#WELCOME TO MY QZ JOEL

[gracieheartspedro]

Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth. 

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious. 

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who. 

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem. 

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least. 

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being. 

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety. 

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man. 

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though. 

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display. 

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you. 

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up. 

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger. 

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms. 

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him. 

You were so terrified, you could not even speak. 

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of. 

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet? 

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way. 

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman. 

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me… What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt. 

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him? 

What were you thinking? He was a dead man. 

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers.  You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.  

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him. 

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code. 

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9. 

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography. 

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that. 

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay. 

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty. 

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself. 

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms. 

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked. 

-

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you. 

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest. 

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered.  He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings. 

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him. 

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here. 

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it. 

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle. 

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it. 

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel. 

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat. 

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down. 

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain. 

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation. 

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong. 

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you. 

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it. 

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there. 

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body. 

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles. 

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting. 

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive. 

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer. 

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter. 

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic. 

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson. 

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers. 

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move. 

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp. 

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him. 

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated. 

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope. 

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land. 

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

-

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack. 

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade. 

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved. 

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him. 

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. 

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument. 

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment. 

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness. 

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine. 

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he’s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw. 

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face. 

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one. 

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before. 

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up. 

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

-

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed. 

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat? 

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain. 

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him. 

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that. 

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm. 

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why. 

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

-

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks. 

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag. 

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad. 

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before. 

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you. 

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities. 

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you. 

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind. 

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts. 

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile. 

Of course, it smells like him. 

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face. 

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage. 

He is pissed. 

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame. 

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense. 

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you. 

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains. 

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

-

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting. 

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still. 

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way. 

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you. 

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited? 

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags. 

Just your size. 

-

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower. 

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit. 

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still. 

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already. 

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off. 

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run. 

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return. 

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him. 

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well. 

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own. 

-

The routine changes after that night. 

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal. 

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate. 

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger. 

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich. 

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly. 

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were. 

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off. 

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath. 

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome. 

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm. 

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him. 

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts. 

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head. 

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him. 

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth. 

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side. 

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses. 

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit. 

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark. 

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions. 

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly. 

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

-

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face. 

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms. 

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him. 

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear. 

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller. 

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time. 

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way. 

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too. 

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews. 

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

-

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you. 

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face. 

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell. 

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it. 

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body. 

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid. 

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease. 

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view. 

And you recognize him. 

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron. 

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties. 

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him. 

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy. 

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma. 

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight. 

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up. 

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger. 

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man. 

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body. 

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes. 

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head. 

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality. 

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile. 

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor. 

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up. 

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

-

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other. 

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red. 

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you. 

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin. 

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so. 

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose. 

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you. 

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite. 

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice. 

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head. 

-

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move. 

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them. 

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit. 

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy. 

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket. 

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit. 

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment. 

“Should I keep going?” 

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it. 

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air. 

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter. 

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire. 

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you. 

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours. 

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons. 

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned. 

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel. 

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented. 

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth. 

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices. 

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. 

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone. 

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible. 

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release. 

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester. 

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world. 

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you. 

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner. 

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything. 

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen. 

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed. 

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly. 

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip. 

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again. 

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you. 

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time. 

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you. 

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin. 

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days. 

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch. 

-

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet. 

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken. 

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you. 

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion. 

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me. 

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours. 

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest. 

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction. 

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.  

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you. 

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself. 

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you no. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

[junojoel]

Everytime

QZ!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel needs to use you sometimes. Sometimes.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, anal, and a bad understanding of anal prep, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), spanking, choking, fucking everything, loving sex is a warning in this too, mean joel but reader can handle it, he doesnt mean it guys hes a loverboy :(

i'm suffering horrifically from writers block so this is my way of writing like 4 smut oneshots in one lol. end of the semester is kicking my ass

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He only brings you here when it gets bad.

Not bad like blood-in-the-streets bad, not even when deals go sideways or when FEDRA gets too close. Not because it’s safe, though it is. No—Joel brings you here when he’s bad. When he’s seconds from cracking. When the city feels too tight, and he needs something real to hold on to. Something that reminds him he’s still alive.

And more and more lately, that something has been you.

Inside the city, he keeps his voice low and his hands to himself. Tess gives him side-eyes when you’re around, and everyone else knows better than to ask what you are to each other, knows better than to give you any trouble. But out here? Past the fences, past the dead brush and the broken steps?

Out here, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t want you.

The safehouse is a crumbling old farmhouse outside the QZ perimeter, long abandoned and half-swallowed by the forest. It looks like nothing. That’s the point.

Clean sheets. Wood stove. Whiskey. A real bed. You and Joel.

He slams the door shut behind you with one hand and has the other already on your waistband, fingers digging into the worn fabric of your jeans.

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

You don’t ask, you never do. You know this version of him. Wild-eyed and breath hot against your neck as he crowds you backwards, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“You gonna say hello first?” you tease, already peeling off your jacket. The fabric rasps against your skin as you shrug it off, the chill of the room prickling your arms.

He grabs your chin, tilts your face up, calloused fingers pressing just shy of bruising. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the hazel.

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll give you something to say.”

You grin, even as your heart thuds heavy in your chest, pulse jumping under his grip. “Promise?”

And just like that—he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and desperation, lips rough from the cold, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive growl. His hands are everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, the drag of fabric sending sparks across your skin, then palming your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. The scrape of his stubble burns your chin, the bite of it sharp and sweet.

The back of your knees hit the bed, and you drop with a gasp, legs falling open, welcoming him in. The mattress groans beneath you, the sheets cool against your now feverish skin.

“Fuck.” Joel mutters to himself as he slides a hand down, pressing between your thighs, fingers slicking through your arousal with a satisfied hum. “Already so fuckin’ wet.”

His touch is electric, rough pads of his fingers circling your clit just once, just enough to make your hips jerk.

“You miss me, Miller?” you breathe, grinding into his palm, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He doesn’t answer. Just presses his forehead to yours, jaw clenched, breath ragged. His fingers slide lower, dipping inside you with a slow, deliberate curl that punches a moan from your throat.

“You gonna keep talkin’,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or you gonna let me shut you up?”

“I like it when you try,” you whisper, biting back another moan as his thumb finds your clit again, pressing just hard enough to make your vision blur.

He slips two fingers in, thick and unrelenting, the stretch burning and spreading fire through your limbs. Your head falls back, a broken sound ripping from your throat as he crooks them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Jesus—”

“Say my name.”

“Joel.”

He growls low in his throat and kisses you hard, swallowing your gasp and working you open with brutal efficiency. His free hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to sting, his mouth moving to your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point.

When you finally reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, his breath hitches. The leather slides free with a sharp hiss, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. You yank his jeans down, freeing him, his cock heavy and hot in your hand.

He groans against your skin, hips jerking into your grip.

“You think you can handle me like this?” he mutters, voice wrecked.

You wrap a leg around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back.

“Prove I can’t.”

He pushes in with a groan, one slow, steady thrust, stretching you full until you gasp. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles trembling with restraint as he holds himself still—just long enough for you to feel every inch of him, the heat of you wrapped around him, the way your body clenches instinctively.

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps. “Always so tight for me.”

Then he moves, slow and deep. Every drag of his cock inside you is maddening, the fullness unbearable. His hips roll against yours, grinding just right, drawing out your pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him, nails biting into his shoulders.

He watches your face, drinks in every twitch, every bitten-off moan.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Actin’ like you don’t beg for this every time I call you out here.”

You claw at him, pulling him down to kiss you, your teeth dragging over his bottom lip.

“Only ‘cause I know you can take it.”

He growls, hips snapping harder now, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the headboard thudding in time with his pace.

“Fuckin’ right I can.”

His hand finds your throat; possessive, anchoring. Yours goes to his jaw, thumb brushing the scar that cuts through his temple, feeling the flex of his teeth as he grits them.

There’s nothing but heat between you. The wet sound of skin on skin, his ragged breaths mingling with yours, the creak of the bed beneath you. Your voice breaks around his name, whispering it like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word left in the world.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You can feel it before he even speaks.

Joel’s pissed. Not the quiet, simmering kind from before, but something sharper. Bleeding off him in waves as he yanks the safehouse door shut behind him, the wood groaning under the force.

You barely get a word out before he’s on you.

His hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, the impact vibrating through the plaster. His breath is ragged, uneven—hot against your cheek. Clothes still soaked from the storm outside, the fabric cold where it brushes your skin. Blood streaks his sleeve. Not his.

“Joel—”

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, dangerous. Not like before. This isn’t foreplay.

You press your back to the wall, chin lifted, eyes locked on his. The flicker of the oil lamp paints shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension in his jaw.

“What the fuck happened out there?”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth grind, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Eyes won’t meet yours.

“Was it Tess?” You reach out, fingers skimming the soaked leather of his jacket. Cold. Stiff with rainwater.

“No.”

“Then what?”

His eyes finally snap to yours. And it hits you—whatever it was, it rattled him.

“Almost didn’t make it back.”

You inhale slowly, the air thick with the smell of him—sweat, whiskey, the iron tang of blood. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

For a second, the tension is quiet.

