gaze. “It’s not that simple. What’s been going on between your dad and me... it’s just complicated.”

Her frown deepened, her lips pressing into a hard line. “It’s always complicated. That’s what you grown-ups say when you don’t want to explain anythin'.”

You sighed, your nerves making your voice tight. “It’s something between adults.”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms in a way that made her look older than twelve. “Yeah, but you got involved, didn’t you? And now it’s all weird.”

The directness of her words landed like a jab, though there wasn’t anger in her tone—just sharp observation. She had that way of cutting through pretenses, seeing things for what they were, or at least how they felt to her.

“I heard you guys the other day,” Sarah said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her words sent a cold rush up your spine, landing squarely at the nape of your neck. You froze, unsure of how to react.

“Sunday,” she clarified, her tone even but pointed. “When you came to my house. I heard you. I was on the stairs, and my dad didn’t notice. Neither did you.”

Your mouth felt dry. “What... what did you hear?” The question came out faster than you intended, betraying your nerves.

Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, stayed fixed on you.

“I heard my dad,” she began, carefully measuring each word. “He was saying a lot of... angry stuff. About Travis. About you. Accusing you of—of going off with him.” She paused, hesitating before adding, “And he said you told him you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. He sounded hurt.”

The mention of it made your stomach twist, and your eyebrows gave away your unease before you could school your expression.

“Did you?” she asked, her face an uneasy mix of curiosity and sadness.

You took a breath, looking at her and realizing there was no point in lying.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly.

“Why?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory, just earnest, like she truly wanted to understand. “What did he do to you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to condense the mess of emotions into something a twelve-year-old could grasp without oversharing. The words churned in your head, bumping into each other, refusing to settle.

“We argued,” you said eventually, each word feeling like a step on unstable ground. “And your dad said some things. Mean things. And... I said some things too. We hurt each other.” You paused, swallowing hard. “But it hurt me a lot. Too much. And I told him that.”

Sarah studied your face for a long moment, her expression softening into something thoughtful.

In a quieter voice, she asked, “Was it because you guys like each other?”

The question caught you off guard, and a laugh bubbled up despite yourself—a small, surprised sound that you tried to stifle.

“Something like that,” you said, glancing at her with a faint smile.

She mirrored it, her lips curving up in a way that felt both hopeful and uncertain.

You exhaled, your gaze dropping to the counter.

“We’ve been friends for so long, and... it’s complicated when something else happens. Or even when you think something else might happen.” You paused, trying to find the right words. “There’s a lot to figure out. A lot to fix, I think.”

Sarah nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful, as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then she scratched the back of her neck in a way that was both casual and deliberate, like she was working up to something.

“He’s been downright unbearable lately,” she said, her tone more matter-of-fact than annoyed. “In a bad mood most the time. And when he’s in a good mood, it’s like... I dunno, feels kinda fake or somethin’. Not real convincing.” She shot you a glance, her face lit up with that mix of mischief and sincerity. “Usually, I like teasin’ him—it’s fun. But lately, I just... I dunno, I can’t bring myself to do it. He looks so bad. I feel sorry for him.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and you tried to hide your amusement at how bluntly she was painting Joel’s misery. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance under her scrutiny.

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you said, smiling as you reached out to rest a hand over hers. “Don’t bother him too much. Go easy on him, okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she muttered, her fingers tapping lightly against the counter. Then her gaze lifted to yours, her bright eyes sharp and curious. “But it all kind of makes sense now.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I knew something was wrong right after his birthday,” she explained, her voice gaining momentum. “He wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked, though. So I tried Tommy. But he wouldn’t tell me anything either. He said Dad wouldn’t want him to.” She paused, looking almost shy now. “And I didn’t want to ask you. I thought you might get mad.”

“That could never happen,” you assured her gently.

She nodded, but there was still a flicker of hesitation on her face. “It’s just... it was obvious something was up. I dunno, you guys never fight. At least not like that. So I figured it had to be something big. Something... weirder.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she continued, her voice lighter now, like she was sharing a secret.