Then suddenly, Joel grabs your waist, yanks you toward him, and slams his mouth against yours like it’s the only way to make the world shut up. His tongue is rough, tasting of salt and smoke, and you whimper when his teeth catch your lip.

You break it, panting.

“What the fuck is this, huh? You almost die and now I’m just—what? Your therapy?”

“No.” He pulls you closer, “You’re mine.”

You barely make it to the bed.

He tears your shirt over your head, the fabric ripping at the seams. Pushes your pants down with one hand, growling when they catch around your knees. His fingers dig into your thighs, callouses scraping skin as he spreads you open. You’re wet already—because of course you are—and he knows it. Smirks when he drags his fingers through your slick, then brings them to his mouth.

“Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

You moan, grinding back against him.

“Maybe I like it when you lose your shit.”

He drags his mouth down your neck, biting at your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Yeah? You like makin’ me crazy?”

You arch into him, gasping.

“Love it.”

That’s all he needs.

He flips you onto your stomach, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels behind you. His cock drags between your thighs, hot and heavy, smearing your wetness against your skin.

Then his fingers press against your ass, testing, circling.

“This what you want?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

You push back into his touch with a grin. “Fucking try.”

He spits, the sound obscene in the quiet room, then works a thick finger into you, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitches, muscles fluttering around the intrusion.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, curling his finger just right. “Take it.”

A second joins the first. You bury your face in the pillow, muffling a whimper as he scissors you open.

Then his fingers are gone, replaced by the blunt press of his cock.

“Breathe,” he orders, and pushes in.

The stretch is brutal, exquisite. You gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as he sinks deeper, inch by relentless inch. His grip on your hips is iron, holding you still as he works himself inside, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Fuck—Joel—”

“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about it. His palm rubs slow circles over your lower back. “Just relax, baby. Let me in.”

When he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you adjust. Sweat drips from his brow onto your spine, his breath hot against your shoulder.

Then he pulls out almost all the way—and slams back in.

You cry out, the sound punched out of you as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. The bed creaks under the force, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers digging into your flesh. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Every stroke is a claim. You’re here. You’re both alive. You’re his.

His hand slides around your front, fingers finding your clit. Rubbing hard. Fast.

“Come on, baby. Gimme one.”

Your mouth falls open. Eyes squeeze shut. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can.” His voice is rough, possessive. “This body’s mine. You come when I say.”

You shatter with a broken scream, clenching around him so hard he curses, hips stuttering.

He groans and comes inside you with a final, deep thrust, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You collapse. Boneless. Breathing like you’ve run ten miles.

Joel stays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, one arm curled under your body like he can’t let you go just yet. His lips brush your shoulder, the touch almost tender.

“Mine,” he murmurs again.

And god help you—you are.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You should’ve kept your head down.

You know that. Joel told you—explicitly—to let him do the talking. Just like he always does when you’re dealing with FEDRA.

But the guy was being a prick. All attitude and a swinging rifle. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but you couldn’t help it.

Joel didn’t say a word at the time. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t flinch.

Just handed over the rations, gripped your arm a little too tight—his fingers digging in like a warning—and steered you out of there before the guard could decide to make an example out of you.

The walk back is silent.

He doesn’t say a damn thing until the safehouse door slams shut behind you—and even then, it’s not words. Not really.

It’s the click of the lock sliding home. The thud of his bag hitting the floor. The way his boots scrape against wood as he turns, slow and deliberate.

His eyes track you—dark and furious, jaw tight enough to crack.

You feel it before he touches you. The heat. The pressure. The way the room seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you, the tension coiling tighter with every second.

Joel stalks forward, slow and deliberate, until your back hits the wall. He braces one hand beside your head, leaning in close. His breath is warm against your lips and his eyes search yours like they’re trying to burn the lesson into your brain.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he says, low and dark.

You swallow hard. Try to keep your voice steady. “He was a dick.”

Joel’s nostrils flare. His jaw ticks.

“You think that matters? You think they need a reason to put a bullet in your head?”

“He wasn’t gonna shoot me—”

“You don’t know that!” His voice rises, sharp and ragged, cutting through the quiet like a whip. “You don’t know what they’ll do, you don’t know what line you’re walkin’, and you sure as fuck don’t get to decide when to run your mouth.”

His hands are trembling. Just barely. But they are.

You stare up at him, chest heaving, mouth dry.

“You gonna hit me?” you ask, soft but sharp.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t,” he growls.

“Then what?” you whisper, stepping in close, chest brushing his.

His expression flickers—something feral and frustrated flashing through before it all slams back into place. That mask he wears so well.

He grabs your chin, thumb pressing against your lower lip, eyes locked to yours like he’s daring you to speak again.

“You think this is a game?”

You smirk, licking the pad of his thumb, slow and deliberate.

“I think you like it when I piss you off.”

There’s a second, only one, then he snaps. Grabs your waist, spins you around, and pulls you over his knee before you can even blink. The sudden shift knocks the breath from your lungs, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against your thighs as he pins you in place.

“Since words don’t seem to sink in,” he mutters, voice rough, “maybe this will.”

The first slap lands hard, his palm connecting with a sting that makes you gasp. The heat blooms instantly, sharp and bright, and you squirm, but his arm locks around your waist, holding you still.

“You don’t get to gamble with your life,” he growls, delivering another sharp smack, then another, each one landing with punishing precision. “Not in there. Not ever.”

You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, but the sting is relentless, the ache spreading with every strike. Your skin flushes hot under his hand, the sound of each slap echoing in the quiet room.

Finally, he stops, his palm resting possessively on your reddened flesh.

“Still think it’s funny?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.

You swallow, thighs pressing together, the throbbing heat between them impossible to ignore.

“No,” you admit, breathless.

He hums, fingers tracing the curve of your ass, then sliding lower, teasing.

“Good.”

Then he flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he unbuckles his belt. The leather slides free with a whisper, the metal clinking as he tosses it aside. His fingers grip your hair, tilting your head back.

“Open.”

You do, and he guides himself between your lips, the thick heat of him heavy on your tongue. The taste of him fills your mouth as he pushes in, groaning when your lips stretch around him.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. Every inch.”

You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue working the underside as he thrusts deeper. His breath comes rougher, his hips jerking when you hum around him.

“Fuck—” His voice is ragged. “You’re gonna learn your lesson one way or another.”

He fucks your mouth with slow, punishing strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat until tears prick your eyes. You gag, but he doesn’t let up, his grip unrelenting as he watches you struggle to take him.

“Should’ve thought about this before you ran your mouth,” he mutters, dragging himself out just enough to let you gasp for air before shoving back in.

When he finally pulls free, your lips are swollen, your chin wet. He drags his thumb over your mouth, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Now,” he says, flipping you onto your hands and knees, “let’s make sure you remember.”

His hand grips your hip, and then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust. You cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he sets a relentless pace, each snap of his hips driving the point home.

“This is what happens,” he growls, teeth scraping your shoulder. “You don’t listen? You get punished.”

You whimper, the pleasure and pain blurring together as he fucks you raw, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

You shatter with a sob, your body clamping around him as the orgasm rips through you. He follows with a groan, spilling deep, his hips grinding into you as he rides it out.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you keep your damn mouth shut.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You were only supposed to stay the night. Just one.

Tess had taken a bullet on a bad run, nothing fatal, but she needed time to recover. Joel didn’t want you on the street alone. Didn’t trust anyone else to watch your back. So he’d handed you a key without looking at you and muttered something like, “Just until she’s back on her feet.”

You thought maybe he meant to sleep on the couch.

The room’s dim. Just a sliver of golden light leaking through the curtain from the streetlamp outside. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts. It’s soft and faded, hangs loose over your thighs. Joel’s across the room, stripping down in silence. His movements are slower than usual. No tension. No frenzy.

You watch him undo each button, eyes trailing over the strong lines of his body—broad shoulders, the cut of muscle under worn skin, the trail of hair down his stomach that disappears beneath his waistband.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just folds his shirt and sets it on the chair like he’s buying himself time.

When he finally turns, the look in his eyes steals your breath.

It’s not lust, not really. Not only. It’s want, yes—but it’s wrapped in something deeper. Something unspoken. Something aching.

You slide back beneath the blankets and hold them open for him.

“Joel,” you say, soft.

He gets in beside you without a word. The bed dips with his weight, and his arm immediately comes around you, pulling you in like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You settle into his chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his skin.

“You ever done this before?” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Had sex?”

You glance up at him with a crooked smile. “No. Had someone in your bed. Like this.”

His face shifts. “No,” he says quietly. “Not in a long time.”

You nod. You knew the answer before he said it.

Joel’s hand finds your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s still not sure you’re real.

“I want this to be different,” he murmurs.

You lean into his touch.

“It already is.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Careful. Like he’s trying not to break you. His lips linger, his breath warm against your skin. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands drift to his body—familiar and unfamiliar at once. You’ve touched him before, felt him everywhere, but not like this. Not when there’s no fire to put out. No edge to ride.

Just him. Just you.

He slides the shirt off your shoulders, slow as molasses, like he’s unwrapping something delicate. Like the heat between you needs to simmer tonight.

“Want you,” you whisper, tugging him closer. “All of you.”

“You got me,” he says, voice hoarse.

Joel kisses you like it’s the first time all over again. Slow, aching, unhurried. His hands explore every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something fleeting.

And then he starts trailing down—kisses ghosting over your jaw, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He pauses to mouth at one, sucking softly, tongue flicking over your nipple until your back arches. His hand massages the other, fingers pinching just enough to draw a whimper from you.

“Joel,” you breathe, your voice already wrecked.

“I got you,” he murmurs against your skin.

You feel him shift lower. His kisses follow a path down your ribs, over your stomach, reverent and slow. He’s in no rush—he’s savoring. And when he settles between your legs, spreading you open with calloused hands, it’s with a look that’s nothing short of worship.

You’re already dripping for him, aching, and he just stares for a second—eyes dark, mouth parted slightly.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You reach for him, fingers threading into his hair, but he gently presses your hips down, keeping you still.

“Let me.”

He lowers his head, and the first drag of his tongue over you nearly breaks you.

Soft. Wet. Slow.

He hums against you like he’s tasting honey, and you can feel the sound in your spine.

He flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow stripe up your center, then does it again, lips wrapping around your clit with practiced care. He sucks gently—just enough to make you gasp—then releases with a soft pop before diving back in, tongue circling and teasing, building you slow.

“Jesus, Joel—”

Your hips buck, but his grip tightens, holding you steady.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Lemme take care of you.”

And he does.

He devours you like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. Like your pleasure is something sacred. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm—languid, focused—while one of his hands slides up your thigh, then down, two thick fingers easing into you as he keeps his mouth on your clit.

You keen at the stretch, hips grinding against his face now, too far gone to care.

Your hands fist the sheets. Your thighs tremble.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can. Just let go.”

You fall apart with his name on your lips, coming hard against his mouth, thighs clenching around his head as he groans like he’s the one being wrecked.

He doesn’t stop right away. Keeps licking you through it, tongue gentle now, coaxing you down from the edge like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

When he finally comes up, his mouth is glistening, beard wet with you, and his eyes are dark—wrecked���like the sight of you falling apart has undone him completely.

You tug him up by the shoulders, breathless and shaking, pulling him into a messy, deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth, hips already rolling against him again.

Joel grins into the kiss, rough thumb brushing your cheek.

“Didn’t know you could sound like that,” he murmurs.

“Neither did I,” you say, still dazed, still breathless.

He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving.

“Wanna hear it again.”

When he finally sinks into you, it’s like exhaling after holding your breath too long. No rush. Just the warmth of him, stretching you full, grounding you to the mattress like he’s pressing you into something sacred.

His forehead rests against yours, and he groans—quiet, almost pained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You wrap your legs around his waist, hands tangled in his hair, holding him impossibly close.

He starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust purposeful and deep.

Your fingers drift over his back, nails tracing lazy lines into his skin. His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper—no begging this time, no teasing.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low. “Wanna see those eyes.”

You do. And what he sees there makes his rhythm stutter. He’s not used to softness like this. Not used to being allowed to want without fear.

You touch his face, thumb tracing the crease of that familiar scar.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

“I know.”

Joel’s hand finds yours and threads your fingers together, pressing them into the pillow beside your head. You don’t say anything else. The way he moves inside you—slow, aching and reverent—says everything.

He kisses you through it. Again and again. Mouth gentle, tongue soft. When you finally come, it’s quiet and full-body, radiating out until your fingers curl tight around his.

He follows close behind, hips grinding deep as he buries himself with a low groan, your name on his tongue like it’s holy.

After, he doesn’t let go.

Just holds you to him like something he’s afraid to lose.

You curl into his side, lips brushing his chest.

“Feels real,” you whisper, afraid to break it.

Joel kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders.

“That’s ‘cause it is.”

[damneddamsy]

PRISON FOR LIFE (1) | joel miller x fem!reader

“Rest assured, he’s anything but sweet if someone comes for me.”

CASE-> It's simple, really. Joel Miller takes a girl. Girl hates him. Girl is wanted for murder. Now everyone’s looking for said girl—and he’s the fool hiding her in his bed. A.N.-> you've spoiled yourselves fawning over daddy Jackson!Joel for long enough. after all that softness and sensitivity in falling, I really wanted something dark as shit. god forbid, a girl fantasises over shady, two-edged anti-heroes with weathered hands and a cowboy accent. so, here comes the real big daddy - QZ Joel. W.C.-> 15,500+ C.W.-> 18+ MDNI, QZ!Joel, BIPOC fem, rejoice all my multilingual girlies, Joel's POV, dark-ish and morally ambiguous Joel, suggested age gap, Joel's got a saviour complex, dark themes and imagery, high stakes, kidnapping, smut (is grinding still smut? whatever), voyeurism, domestic violence, grey thoughts, blood, gore, guns.

Home hits different for Joel nowadays—oftentimes like a shard of glass trying to open his throat.

He figured it’s only fair. You didn’t burn bridges and expect to roll out a welcome wagon on the other side. Still, there was a certain charm in knowing his girl cared enough to aim.

Joel ducked, just in time. The edge nicked the collar of his coat, scored at his chin, and whistled past his throat, burying itself in the wall behind him with a sharp thunk. A lesser man would’ve flinched, or even panicked.

But Joel only hung his head, unable to believe his luck, and bared a game-on smile over his shoulder.

That was the thing about this new world order—comfort came wrapped in divine chaos. You couldn’t trust the eye of the storm, even if you managed to navigate there. Not anymore, not in the Boston QZ, not after everything. But when things got loud—bullets ablaze, fists swinging for fuck all, someone trying like hell to take you out—he didn’t really mind. Something was vaguely soothing about invariant hostility. At least it was honest.

Joel turned back toward her, wiping a smear of blood off his chin with the back of his hand. “Had your fill t’night, darlin’? Or should we go for round two?”

She didn’t answer, just stood there breathing hard, dark eyes blown wide and wild. The shard she’d thrown had come from a broken bottle she must’ve found tucked under the sink. Clever girl. He hadn’t searched the bathroom as well as last time. That was on him.

He yanked out the glass shard she’d missed him with and dropped it in the trash. No anger in the motion. Just habit. “Almost got me this time. Gotta work on that swing.”

She was bleeding from the heel of her palm again, hair knotted, shoulders tense like she was ready to spring again. Spry little panther, this one. He felt a flicker of admiration, and not that he’d tell her that. She hated him too much already. She hadn’t spoken in two days, not since he brought her here.

No. Not brought.

That wasn’t the word the world would’ve used. They would have called it what it was—taken.

But Joel didn’t see it that way.

Four days ago, he’d watched from the alley across the street while her husband slammed a fist across her jaw in the stairwell of that rotting apartment block. She went down hard, shoulder hitting concrete, cheekbone bouncing off the rail. Not one neighbour stepped in. Nobody pulled that dickhead off her. Nobody yelled. Nobody even looked twice. And sure as hell, no FEDRA soldier gave a shit.

The way the ball bounced around here—your pain was private. Intimacy, even worse. FEDRA didn’t blink for domestic calls. A scream behind a wall might as well have been the radio static. People stayed in their lanes.

Boston QZ didn’t have heroes. It had hardass survivors. You stayed, you lasted. And Joel Miller—he wasn’t in the business of pretending.

He was a goddamn realist.

And look, he’d been watching her long before that hit. He cannot be called a stalker or—what was that they said? A voyeur? None of that shit. No labels.

He wasn’t good, but he was right.

It took weeks of watching. Not in a way he was proud of—maybe, maybe not—but he’d never lied to himself about the things he was. He had to be sure sometimes, that’s all. Had to know what kind of a rut she was stuck in. Whether she was worth the risk or the cost.

She’d never once smiled at him out of the couple of hundred times they crossed each other, with Tess or without. She darted about like a doe, head ducked, like she was trying to disappear into the spaces between atoms, just like everyone else. He’d watch from the shadows—corners, rooftops, alley mouths—counting bruises. That sick fuck—her husband—he had a temper like a livewire. Doors would rattle off their hinges when he was home. Joel could feel the walls shake through concrete and brick.

Another time, he’d been up on the roof two blocks down, late, borderline curfew, trying to get a look at FEDRA’s rotation before his next run. Nothing strategic about it, not that night. He’d wandered—more toward her apartment than away. Just wanted to make sure she was still alive. Maybe catch a glimpse of her silhouette in the window, trudging slowly like she always did after a beating.

But the window was open. And the man’s voice carried across the street. Slurred. Spitting.

“—you hear me? You’re nothing. Just a mouth to feed.”

From that rooftop, he could see her—thankfully behind the bedroom door, hunched on the floor, not even sitting on the goddamn bed. Knees tucked under her chin, hands cupped around her ears, face scrunched tight. She didn’t move to make an escape.

The piece of shit bashed the door with his foot. Pacing, unhinged, bottle in hand. Yelling like she was vermin, like she was lucky to breathe air in the same room as him.

The door knob jiggled this time. “Say something. Right now. Open the door.”

No answer.

He slammed his fist once more. “Fucking open it! I will break this door down if you don’t fucking say something!”

Still, nothing.

She kept silent, and that’s what stuck with Joel more than anything. No fear left to show. A human being stripped down to instinct: don’t provoke. Don’t cry. Don’t speak. Survive.

Joel hadn’t realised his hands were clenched around the brick ledge until they started to shake. He’d left shortly afterwards and couldn’t watch anymore.

And yet... he couldn’t not watch either.

There had been that one night when he came back, begrudging, ready for another shitshow. Oh, he got a show, alright. One that stuck like a splinter in his brain.