“Then I went to Irina’s house and told her about it. She said it was obvious—it had to be because you were in love, like in Love, Rosie.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. The thought of Sarah sitting with her friend, dissecting your tangled mess of emotions, was almost too much to process. The tenderness you felt was quickly overtaken by guilt for dragging her into something so complicated.

“I hadn’t seen the movie, though,” Sarah added quickly, shrugging like that detail was crucial to the story. “So we watched it that afternoon. Dude, I think she’s right.”

Her tone shifted, turning serious but hopeful, her eyes sparkling with a kind of naive certainty. “You have to leave Travis.”

Her sudden declaration caught you completely off guard, and a laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.

“Sarah!” you said, still laughing, covering your mouth as you tried to collect yourself.

She grinned, looking more pleased than embarrassed. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is probably thinking.”

You shook your head, still laughing, and reached over to ruffle her hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

Sarah ducked away from your hand, smoothing her hair with exaggerated care, as if the ruffle had ruined her carefully curated look.

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a little shrug, her tone light but pointed. Then she glanced up at you, her eyes sharp. “So, are you gonna leave him? I mean, I’m pretty sure Dad would be thrilled.”

“Oh my God,” you gasped, caught between surprise and laughter.

She didn’t miss a beat. “He’s the obstacle, isn’t he?” she said, gesturing broadly with one hand, as if the answer were painfully obvious. “And you love my dad. It’s simple.”

“Uh—I... I think this is a bit too much to unpack,” you stammered, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

“Why?” she asked, her face falling slightly into an expression of disappointment. “What’s wrong with it? I already know everythin'. I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby.”

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, softening your tone. “It’s just... there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know, and it’s complicated.” You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. “Look, I’m not dating Travis. Not anymore. But even so, I thought your dad was dating Sienna.”

“Sienna?” Sarah repeated, tilting her head in confusion. “You mean the one from the bank?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding.

Sarah snorted, like the idea itself was absurd. “Dad’s not dating Sienna. I overheard him and Tommy talkin' about it, like, a month ago.”

“You love spying on your dad, don’t you?” you teased, glancing at her with raised eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t have to spy if everyone didn’t keep secrets from me,” she shot back, mimicking your tone with a smirk. Then she added, “Forget about Sienna. He stopped seein' her right after his birthday.”

“Oh, really?” you said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yup,” she said, leaning forward, her expression turning mischievous. “Oh, what a coincidence, right? Right after your fight.” She reached out to poke your hand, a playful glint in her eye.

You froze for a second, smiling faintly, but your mind was racing. Joel had stopped seeing Sienna? Over a month ago? Why hadn’t he said anything? He’d had plenty of chances to mention it, plenty of openings to set things straight. But he hadn’t.

“Well,” you said finally, straightening up and brushing the thought aside. “It’s his life. And you,” you added, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “have nothing to do with this. Got it? You and me, we're okay. Always.”

“Okay, okay,” Sarah said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. She raised her glass to her lips, pausing before she added, “But you have to let him know I’m staying over. Now.”

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But I’m texting him, not calling him.”

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically, like you’d just suggested the most tedious thing imaginable.

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “Apparently, we’re doing this one step at a time.”

You smiled despite yourself, turning to open one of the wooden cabinets on the wall.

“One step at a time sounds about right,” you said, more to yourself than to her.

“What do you wanna eat?” you asked, your voice carrying lightly across the kitchen as you moved to open the fridge.

Sarah leaned against the counter, considering. “Anything but those frozen pizzas. You always burn the edges.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That happened one time.”

“More than once,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you conceded. “How about spaghetti?”

Her face brightened instantly, a flicker of excitement breaking through her otherwise composed demeanor.

“Yes! And I’ll help, right? You look like you might need it.”

You gasped in mock offense, reaching for a pot. “Excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It was settled. You gathered ingredients while Sarah volunteered herself as sous-chef, which meant chopping the vegetables in the most chaotic but enthusiastic way possible. You handed her a knife with explicit instructions to please be careful.

“You sound like my dad,” she teased, carefully slicing a bell pepper.

You turned to the speaker on the counter, deciding that cooking deserved a soundtrack. Soon, music filled the small space, bright and upbeat, shifting the energy in the room. Sarah hummed along while you stirred the pot.

When she seemed distracted, her focus entirely on the bell pepper, you slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed your phone from the coffee table in the living room. Unlocking it, you scrolled through your messages until you found Joel’s name.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming and dissolving in your mind. You didn’t want it to sound too formal or hesitant. Just normal. Neutral.

Finally, you typed:

Hi Joel. Sarah’s here, spending the afternoon. She wants to know if it’s okay with you if she stays over. Let me know.

Short. Concise. Clear.

You hit send and placed the phone back on the counter when you returned to the kitchen.

“All done,” you said, gesturing toward your phone with a tilt of your head.

Sarah glanced up, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She gave a small nod before turning back to her chopping.

Minutes passed, filled with the clatter of knives and the soft simmering of the sauce. You reached for your phone to change the song—Sarah had requested something from her playlist, Just like heaven by The Cure—and just as you did, it vibrated in your hand.

A message popped up at the top of the screen:

Joel. Tell her I said yes, but I want her home early. She’s got school tomorrow.

You turned the phone toward Sarah so she could read it. She gave a mock salute, grinning. “Thumbs up for Dad,” she said, returning to her vegetables.

“Baby steps,” she added after a moment, a little quieter, her back turned to you.

The words hung in the air. You watched her for a beat, the ease of her movements, the way she navigated the kitchen like she belonged there. Something about the moment felt fleeting and important, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

Wednesday. You glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall as you took your first sip of coffee, the warmth of the mug seeping into your cold fingers. 6:32 a.m. The early light was still soft, casting a pale glow through the window where you’d cracked it open just a few centimeters. The cool morning air was refreshing, carrying with it the earthy scent of dew and dawn. It was one of those little rituals you cherished—the quiet, the crispness of the day unfolding just for you.

Sarah was sitting on the stool at the kitchen island, her eyes still half-closed in that sleepy haze. She rubbed them with her left hand, the fingers of her right curled around a steaming cup of tea. The warmth of the tea contrasted with the chill in the room, and she looked small and vulnerable in that quiet moment, as if she hadn’t quite yet fully woken.

You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, still wearing your pajamas under a soft, worn robe. You set a plate in front of her, the familiar breakfast she loved—toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and strawberries, their juicy red flesh cut into generous chunks. She didn’t even need to ask; you knew she’d devour them, just like when she was little. Joel had always been the one to pile up bowls of fruit for her, and she’d always gobbled them down, leaving a trail of sticky fingers and bits of fruit on the house’s surfaces. He used to scold her lightly, but it was always with that soft tone of affection, as if he couldn’t help but love the chaos she brought. Her favorites had always been strawberries and grapes—nothing else really compared.

Sarah took a bite of bacon, chewing contentedly, and looked up at you, her expression curious despite her full mouth.

“When do we watch another movie?” she asked, the question spilling out before she’d even swallowed.

“What movie do you wanna see?” you asked, keeping the conversation light.

“I dunno, one I haven’t seen,” she replied with a shrug, her eyes flickering to her fork. “A love one, or a horror one.”

You chuckled and nodded. It seemed like Sarah’s movie preferences had always swung between the extremes—either something heart-wrenchingly romantic or something terrifying enough to make her jump. You could see the appeal in both, honestly.

You’d gone to bed early last night, after a quiet dinner. Sarah had somehow managed to wriggle her way into your bed before you even realized it, and when you’d turned off the light and whispered goodnight, she hadn’t been quiet for long. She’d started in, talking about everything on her mind. The dramas at school. The boy Irina liked. A teacher she hated, mostly because she was rude and had bad breath. Her upcoming science project, which she was convinced was going to be her masterpiece. And then came the questions—questions you knew had been lingering in her mind all evening.

“Since when do you like my dad?” was one of the first ones, and you froze, unsure of how to respond. If you were being honest, the answer was probably “since forever,” but that didn’t seem like something you could just say to a twelve-year-old.

“How do you know if you like a friend?” she had asked next. “Do you wanna get married, anyway?” and “Does anyone else know about this?” The questions had kept coming, innocent yet sharp, until your tired eyes could barely stay open. You had asked her, gently, to go to sleep. She’d needed to get up early too, after all.