The upstairs window had been cracked open again—luck paid off—heatwave in the QZ, no fans, no power. Joel lay prone on the tarpaper roof, waiting, not expecting much, eyes locked on the half-parted curtain like it was a wound bleeding light. She had to be alive. Or had he beaten her bloody again?

But then—she’d ridden him.

Yes. Straight up fucked the life out of the guy. Not two days ago, they were at each other’s throats.

Her husband, that piece of shit. She was on top—straddling him like she meant to crush the light in his eyes. Hips working in sharp, punishing strokes, springing up and down, speeding back and forth. Her knees dug into the mattress like she needed leverage, and every thrust came from someplace deeper than lust. Her body moving with a kind of vicious rhythm, as if fucking was the only language she had left to speak her hate.

Her shirt was gone; he could see the rolls of muscle undulating, ripples on a lake. Her skin glistened with sweat, flawless and deformed all at once—brown, golden under the city’s dead glow, with sick, purple blooming bruises charted like constellations across her ribs and down her thighs. Fingerprints. Knuckle-blows. The map of a warzone. A beautiful spectrum of misery.

Her hair swung loose, wild, sticking to her shoulders and breasts. Tangled, half-fisted in that bastard’s hand. He tugged hard, dragging her head back, baring her throat like an animal’s. She didn’t flinch, simply arched when he sank his teeth where he could, grabbing aggressive fistfuls of her skin, skating a palm from her collar all the way down, past her pulsing breasts, the lines of her stomach, to where she trickled around him, sliding into him, sore, swollen and wet. She ground down harder, took him deeper. Lips parted—not gasping or crying—just open. Like she couldn’t breathe, though it could have been pain.

Joel didn’t know or care one bit, if he was being honest.

Because he’d watched all of it.

He could see her teeth flash in the dark, and for a second, he thought she was smiling. No, this little showstopper wasn’t into that. A desperate snarl shaped into what he imagined was pure, wicked sex.

And Jesus fuck, she was beautiful.

Exactly in the way women were in these times. Fierce, volatile. She was sweat-slick and bruised, biting down pain with every roll of her hips. A creature made of muscle and rage, bound in skin that held captive every blade of light and became glorified.

Joel’s hand slid into his jeans almost without thinking. A reflex. A need.

Callused fingers met himself with anticipated pressure. He kept his eyes peeled on her—on the lune of her spine, the puckers in her thighs, the dimples, the way her blunt nails clawed at the wall behind the mattress. She was somewhere else entirely, not even in the same fucking planet. She was ascending out of her body, piece by piece.

And he wanted to go there with her, pinned there to her. In that moment. Forever.

He stroked to the soundless cadence of her body, mouth watering, jaw clenched, eyes drinking her in like an oasis in a desert. His breath hitched, edging right there, wrist twisting faster, when her back bowed, hips grinding down in one final, furious thrust. Her jaw tightened, head thrown back, bruises on full display. He could hear her faint, helpless whines all the way across the street.

She looked powerful. She looked wrecked. She looked sexy.

He came hard to that exact image, replaying—spilling into his hand, the bite of it scraping a grunt from his depths. His stomach clenched. Thighs twitched. Eyes still locked on her, starving even as he exhaled, emptied. He came, not for her, not even for him.

Just for the sheer idea of her.

And for a few seconds, he lay there with his jeans open and his heart hammering like he’d run six flights. Slick coated his fingers. Pulse echoing in his ears. What the fuck had he just done?

Except he didn’t feel guilt or anything, only a cold, electric satisfaction, the heat and want.

He hadn’t even touched her, but seeing her like that—writhing over a man she loathed, fucking him with a vengeance—it made Joel feel like he understood her in a way no one else ever had.

He’d wanted her long before he’d saved her, and that was the truth of it.

So yes, maybe that was why he snapped. Without an ounce of impulse or rage.

He’d watched her go down the stairwell like some phantom, dragged by her hair, toes slipping on concrete, no fight left in her, not even to scream. Just her pretty hands blindly gripping the railing. Her face went slack, cat-like eyes gone somewhere far away where she wasn't hurting.

And Joel was the cold wind of motion. Had to teach some lessons around here.

One bullet from behind a silencer. Neat and efficient. One to the leg—calculated, not fatal. The bastard collapsed with a yell that echoed off concrete, half rage, half disbelief.

Joel holstered the pistol with a calm he hadn’t felt in years. Simply stepped over his body without so much as a glance and looked at her.

She freed her hands from her ears, turned her face and saw her poor husband groaning, writhing, blood pooling under his thigh. Her eyes went wide.

A little bit of gratitude would have had Joel feeling like a goddamn superhero. No, this girl—this stupid girl loved dead ends.

She charged ahead—not for Joel, not for the gun, but toward the sick fuck. Crumpled to the floor beside him and grabbed at his shirt like she meant to hold him together. Hands fluttering, powerless. Muttering soft and fast.

“No. No, no, no.”

Joel didn’t say it outright, but it bloomed like a blaze in his chest. The fuck is this? This part didn’t sit right with him or make sense. He didn’t understand it at all—how she could grieve a man who treated her like trash? Who left her bleeding like that? Humiliated her?

But, what the hell. Grief was complicated, and neither was it for Joel to understand or judge. He had his fair share of heartache and despair.

Frankly, he should’ve put the second bullet in the bastard’s skull. It would’ve been cleaner. Over and done. But he was held back by the brunt of the situation—the noise, the witnesses, the need to move fast. Or maybe—he’d wanted her to see it, to know that someone could hurt him back.

But here she was, sobbing over the bitch. That had got to stop.

Joel’s hand went to his pistol again. He didn’t draw. Just stood there for two beats, staring at them—her pressed to the blood-slick floor, the man gurgling through a broken scream, her voice fraying to nothing.

It was wrong. Everything was so wrong.

He wasn’t supposed to feel jealous. He wasn’t supposed to feel betrayed. But that’s what it was, right?

She didn’t know better. She thought that was love. Unless, maybe, she deserved better—and didn’t know it yet. He would make her realise.

He’d approached slowly, called her name twice—not that she told it to him, but he’d learned it. Heard it shouted down alleys and whispered through walls. And she’d looked up, eyes wild, mouth about to scream.

“He ain’t gonna die, but he ain’t gettin’ up either. Go on home,” he declared before she could.

Despite that, her bloodcurdling scream lasted a fraction of a second before Joel’s hand clamped down on her mouth.

So he did what he had to.

A tap. Just a little one, back of the neck, knuckles precise, like shutting off a light.

“My way then, sweetheart,” he murmured to her, releasing her mouth.

She folded into him, slumped against his chest, soft bones and unconscious, quiet breath still moving beneath his palm. He’d caught her before she hit the ground, held as if he had done a righteous act, even if it wasn't to everyone else. A precious stolen emerald, maybe—but fuck it.

He threw her over his shoulder and got the hell out before the blood could even dry.

No one stopped him. No one even saw him. Boston QZ didn’t care if women went missing, didn’t blink if a man dropped dead in an alley with bullet wounds. She’d disappear just like all the rest.

Now, she was here.

Now she had him. Warm blankets. Hot food. Heat that didn’t come from her own body being used up. Bandages and clean water. Soft clothes folded in drawers. No more limping down mold-rotted staircases, no more bruises she couldn’t hide, no more sobbing through the walls while that fucker slammed doors and broke plates.

Just Joel.

Just his hands—rough, sure, measured, safe.

He hadn’t laid a finger on her since. Not like that. Not even when she spat at him, when she kicked and clawed and tried to break his nose with the heel of her palm. She still didn’t understand him. Didn’t see past her rage, just like him.

He knew she would eventually. He would give her time. Because Joel wasn’t like that asshole. Joel hadn’t beat her up when she couldn’t say no. He hadn’t used her.

He fed her. Let her sleep. Gave her time. Gave her space. Gave her safety.

And yes, he kept her tied at first—hands bound at the front, ankles too, just enough to slow her down if she tried something stupid. He wasn’t proud of it, but he told himself it was just a precaution, just until she calmed the hell down and realised that she wasn’t chained anymore, not like she had been.

Sometimes he sat at the far end of the room, back to the wall, watching her pick at the blanket he’d given her. Quiet, distant, but not broken. It would take more than him to break this girl.

He didn’t sleep the first night. Just lying quietly by the mattress, watching the shape of her silhouette in the dark, listening to her breathe. And wondering—what the hell have I done? And worse—why doesn’t it feel wrong anymore?

She’d stopped crying, mostly. Now she just looked at him like she didn’t know whether to hate him or beg him to kill her, too. Sometimes he caught her watching him back, tracking his movement—eyes sharp, still fighting, still full of heat.

And he really liked that. In some sickening way, it meant she wasn’t broken yet. Not like she’d been in that stairwell, limp as a rag in a man’s fist.

Now she stood. Now she struck.

And God, when she came at him these few nights, with that shard of glass or broken plastic pipes or kitchen knife (that one insane time), blood in her fists, and fury in her breath—Joel had smiled. For the first time in weeks, he’d fucking smiled.

Wasn’t that proof? Wasn’t that exactly why she was better off?

He hadn’t made her weak. He’d given her her fire back. Her will to live. And no matter how many times she screamed at him, cursed him, tried to claw her way out—he wouldn’t raise a hand.

He would chalk that up to the better part of his upbringing. He could still hear his mama’s stern voice still, thick with that East Texas heat, unperturbed: “Don’t you ever lay a hand on a woman, Joel Miller. Not in anger, not even if she lays you flat first. You don’t break what you’re meant to protect.”