Now, Sarah was hugging you tightly at the door as she left, her face still warm with sleepiness. School started in an hour, and you knew Joel was waiting for her next door, probably with a mug of coffee in hand, ready to help her get through the morning rush.

After she left, you went back upstairs to your room and found yourself standing in front of your closet longer than usual, picking out what to wear. You couldn't really explain it, but something about spending time with Sarah had recharged you. The normalcy of it—her chatter, the comfort of your shared space—it gave you a sense of balance.

Then, as you stood there with your clothes half-chosen, a thought popped into your head, and a smile tugged at your lips. It was perfect—next movie night, you’d introduce Sarah to Twilight. The whole saga. You were sure she’d love it. She adored stories like that, all angsty romance and supernatural drama.

With that thought, you finished getting ready and went off to work, feeling lighter, more cheerful. It was one of those mornings that made the whole day seem a little bit brighter. You were sure it would fly by.

Thursday. It was quiet, one of those days that seemed to pass without making much noise but still felt like it had been worthwhile. The morning was calm, and there was something almost comforting about the gentle rhythm of the hours.

At work, you moved through the usual tasks, keeping busy without feeling overwhelmed. You found yourself drifting in and out of conversations, but one particular subject caught your attention: the interns gossiping in the break room. They were whispering about one of the assistants, the one who’d caused a scene in the kitchen last time with a very public meltdown over a misdelivered order. You overheard snippets of their conversation as you nibbled on your sandwich, hearing that the assistant was apparently having an affair with her boss’s husband. You couldn’t help but listen, half-amused, half-worried for her and her boss. The way they spoke about them, with such casual cruelty, made you feel bad for the two women, but at the same time, it was hard to not be intrigued.

You chuckled to yourself as you returned to your desk, but that quiet moment of levity was soon overshadowed by something worse. Later in the afternoon, you saw the same assistant leave the office in tears, her eyes red-rimmed as she hurried past your cubicle. You heard the boss, loud enough for the entire office to hear, scream in her wake, "How ungrateful some people are!" It hung in the air long after she had gone, an uncomfortable silence settling in as everyone pretended to be busy.

When you finally got home, you decided to go for a run. The cool air outside felt refreshing as you laced up your shoes and hit the pavement. It wasn’t a long run, just enough to stretch your legs and clear your head. By the time you returned, sweat on your brow, you felt more awake than you had all day. You took a hot shower, the steam washing away the weariness from your muscles, and for a moment, you felt light.

It was around mid-afternoon when Sarah knocked on your door, her face slightly flushed from the brisk walk over. She held a notebook under her arm, her usual look of determination replacing the exhaustion from earlier in the week.

"Hey, can you help me with my lit homework?" she asked, a bit sheepish but trying to hide it with her usual confidence.

"Of course," you said, gesturing for her to come inside.

As she set up at the kitchen table, she launched into a detailed account of the latest school drama. It was the same pattern—some new gossip or rumor, something about a classmate or a teacher that she found funny or ridiculous.

"Guess what?" she asked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Irina and Julian almost kissed in the hallway today."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Irina and Justin? No way."

"Yeah, I saw them, but then they just... didn’t." Sarah smirked. "I think Julian got scared. You know, like how he does when he talks to girls."

You couldn’t help but smile at her observations. She was so sharp, so aware of everything around her. You had no idea how she’d gotten so good at reading people, but it was impressive. Once you helped her finish her homework, she packed up her things, her expression shifting from casual to slightly more serious.

“I gotta go home,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I still need to work on my project. I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, I’ll text you later,” you replied, smiling at her as she grabbed her bag. “Good luck, love you.”

“Thanks, love ya too,” she called over her shoulder as she left. "I’ll let you know if I need anything else. Bye!”

With Sarah gone, you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet solitude. You curled up on the couch with a bowl of snacks and started watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. The jokes felt like old friends, and by the time you’d gone through half of the movie, you were feeling light and at ease, the stresses of the day melting away.

For dinner, you opted for the ease of take-out. The thought of cooking felt like too much effort after such a peaceful afternoon. You ordered your usual—Chinese food, always comforting. After the long workweek, it was exactly what you needed. You ate in silence, savoring each bite, the day’s quiet moments stretching into the evening as you let your mind wander.