He was ten the first time she said it to him. Fifteen, when she smacked him across the back of the head for yelling at a girl in a parking lot for stealing their spot. Twenty when she looked him in the eyes, right after Sarah was born, and said: “Now you teach her better than most men’ll ever know.”

And he tried. Even now, here—in this nightmare world where right and wrong had bled into each other so long ago they were damn near the same color—some part of that stuck. He wouldn’t hurt her, not even to stop her from hurting him.

“Y’oughta be careful with that face,” Joel said, nodding to the pieces of broken glass, all her missed marks, still jutting out from the drywall like jagged teeth. “Ain’t no one else gonna look out for you but me now.”

She flinched—barely, but he saw it—and his jaw worked tight.

He hated that. Hated when she looked at him like that. Like he and him were the same. Like he was just another man trying to take something from her.

He wasn’t. Fucking rude to be compared to that horrible piece of shit.

He could’ve left her there. Could’ve walked right past, like everyone else did, but he hadn’t. He’d done something. That had to count for good.

“You’re safe here,” he said to her every night. Almost a whisper, almost to himself. “Doesn’t matter if you believe it yet.”

There was a time Joel might’ve felt ashamed. A time he might’ve questioned whether the line he’d crossed even existed anymore. But that was before Sarah. Before all the years of carrying cargo and trading lives like currency. Now, he measured the colours of right and wrong by one metric only: Did they survive?

That was it. And right now, she was alive and well, in the right colours. He’d made sure of it.

The apartment was dark now, save for the two lanterns bordering each other. Old FEMA housing, third floor, corner unit. Nobody came up here anymore. The neighbours on either side were either dead or too doped up to care what sounds came through the walls. The city was half-abandoned, the QZ barely held, but Joel did his utmost best to keep the place clean, warm.

He’d changed things for her, just so she could feel at home.

He put up curtains. Gauzy ones with lacework, soft enough to block the glare she always blinked against. Got an armchair from a military drop, even stitched a patch on the cushion so the stuffing wouldn’t poke her legs. Found a stack of magazines in the back of Bill and Frank’s garage—National Geographic, Life, TV Guide. She liked the pictures; sometimes, she traced them with her finger like they were maps.

He even set up a stereo—one of those heavy things with real knobs and a tape deck. Brought over mixtapes he'd burned a few years ago, the music soft and strange—Bill’s taste mostly. Blues and folk and old standards with warbled voices that made the place feel… less empty.

And well... she spoke when he did. Not much. That wasn’t so much a setback as it was a hassle.

Broken English, like shattered glass—delicate, sharp if you weren’t careful. No wonder she never talked to that fucker. Mostly she stuck to her own tongue, something way out East, he guessed. Joel didn’t know the name of it, even now. Maybe Russian or Polish, or Hindi. Her language was rhythmic, syllabic, full of retroflex sounds, and more winding. When she muttered to herself, it sounded like poetry, like wind threading through tall grass.

He listened sometimes, closed his eyes and let it wash over him. Pretended she was talking to him. Attempted to learn some inflexions, the words she repeated, and made sense of it.

She also said his name the way no one else did. Almost like it hurt.

“Joel,” she whispered now, one hand pressed to the windowsill, the other curled at her chest like she was holding back a scream. “You… wrong. This—” she gestured wide, the apartment, the door, him— “is not… good. Not good.”

The same fucking thing, over and over again. But no, he would not get tired of it. He would be patient, he still had it in him to listen to her.

He scrubbed a hand over his beard and tried to collect his bearings. He hadn’t come in here to argue. He’d come in gentle tonight—wanting to ask about her day, trying to make this feel normal. Livable. Maybe even good, eventually.

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed.

She didn’t smile or soften for him. Just kept watching him, eyes sharp, cautious, studying him like she was still trying to decide what he was.

Joel knew that look. The one people get when they’re planning something—a lie, a sprint, a knife pulled too fast.

He crossed the room to her like a shadow. He wasn’t a threat, nor was he trying to be.

But she moved quicker—like a deer catching scent—backing away from the window, slipping along the far edge of the table like it was some kind of shield. Her eyes locked on him, glassy and rimmed with red, red that didn’t come from tears but from days of not crying. Like she’d forced it all inward.

“No,” she sneered.

“Look, I ain’t—” He started, voice catching. He didn’t even know what the fuck he was trying to say.

So, he had a quick rundown of what he was dealing with.

Barefoot again. Always barefoot. Her skin dry, cracked at the knees. Wearing one of his shirts—worn-soft flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hem falling just past her ass. Her hair was still damp from the bucket bath she’d taken earlier. He could smell the soap on her skin. Simple. Clean.

But then he stepped again—just one more step closer—and she snapped. No warning or sound. Her hand closed around a mug, and she flung it across the room. It shattered against the wall inches from his head.

Joel ducked out of reflex again, porcelain shards cracking behind him on the wall. His head turned, eyes tracking the splinters on the floor, jaw ticking tight.

Always a fight with her. But he was not complaining.

Not because he liked it or that it didn’t make his blood boil, but because this—her—he could handle.

Anger, he could read. Rage made sense. A thrown object was easier to steer through than silence, or sobbing, or the pain that came from the depths, quiet and unnavigable.

He also knew that you don't add to anger, you learn to absorb it. And that’s what this was now: Joel was absorbing it.

So he only watched her—like he was waiting for the second volley, there was another mug right within reach—and when it didn’t come, he made a choice.

He straightened up, willful. Then lowered himself into the armchair with the ease of someone untouched. As if what had just passed between them hadn’t brushed the fragile border of restraint.

He hunched forward, pinching up his jeans like he meant to stay a while, elbows digging into his thighs. His hands met in a quiet knot.

Two fingers rose—an unspoken signal: come here.

She didn’t budge a foot. “Fuck you,” she hissed through her teeth.

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile, but not kind. “Goddamn,” he murmured, a little proud, as he jostled off his boots and kicked them aside. “Look at that. Russian shit got too mouthy, huh?”

Her glare sharpened. He could see the hate in her eyes, but it wasn’t pure. There was confusion in it, too. The kind that made her angry with herself. That look of hers, it drove him up the fucking wall.

Joel leaned back, head cocked, and gave a slow nod toward the floor between his knees like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, you keep lookin’ at me like that, and we’re sure as hell not fuckin’ anytime soon,” he drawled.

Then, with the kind of lazy motion that still felt like a threat, he reached behind his back and pulled the pistol from his waistband. It landed on the coffee table with a faint click.

“There. Civil enough for you?”

She stared at the gun. Didn’t speak.

“I said, get over here,” he summoned.

He felt like a wire drawn too taut when she came forward like she was walking a plank, inch by inch, expecting the drop. Her bare feet silent against the floor. That long, slow drift toward him. Arms crossed like she thought they’d protect her, like they were armour and not just skin and bone.

His arm curled along the back of the chair, a posture that read relaxed, but wasn’t. It was calculated—intentional. Let her see he wasn’t chasing. Let her decide. Let her choose.

Because that was the point of this, wasn’t it? After everything, Joel knew control was the only goddamn thing she still had left. He’d stripped her of everything else—and he’d done it with unfeeling hands and the goddamn certainty that he was right.

But he wasn’t blind.

He could see it in the way she looked at him—as if she was waiting for him to snap, or touch her without asking, or leash her to the radiator. She didn’t understand the rules. Not his language, not the game. But she was learning quick.

Now Joel was testing the waters. Testing himself.

He wanted her to let him touch her, and that was the ugly truth of it. Not even in the way men usually did, not in the way she clearly expected. He just wanted something real. Soft. Her. To break the fog of this prison they were both locked in.

It’d been so fucking long since he’d held something that didn’t die.

When she was finally near him, it didn’t feel close enough. So Joel flicked his chin, a small, silent gesture—closer. Right between his knees.

She didn’t move at first, because of course not. Just stood there with her hands curled into tight little fists, quivering like a live wire, her mouth twisted in that stubborn sneer he got used to. Then, reluctantly, she stepped forward. One inch. Maybe two.

He rubbed a thumb into his eye socket, stifling a dry laugh. Christ, she was maddening.

“You gonna just stand there, all noble?” he muttered, more to himself than her.

She gave him that look again—that furrowed, confused one, like she’d been handed a riddle with missing parts. It hit him then: he was a few gestures behind, trying to communicate with someone whose English was chopped to hell.

So he sighed and patted his thigh. “Sit down.”

Her gaze slid sideways to the gun on the table. Joel didn’t even need to pick it up, and it wasn't like he was going to use it. She’d already done the math—had done it every day since he brought her here. The gun stayed where it was. Useless now, unless he handed it to her. Which he wouldn’t just yet, she was fun even without it.

Jaw clenched, she flopped down on his thigh exactly like an indignant kid forced to take a school photo. Perched on one side, stiff as a corpse, arms crossed, chin up, eyes glaring at anything but him, lips moving miles per minute in her native tongue. When she turned her back and gave him the crown of her head, he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh. Theatrics. Little fucking actress.

“Now,” he drawled, voice low. “Talk to me. What’d you do today?”

“Fuck you,” she mumbled again, barely audible.

He cocked a brow. “Be nice.”

She turned her face just enough for him to catch the shine of her teeth. “Fuck you.”

Joel let out a soft hum and reached for her, taking a strand of her hair between two fingers. It felt dry at the ends, slightly tangled. She didn’t flinch, not right away. Still getting used to the small gestures. Or maybe she was just waiting to see what he’d do next.

“Hmm. What a shiny set of pearlies you got in that screwed-up head,” he muttered, brushing her hair back to get a better look at her cheek.

The damage from that fucker was still there, crusted with blood, swollen a little. A mottled wound carved into the soft skin just beneath her eye, stretching back into her hairline. He’d stitched it the night he found her—rough and ugly, but functional. She’d ripped half of it open a day later, as if punishing her own face for ending up here.

He traced along the edge of it, gentle. Less like a man handling a woman, more like someone touching the edge of a broken mirror.

He didn’t get far before her hand swatted his wrist. “No touch,” she hissed.

He raised his palms in mock surrender, letting the humour flicker briefly across his face. “Fine,” he said. “At least answer the damn question.”

She sat rigid, breathing with sharp puffs, like even that had cost her. Her eyes flicked to him, suspicious, as if trying to locate if she was being beguiled.

Joel just waited. No anger, no push. The silence was better than force.

Finally—finally—she spoke. A pause. A breath.

“Uh.” Her fingers grazed her chest, hesitant. “I... wash clothes.” She mimed the motion, wringing invisible fabric between her hands, then pointed toward the dented metal bucket by the bathroom door. “With—there.”

Joel nodded slowly, letting it register. Normal things. Domestic things. Something to anchor her before he was sure she was in her right mind.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her doing laundry. Bare knees on cold tile. Hands submerged in grey suds, scrubbing cloth raw, like she was trying to erase a memory. She didn’t know it, but that image burned itself into his chest. She still wanted to feel useful, he thought. Or maybe, she just didn’t want to feel powerless.

His voice dropped a little, softened without his permission. “That’s real good, baby,” he said, and the word—baby—hung there between them like smoke.

She blinked, brow furrowing. Like the tone had startled her more than the word itself.

Then—almost fast, like she needed to fill the space—“I listen to music.” Her hand fluttered toward the stereo, then mimed the brim of a hat. “The… boy. He sings nice.”

Joel let out a short breath of a smile. “Elton John,” he said. “Yeah. He’s somethin’, alright.”

She didn’t respond to the name—didn’t recognise it. Her eyes remained sharp, cautious, still trying to decide what Joel was.

And Joel continued his deductions of her, with the silent calculation of a man trying to figure out if the thing sitting on his leg was more fragile than it looked—or more dangerous.

She tapped her chest suddenly, breaking his thoughts, and lifted the delicate gold chain around her neck. A copper pendant in the shape of a penny swung there, like a baited hook. Her thumb pressed it tight.

“My... husband. Where?”

Ah, that again. Another complication, as if things weren’t tangled enough.

His expression didn’t flicker, but inwardly, that ignorance unwound, since the truth was—

He did put a bullet clean through that bastard’s skull. No ceremony. No explanation. Just another piece of rot carved out of a dying city. The moment the fucker recognized him—barely a second of smug bravado crossing his face, preparing to tell him he was fucked or some shit—Joel fired.

One shot, no mess. An infection cauterised at the root.

Of course, she didn’t know any of that. She’d been fast asleep, curled like a bleeding, kicked dog beneath his jacket in the corner outside of that miserable tenement.

He hadn’t done it for her, exactly. It was neater this way. Loose ends got people killed. Especially when those loose ends wore a FEDRA uniform.

And it wasn’t like lowlife sons of bitches like her husband had long lifespans anyway. Their luck always ran out eventually. Joel had seen the kind before, seen what they did with power when no one was watching and everyone was too scared to interfere. Yet still, the bigger portion of the truth weighed over him like a dangling knife. Although, it would have been better—more comfortable—if her husband was just some street-level scum.

Except he was ranked.

A captain. A goddamn fixture in the QZ.

That was the part he had rightly lost his shit over—the part Joel hadn’t considered beforehand. The part that made all of this more than personal. Because when a FEDRA officer vanished without a trace, people noticed. Whispers started. Accusations flew.

The Fireflies, naturally, were first to catch blame. And in fairness, it did look like them—clean execution, no witnesses, no mess, right before the freshly spray-painted Firefly logo. Talk about a streak of luck. Later that day, Tess had even joked that Marlene and Tommy’s people finally found their balls and did something worthwhile than just blowing shit up.

But Joel knew the truth.

And here was the collateral damage, sitting on his lap with her fists clenched and that little penny catching the light, looking at him like he was the thief.

Her fingers reached up again, this time tugging his chin toward her with surprising strength. She forced his eyes to the necklace.

“Where?” she growled, a threat in her throat.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His tongue felt thick. His jaw locked like a trap.

“Gone,” he finally muttered.

Her brow creased, struggling with the phrasing. “Gone?”

“He moved on. Left the city a while ago.”

It was a bad lie. A lazy one. But it was all he had. The truth would only gut her, and he didn’t want to watch that.

“Left city.” Her voice cracked around the word, tasting the lie on her tongue.

She blinked hard, eyes flooding, words tumbling beneath her breath in her language, frantic and mournful. Then, suddenly, trembling, desperate: “No. He say to me—promise. Promise. He…”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “Promised what?” His voice rose without warning. “The fuck could that piece of shit promise you? That he’d stop? That he’d be better? That he’d treat you like a person instead of a fuckin’—”

“You don’t know,” she snapped, eyes flashing.

“I know enough.”

He looked away, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. The way she wanted to believe in a ghost.

And then—her hand snapped forward. Fingers like claws, she grabbed his chin, jerking his face toward her. The necklace swung wildly between them, clinking against his collarbone.

“Where?” she demanded, her voice breaking apart in a choke mid-word. “Tell me.”

Joel’s pulse jumped. His grip twitched.

“You don’t gotta worry about him anymore,” he muttered. “He’s gone. It’s done.”

“Done what...” she echoed, disbelieving. Her lips curled. “No. You lie.”

She gave him a look then. Cold. Knowing.

One beat. Two beats. He aptly readied himself.

She lunged—her hand shooting for the pistol holstered at his side.

Instinct overtook thought. He caught her wrist, slammed it down hard enough to shake the lamp. She shrieked—more rage than pain—and swung her other arm, clipped him right at the jaw until he felt his teeth clack before he grabbed that one too, twisted both behind her, and pressed her chest against his. His arms locked around her, an iron hand manacled both her wrists to the small of her back, knees snapping shut around her thighs, and ankles coiling immovably around hers.

She thrashed in his grip, screamed in that serrated language of hers, every syllable like shrapnel, spine arched, her breath wild and furious in his ear. It took everything in him not to flinch at the force of her rage.

He felt every breath she fought to take.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his lips grazing her temple, “always a game with you.”

“You take him,” she spat, accent slicing each word with venom. “Bastard!”

Joel tightened his hold with a jerk, his breath warm at the base of her neck. “You’re fed,” he ground out. “You’re warm. Got music. A goddamn life. Nobody’s touchin’ you but me—and I ain’t hurt you.”

She bucked against him again, wrists straining. “You steal me.”

“I saved you.”

“You steal.” Her voice cracked. “From me.”

She was burning hot now, every inch of her coiled muscle and stubborn fire. She cursed him, snarling in that sharp, beautiful tongue he didn’t understand, but felt. Wrists wresting. Nails digging. Teeth clenched like she wanted to bite him, bleed him, break him.

She was fire and fury, and grief all in one. Every inch of her was a rebellion, and yet he held her tighter.

There were no restraints here, and Jesus—he fucking loved it.

“I’m not yours,” she said again, this time quieter.

The words landed like a gut punch, the sweetness dying on his tongue. She was everything he wanted to protect and couldn’t control. Everything fragile that wouldn’t stay still, trust, or at least thank him.

She turned her face and spat the only words she loved to say to him. “Fuck you.”

Joel shut his eyes.

He didn’t know if it was rage or shame—but it scorched through him like wildfire.

He wanted to kiss her—to silence her, yes, but more than that. He wanted her to stop looking at him like he was no better than the man he killed. He wanted her to see him. Understand that what he did—what he was doing—wasn’t cruelty. It was care... wasn’t it?

Her chest was pressed tight against him, trembling from the inside out, her breath hot on his throat, heart hammering beneath her ribs. He felt it through his own bones, like their pulses were trying to match. Trying to find the same rhythm and failing.

Every part of her said don’t you dare. Every tense muscle, every flicker of her eyes, the tip of her nose brushing his, every shallow inhale and yet—

He did. He bit the bullet hard.

His mouth crashed into hers—desperate, unthinking, a blind man throwing himself at a fire just to feel it singe. He braced for the impact: fists, teeth, knees, the crack of her skull against his nose. He was ready for pain. Expected it.

But instead—she went slack.

Her body gave in—there was no surrender or peace, but like a wire pulled too tight, finally snapping under strain. Her lips parted under his, not receiving but yielding, opening right into his, letting him have a taste. A gasp caught in her throat, soft, raw, like it surprised even her.

The fire didn’t leave her. It changed.

From rage to need. From no to not like this.

He loosened his grip on her wrists. Eased it, slowly—one finger at a time—like peeling himself away from something sacred. His breath stuttered. His hands trailed down her arms, callused fingertips brushing skin like it might burn him alive.

Her hands moved, crawled up his chest, and curled into his hair, and then—Christ—her nails raked into his scalp, dragging fire down the back of his neck, and he choked on the sound that left him—low, guttural, pained.