Friday. “No way!” you shouted, your voice coming out louder than you’d meant, and your eyes went wide as saucers. You stepped through the doorway, disbelieving for a moment, before you saw her standing there, grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her into a tight hug. The warmth of her body against yours felt so familiar, and the sudden surge of emotion made your chest tighten in the best way. You squeezed her just a little harder, like you were trying to absorb her energy, like she could somehow make everything else feel lighter again.

“What are you doing here?” you finally breathed, pulling back just enough to look at her face. You searched her eyes, needing some explanation, still a little stunned.

Cassie’s smile spread wider, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with that same irrepressible energy you remembered. She still had that look—like she was always on the verge of something exciting, something unexpected.

“I ran away from home!” she declared with an enthusiasm that made her words feel even bigger. She placed her hands on your shoulders, bouncing on her heels like she couldn’t contain the rush of whatever had made her do this. “I just left. I needed to come back. I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed you!”

Her words hit you in a way that made your heart swell, the kind of feeling that caught you off guard, leaving you without a response at first. You just stared at her, as if trying to piece together what she was saying, still not quite believing it.

Without hesitation, you stepped aside and ushered her in, the familiar comfort of her presence filling the space in a way only she could. You watched her, feeling that strange mix of happiness and disbelief, as if she were an apparition you hadn’t expected to see again. It was like time hadn’t passed at all, and you were suddenly back in a world that had felt a little emptier without her.

As she settled her things around the room, Cassie started talking, filling in the blanks of her sudden arrival. She told you everything.

Bruno, her boyfriend, had been cheating on her with a coworker. Cassie had suspected it for weeks—finding a couple of odd messages on his phone was the first hint. But two days ago, she'd gotten the proof she needed when she came across a receipt for an underwear purchase. The whole thing felt so cliché, like something out of a bad rom-com, but the more she thought about it, the more she couldn’t ignore it. That’s when she started searching through his things. She rifled through his office, checking drawers, until she found a stack of small, folded notes hidden in the back. One of them had a kiss—bright pastel pink lipstick, the kind she hated. That color felt like an insult, like it was mocking her. So, in her frustration, she waited for him to come home, gathered everything up, and laid it out on the bed—evidence, neatly arranged like a cruel puzzle. Bruno denied everything at first, of course. He always did. But after a while, he cracked. She didn’t need to say much. The lies tumbled out of his mouth, and she just listened, her blood boiling. In the end, she destroyed every suit he owned—ripping them to shreds before kicking him out of the apartment they’d shared.

That night, in a mix of fury and disbelief, she impulsively booked a plane ticket, packed her things in a hurried mess, and left. Twenty hours of travel later, and now she was lying in your bed, talking a mile a minute. She had no concept of jetlag, or maybe she just didn’t care. The adrenaline was still running through her veins, and the weight of everything that had happened was only starting to sink in.

You both lay there for a while, and then, out of nowhere, Cassie asked about Joel. The question caught you off guard, and for a long moment, you didn’t answer. You tried to collect your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice came out softer than you expected, almost muffled by the weight of it all. You told her about Sarah’s news, about Joel and Sienna.

Cassie’s expression didn’t shift much at first. She seemed unsurprised, but a little relieved.

“Told you she wasn’t a real threat,” she said, nodding as though confirming a private thought.

But then you mentioned Travis. His name hung in the air, and Cassie’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. She sat up in bed, her posture tense, like she hadn’t expected that at all.

“That son of a bitch,” Cassie muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow as she shook her head. “Who does he think he is, running around talking about you like that?”

You sighed, frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It caught me off guard. I never thought he’d be that kind of person.”

Cassie sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbow, eyes narrowing in a way that was both intense and oddly endearing.

“And why the hell didn’t Joel ask you about it? Why the hell did he believe some man he loathes?” She made a sharp gesture with her hands, as if dismissing the very idea. “Lately, his brain’s working like a mashed potato.”

You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped your lips, but it was more out of frustration than amusement.

“That’s exactly what I thought! Why didn’t he just ask me? I asked him a million times, ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?’ and he wouldn’t tell me a thing. Nothing!”

Cassie closed her eyes for a moment, a deep sigh leaving her, as if trying to pull herself together before speaking. When she opened her eyes again, her expression softened, but there was a sharpness in her gaze.

“Because he was hurt. And angry. And he clearly didn’t feel like working things out with you at that moment. The best he could come up with was to blow up at you and make you feel as bad as he felt.”

You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly, and the room seemed quieter, somehow, as if everything was still in that moment.

“But why? Why did he go that far?” you asked, almost to yourself. The silence lingered.

Cassie shrugged, a look of genuine sympathy in her eyes.

“People are dumb when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

You leaned back, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling in frustration and confusion. Then, as if a weight had settled in your chest, you found yourself asking, “Why didn’t you come sooner? It would’ve been so much easier to figure this out if I had you here with me.”

She looked at you, her smile softening before she hugged you tighter, her voice quiet.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she teased, but there was a genuine warmth in the way she held you. “I was going to come for Christmas anyway, as a surprise. I didn’t plan on running away from Bruno first.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension easing just a little.

“I’m glad you came early, though. I missed you so much.”

Cassie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Are you telling me it’s a good thing Bruno cheated on me? That’s why I came early?”

You playfully swatted her leg, laughing again.

“No, I’m not saying that. But I’m glad you dumped him. You deserve someone who actually knows how to treat you.”

Her grin widened, and for a moment, everything felt right again. But then she leaned in, her expression turning serious.

“And you need to patch things up with Joel,” she said bluntly, her voice just a little too firm. “Or I’m going to lock you two in a room and force you to talk. Honestly. And stop acting like kids.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you—more like she was holding herself back from giving you a motherly lecture.

“I know,” you confessed, sitting up straight and running a hand through your hair. You knew this conversation wasn’t over. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of endless conversation, the kind that felt both exhausting and comforting in equal measure. Cassie had so much to tell you, her words tumbling out one after the other like she couldn’t stop once she’d started. She spoke about her life in Italy—how she’d adapted to everything, how much she missed the simplicity of being back here, with you, in the same bed, talking about everything and nothing, like when you were younger. Her laugh was the same, a little higher pitched when she was genuinely happy, and it made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all.

As the hours drifted by, the conversation shifted seamlessly into memories. You both laughed and sighed as you reminisced about the time you first met, when you were both eleven, so awkward and unsure of yourselves, and how you’d ended up in Austin, drawn by your own separate pulls, yet still somehow close enough to see each other almost every day. Cassie had lived in a small downtown apartment back then. You had found a place nearby, just far enough to need a car to see each other, but close enough to drop by without any effort. You spent hours together in those days—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the same space. You never lived together, though.

Cassie was too social, too often hosting friends and acquaintances, always surrounded by people. You, on the other hand, had always been quieter. You preferred solitude, the peaceful comfort of being by yourself in your own space. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy Cassie’s company—quite the opposite. But you liked the balance of your lives: hers filled with chatter and life, and yours with quiet and space.

Now, with her sitting across from you, it felt like nothing had changed. You were still as close as you’d always been, still managing to keep the balance between her vibrant energy and your calmer, quieter presence. You felt a warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that came from having the best of friends beside you when you needed them the most. The fact that you didn’t know how long she would be staying only made you happier. It was a gift, this unexpected visit.

Cassie’s voice broke through your thoughts. She’d stopped talking for a moment, her gaze softening, eyes closing briefly as she leaned back on the couch, a contented smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I feel better here,” she said, her voice quiet, as if the weight of her words was grounding her.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you smiled, letting the moment linger. You picked up your glass of wine and took a sip, letting the music fill the space between you before returning to the thread of your conversation. You started talking about old friends—those people you used to see all the time but had drifted away from. Faces and names from a past life, now reduced to half-remembered moments.

After a while, Cassie went to the bathroom, and for the first time in hours, you were left alone with your thoughts. The soft hum of the music seemed louder now, the words settling into your mind like an unspoken invitation.

You needed to talk to Joel. You had to.

The thought was like a knot in your stomach, tight and anxious. How could you even approach him? How could you talk to him again without feeling humiliated?