She clung to him like she wanted to break him open and see what he looked like inside.

Hurting him. Kissing him. Both.

She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he didn’t flinch. Just groaned, bleeding, panting between kisses, dragging her closer like gravity wasn’t enough. He needed every nerve ending of hers soldered to his, to take his pain as hers.

“Fuck,” his voice cracked, sucking on the bruise she left before soothing it with another aching kiss. “C’mere, c’mere—oh, shit, baby—”

He didn’t even remember what he said. He only knew the pull—desperate, breathless. He needed her near, like his air. Like absolution through suffering. Maybe this was the only way she could reach him. Maybe this was the only form of love he’d ever understand, when it came with pain.

Her hands were all over him, mirrored to his own—yanking at his shirt, tearing it up over his ribs just to pierce into the skin beneath. Her thighs cinched tight around him, hips grinding down with zero grace, zero rhythm, just need. Raw, ugly, wicked, intimate need.

He gripped her hips like he could disappear into her. She wrapped her arms around him to suffocate him.

Her hand slid around the side of his neck, palm to his throat, and she squeezed, just enough to say I could end you. Enough to make him let her.

His eyes slammed shut, and he swallowed against her hand. His heart kicked against his ribs, and every breath turned to steam between their mouths.

Because this was exactly what he wanted her for. This was what love looked like when it had no softness left, when it was all scar tissue and flesh.

He let her hold him there, half-strangled in her grip, her breath crashing against his cheek, teeth dragging over his jaw. Let her kiss him as much as she hated him, as much as she needed to feel the shape of his bones just to be sure they’d break.

His hands slid down, under her thighs, lifting, adjusting, anchoring.

She arched into him, spine convexed, mouth breaking from his only to return harder—tongue and teeth and breathless, brutal want.

One hand dragged under her shirt—skin to skin now—and Jesus, she was hot to the touch, sweat-slick and tense. He could feel how her breast swelled into his palm, nipple straining as he rolled them between his fingertips, peaked for a bite. His free hand slid up, knotted in her hair, tugging just enough to bare her throat to him.

Her hips rocked for him. Once. Twice. He just about blew a load right there.

It wasn’t smooth—wasn’t the standard, wasn’t some slow-burn bullshit. It was frantic. Distraught. Messy. Clothing still clung between them—her shirt rucked up to bare the trembling line of her stomach, his pants shoved just far enough to feel her pressed against him, denim grinding over cotton, the hot friction of her soaked through the fabric and painting flames along the length of him. His belt bit into her inner thigh with every swell of her hips, a cruel, grounding pressure that made her chase the ache instead of shying from it.

They were still half-dressed—still pretending this wasn’t whatever the hell it was—but it didn’t matter. Not with the way she moved, not with how she found that rhythm and used it against them both. Her hips rolled, slow at first, then faster, dragging the drag of wet cotton and rough seams in a torturous loop, over and over. He could feel every goddamn thing. Every inch she refused to give him.

His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, greedy, possessive, slipping under fabric, needing to feel skin. He traced the perfect curve of her ass, held her there, guided her against him, helpless to do anything but meet her. Match her. Let her ride this out, grinding him to the edge without mercy.

The heat between them was unbearable. Soaked. Slick. Sex, somehow. Radiating through every barrier they hadn’t yet torn away. And the worse part—the most fucked up part—was that he didn’t want those barriers gone, not if this was what he got in return.

The denial was part of it. The pressure. The ruin of not-quite.

The way her breath caught every time she pressed down just right, her lashes fluttering, her hands gripping at his shoulders—

“Jesus,” Joel panted against her collarbone, dragging his mouth along her skin. “Just like that, baby—fuck—you feel that?”

She didn’t answer with words; this was the only way he'd ever get her.

She just moved—grinding down faster, harder, with enough force to punch the breath from his lungs, sinking her teeth into his shoulder through his shirt. Her hands were under his jacket now, nails digging into his back like she meant to peel him apart.

And when her hand came back to his throat, thumb digging into his pulse—tightening, commanding—he didn’t stop her.

They weren’t making love. They weren’t even fucking, that would have been so much easier.

They were taking each other. The moment. Whatever scraps of comfort their broken bodies could offer. They devoured each other—gasping, grasping. Not lovers. Not strangers. Just two wrecks trying to crash harder, as though destruction might finally give them peace.

He didn’t know if this was hate or need or some venomous middle ground—but fuck, it didn’t matter.

Then, just as he felt that familiar pleasure start to crest—

Cold. Pressed between his ribs.

A click—sharp, surgical—cut through the static of heat between them.

His breath caught mid-thrust of motion, eyes dragging open in slow disbelief.

His pistol, safety off.

She’d drawn it from his side, the sneaky little minx, sometime between the very distracting kiss and the clawing and the way her hips had started to ride him.

Now it sat between them, lodged like a truth or a secret neither of them wanted to name.

Her hand didn’t shake. Patient, deadly.

“Easy,” he managed to grunt.

Her eyes—bloodshot, tear-lined, feral—didn’t look at him so much as through him. Glassy. Hollowed out. The barest tremble of breath hitched in her throat.

Joel’s chest rose and fell against the muzzle, his own heartbeat ticking into the cold barrel like it was trying to knock the gun loose. Like it could plead its case in pulses.

Goddamn it.

He was so close. So fucking close to—whatever this was. This twisted, ruined wanting that burned hotter than anything he'd ever known. Her bruising lips parted. Her thighs still clamped around his hips, soaked cotton on show. She looked like sin and war and sex, all kiss-bitten and shaking—still, she held him at gunpoint.

He’d fucking forgotten, in all that hunger, in all that heat—in the way he let her take from him like he owed her the goddamn marrow in his bones—he’d forgotten who she was.

She was a woman caged, and he was the man with the keys.

And yet—even with the barrel of his own damn gun pressed to his chest, even with hers heaving like she might scream or sob or shoot—he broke out into a smile.

Slow, crooked, that old, lopsided kind that had nothing to do with joy or any apology in it. Not for what he’d done, and sure as hell not for what he was about to do.

His head tipped back, rough stubble dragging against the cushion, and a low breath escaped him—a laugh, real, gravelly, full of grit. Girl kept him on his fucking toes.

“I take you now,” she insisted.

Joel didn’t even blink, just let his voice slide out like it had all the time in the world. “Oh, honey,” he drawled, voice syrup-slow, “you took me, alright. Great job.”

He meant it. Christ, she’d taken him—like some vixen. Stripped him raw and left him feeling like a man again for half a heartbeat. Right before jamming a pistol into his ribs.

She scowled and smacked his hands off her waist with the gun. He let them drop, palms up in mock surrender, wrists limp.

She peeled herself off him with all the grace of a fight ending mid-swing. Her shirt plunged back down over her hips, and that—it almost made him groan. What a goddamn shame. He’d liked her like that. Wild. Wet. Half-dressed. Towering over him like she had all lthe damn power in the world, a flame that might eat him whole if he let her.

She stepped backwards, gun never wavering in aim.

“I… leave,” she stated.

Joel exhaled like she’d just suggested skipping across a minefield.

“Sure,” he said. “Knock yourself out. But what the hell you gonna say to the FEDRA grunts when they stop you?”

She narrowed her eyes, not getting it yet. “Why?”

“For shootin’ your husband.”

Her brow creased. Still breathing hard. Still trying to win a war with herself.

“No,” she said, almost defiantly. “You—you shoot. I—”

He cut her off, voice flint-hard.

“Darlin’,” he said, and it wasn’t sweet. It was a warning. “A FEDRA captain who beats his wife ends up dead in a ditch. Wife goes missing. Who d’you think they’re gonna pin it on?”

There. He saw it. Her brows knitting, reeling in the hurt, the comprehension sinking its claws in. Her hand left the doorknob, and Joel could almost see the fight leak out of her bones.

It was absolutely cruel, watching it land. But it wasn’t personal; it was survival. His, even hers, if she listened.

Now, she wasn’t stupid. Hurt, cornered, running on instinct—but not dumb.

He groaned and leaned forward, cracking his neck with a roll of his shoulders as he moved, every joint complaining. His body was still thrumming—wired from her touch, from the taste of her anger, from the bullet of adrenaline still lodged somewhere under his ribs.

And from the loss. The goddamn loss of what nearly happened.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at the door like it didn’t matter. “Run. Get caught. Get shot. Or let ’em drag you to that concrete hole under the barracks. You won’t last an hour in there. Not without someone ownin’ you.”

She sagged back against the door, one hand to her head, knuckles pressed into the skull like she could stop the spin of her thoughts by force.

She looked broken again. Not weeping—no, she never gave him that. But cracked. And tired. And haunted all over again.

And Joel felt something in his chest stir. Maybe guilt, or just the memory of who he used to be. The man who might’ve been better. But that man didn’t survive the QZ.

Look, he didn’t lie for sport. He lied to keep breathing. Lied to keep her breathing, too, whether she knew it or not. Close enough to scare her, and close enough to the truth to make her stay. That was all that mattered.

He watched her jaw tighten, and her fingers curled again around the grip.

She raised the gun. Took aim. Closed a finger on the lever.

Her mouth didn’t move. Her glassy eyes didn’t blink. And without a word—

She pulled the trigger.

X

Maybe Joel had underestimated the hell out of this little vixen.