This was it. The last chance. If he treated you badly again, if he shut you out again, you wouldn’t try anymore. If he didn’t want to listen to you, then fine. You weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to chase after someone who didn’t care enough to meet you halfway. You could feel your resolve hardening, the idea of giving up no longer feeling like a loss, but a relief. You had done everything you could. The rest was out of your hands.

If he didn’t want to listen to you... well, that was his problem. Fuck him, then.

Saturday. “I’ll get it!” Cassie shouted from downstairs, her voice carrying easily through the house.

You were in your room, towel drying your hair after the shower. Cassie had spent half the afternoon thrusting bottles of creams, serums, shampoos, and hair treatments at you, insisting with dramatic conviction that they were, and you quoted, “the best thing in the fucking world.” Reluctantly, you’d agreed to try them, and now your entire being smelled like vainilla and coco.

Downstairs, the door creaked open.

“Joel,” Cassie said, surprised but not unpleasantly so, a smile spreading across her face as she took in the figure on your doorstep.

Joel blinked, visibly startled. His brows furrowed before relaxing, his expression softening into something almost amused. A soft smile.

“Cassie? What are you doing here? When did you get back?”

She stepped aside slightly to greet him with a quick, casual hug that he received.

“Yesterday,” she said with a shrug, her eyes narrowing just enough to hint she was already gathering pieces of a puzzle Joel didn’t know existed. “Last-minute decision, you know. Want to come in?”

Joel hesitated, shifting his weight awkwardly. “No, I—uh, is she—”

“She’s here,” Cassie interrupted, her tone smooth, deliberate. She tilted her head toward the stairs and called your name in a shout. Then, turning back to Joel, she grinned. “She’ll be down in a second. How’s Sarah? She must be huge by now!”

Joel’s face lit up at the mention of his daughter, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“She’s great. Yeah, she’s huge—almost taller than you,” he teased, lifting a hand to indicate Cassie’s height.

Cassie rolled her eyes but laughed. “I want to see her. We should steal her for a girls’ night soon.”

“Anytime,” Joel replied with a small smile, genuine now. “She’d love that.”

Cassie zipped her coat with theatrical precision.

“Perfect. Let’s plan it.” She reached for her beret and adjusted it snugly, her gaze flicking briefly toward the stairs.

You appeared at the landing, one foot on the top step, dressed in black pajama pants and an oversized sweater that hung loose on your frame. Your hair was dry, neat, and slightly glossy—courtesy of Cassie’s insistence.

“Who is it?” you asked, taking another step before freezing halfway down.

Your eyes landed on Joel. He stood stiffly, his posture uncertain. The smile he’d worn moments ago dissolved into something more unreadable, almost guarded. You felt a small knot tighten in your stomach.

“I’m going for a walk,” Cassie declared suddenly, breezing past Joel with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Nice seeing ya, Joel.”

He nodded, but his attention stayed fixed on you.

In less than a moment, Cassie was gone. The silence she left behind felt sharp, almost heavy. You forced yourself to move, descending the final steps slowly, deliberately, until you were close enough to meet Joel’s gaze without leaning forward.

He looked different somehow. The dark jeans and heavy green flannel shirt he wore felt familiar, but his expression didn’t. His face was etched with something hard to place—nervousness, maybe, or regret.

His eyes - oh my God, his eyes.

You crossed your arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe, forcing yourself to sound steadier than you felt. “Joel, what happened?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper, though the question felt louder than anything you could have said. "Need somethin'?"

He exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his gaze flicking briefly to the floor, as if searching for something to say, then back to you. His brows flickered with indecision before he spoke, his voice low and careful, like each word was a step he wasn’t sure he could take.

“I... I know you probably don’t wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

166 notes · View notes

lizziesrecs · 13 hours ago

Text

I AM FERAL OH MY GOD

anywho, thank you for writing a virgin!reader that wasn't innocent and also thank you for the belly bulge moment i will always cherish a fic with it<3

for your first tlou fic you did amazing! joel wasn't ooc (at least i didn't think so while reading) and their dynamic was to die for. it was literally the dynamic i crave in most post outbreak, enemies to lovers, age gap fics lmao.

again, amazing work<3

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #post!outbreak

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