Now how the fuck am I gonna explain this to Tess, was the only coherent thought Joel had as he stood before the mirror, biting down on the inside of his cheek, needle in hand, tugging thread through the scorched skin just beneath his jawline, watching the wound pucker and twitch. The graze from her bullet had missed killing him by about an inch—give or take—and now it burned like hell every time he pulled the knot tight.

He’d stitched himself up before. Dozens of times. But this one—this one wasn’t just some random scrape from patrol.

This was hers. Her mark on him. Her signature.

Through the mirror, he caught her reflection—sat stiff-backed at the dining table, cables wrapped tight around her wrists and ankles on the chair. Her hair was mussed from the struggle, chest still heaving a little like she hadn't come down yet.

And those vexatious eyes, watching him like he was a feral lion. Like she wanted to peel him open and crawl inside just to claw his heart out.

She glared, and glared, and glared. He almost preferred the fighting.

Joel didn’t look away either. He met her eyes as he tied the knot off. His hands moved with muscle memory, practised, controlled, even as his pulse thumped in his ears.

He flashed her a smirk. Nothing soft about it. Just teeth and the ghost of a man who used to know how to laugh.

He tried, uselessly, to chase the tension out of the air. “Love bites already, darlin’?”

Her jaw ticked. Didn’t so much as blink.

He chuckled low, voice rough with disuse. “No sense of humour. Damn near tore my shootin’ arm off—figure that’s your version of foreplay.”

Bad timing. But it was either that or remember how close he'd come to dying. Or how close he'd come to letting her go.

The cables were back—the same black extension cords he’d ripped from the wall—tied to the chair legs like some backwoods crucifixion. He’d ditched them two days ago, figuring maybe she didn’t need restraining anymore.

He’d been wrong.

It had taken him a full three minutes to get her under control when she made a break for the door. Or the fallen gun. Maybe both. It was hard to say when he saw her bolt. Either way, she’d fought like a damn rabid wolf. Screamed, scratched, bit, clawed. He hadn’t even been mad—hell, he'd been impressed. He took the hit like a man, even when her knee slammed up between his legs and turned his world white.

Now he was the proud owner of a busted lip, a sprained elbow, and an insanely sore dick.

And still—still—he couldn’t stop looking at her.

To fuck with her, and maybe to test the hideous part in himself, he dropped the pistol on the table just out of her reach. Right in front of her bound hands. Watched her eyes flicker toward it, a tiny twitch of her knee and wrists, just for a second, before she clenched her jaw and looked away like it wasn’t worth the effort.

Joel rose, blood sliding lazily down his neck. He took a pull from the bottle, the whiskey biting down his throat, and wandered to the wall where the bullet had hit, thankfully gone wide. Scarred plaster, smoke still curling out, a smudge of his blood, just above the armchair where she’d pinned him.

One inch to the left, and she’d have blown his goddamn skull open.

He tilted his head, studying the dark crimson spray pattern.

Goddamn. What a woman.

Mad as hell. Mouth like poison. Fire in every limb. And Joel—twisted, tired Joel—was drunk on it. On her rage, on her defiance, on the fucking danger of her.

She made him feel everything, and it wasn’t clean or noble or even sane—but it was real. In this half-rotted purgatory of a world, she was the only thing that made him feel alive and not just... moving.

He turned and headed to the tiny galley kitchen where he had left her. The whole apartment was a shithole like every other in the QZ, a patchwork of tradeoffs—walls cracked from old artillery shockwaves, rusted pipes, a hot plate that shorted out if he looked at it wrong, dented cookware, rust-stained sink. But he’d managed to keep it clean, more or less. Old habits die hard.

Dinner would usually be a ration can—protein sludge fortified with sawdust, probably—dumped into a pan with water and a stingy pinch from a seasoning packet. But for her, especially, in the very back, it sat vacuum-sealed, smuggled from a soldier who owed him: two tiny pouches of canned chicken. Probably expired. Definitely tasted like shit. But she liked it.

But tonight, thanks to her, he was too roughed up to bother about putting anything in his system.

Joel held up the bottle and shook it in her direction. “Want some?”

She glanced at her wrists, tied tight. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.

Joel grinned around the lip of the bottle. “You hate me that much, huh?”

Her eyes flared.

“Hate you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You—you—you—”

Then she spat a curse at him. One of too many. Sharp and syllabic in that language, he still didn’t know but understood just fine by tone.

He leaned back against the counter, savouring the burn of the whiskey as it settled in his gut.

“Didn’t see you runnin’,” he said, quiet now. Watching her over the rim. “You came back. Fought me. Didn’t have to.”

“You catch me. I try,” she spat, spittle gathering at the corner of her mouth. Either he was going mad, or he truly imagined running his tongue along it.

“To kill you. I kill you—fucker—”

Then more words he couldn’t parse followed. Foreign, sharp-edged. The cadence was all fury. A hymn of loathing, and he listened to every word like it was meant for him alone.

Fury. Grief. Close to mourning, maybe. For herself, for what he’d done, for the way the world had split her open and let a man like him crawl inside.

Joel drank her in like the whiskey. Let her hatred settle over him like a second skin.

Believe it or not, she hated him harder than he hated himself, and that was the closest thing to affection he’d known in years. And Joel would take attention like a dying man takes morphine.

He went over to sit on the edge of the table, right in front of her, merely them and the slow collapse of what was left of their sanity.

“Next time, darlin’,” he said, tipping the bottle toward her like a toast, “don’t miss.”

He picked up the gun behind him and let her watch as he slid it back into his waistband, slow and deliberate. Made sure she saw it vanish beneath the hem of his shirt, snug against his spine.

She tracked the motion with narrowed eyes. Sharp, silent. Like a hawk sizing up a coyote.

He dragged a chair forward and set it beside her, dropping into it with a sigh that scraped the bottom of his ribs. Body still running hot from the fight, the sex that wasn’t, the goddamn shot to the neck.

He reached into the crumpled paper bag he’d left on the table earlier and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper—dry as hell, probably two days old. Could’ve been crow meat for all he knew. Tasted like it.

He bit into it anyway, jaw grinding against the toughness. All this fighting, all this blood—it drained a man. Emptied out from the inside. But food was fuel. He chewed slowly, eyeing her where she sat bound, still breathing like she wanted to kill him with every exhale.

Then, because he wasn’t all an asshole—because somewhere in that tar-black heart of his, the muscle still twitched now and then with human impulse—he angled the sandwich toward her mouth. Held it out, edge-first.

“Here,” he muttered, around his own chew of stale bread and mystery meat. “Bite.”

She jerked her head like he’d tried to slap her. “No.”

He pushed the bread's tip closer to her lips. “Open your goddamn mouth.”

She stared. Defiant. Chin lifted, eyes sharp.

He met her stare, held it a beat, then shrugged. “Fine. Starve.”

Silence crawled in after that. He made it halfway through the sandwich—chewed, swallowed, wiped a smear of grease from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand—when it hit him:

He didn’t know a damn thing about this woman other than her name, her routine, the bare bones of misery.

Not her age. Not where she came from. Not what she believed in. Only that she hated him hard enough to nearly kill him—a hate, truthfully, turned him on. Not just the heat of it, but the clarity.

She looked at him like he was exactly what he was: dangerous. Unforgivable. A man to fear. A man to fuck. A man to fight.

Joel leaned back in the chair, studying her through the haze of cheap overhead light.

“So, what'd you do,” he asked finally, tearing another bite, like he was asking the wall instead of her. “Before all the world went to shit?”

He expected another string of curses in that slanted tongue. Or a lie. A don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of glare. She was good at those. What he didn’t expect was her eyes flicking over to him—assessing, calculating, head to toe—and then:

“Vegas,” she said.

He paused mid-chew. “Vegas?”

One word. Simple. It caught him off guard. Not just how she said it. Way-gas, she said. A confession. Like she was daring him to judge her for it.

He blinked, sat up a little straighter, suddenly seeing things he hadn’t let himself see before.

The legs. The defiant sway in her hips. The sharp tilt of her jaw, the lashes that curled without effort, the skin that still shimmered faintly with sweat. The way she moved her ass around like she owned the goddamn air. How she held herself—not like a soldier or prey, but like a woman used to being watched.

Son of a bitch. How the hell had he missed it?

He let out a low whistle.

“No stripper,” she added quickly, eyes narrowing, shoulders squaring as his gaze lingered a little too long. “Burlesque. I danced.”

She rolled her Rs in that accent again, proud, like she was used to people misunderstanding the difference and correcting them always. Her knees drifted closer together, trying to reclaim whatever dignity the cable ties had stolen.

He nodded slowly, mouth twitching. “Fancy strippin’. Classy.”

She glared. “Is art.”

“Sure.”

But Joel didn’t laugh to mock her. Not really. It was more… wonder. It was absurd. This woman—this firecracker with those eyes like war—used to wear sequins, sashay and peel layers off her body for a crowd.

He sat back, eyes roaming, letting himself picture it. Couldn’t help it. He imagined her beneath coloured lights, smoke curling in the dark, descending slowly from a velvet swing in some nightclub, dusky legs gleaming, hips swathed in a flaming red corset, tits pushed up high. Hair pinned up in glossy waves, a fake beauty mark by her cheekbone, lips blood-red, just to drive the crowd wild. Fur slung around her shoulders for the tease, heels clicking across a stage, strutting to jazz tunes, prancing, undressing like it was a game she’d already won.

And she’d be grinning. That feline grin he envisioned on her when she was about to kill him or kiss him—he wasn’t sure which.

Jesus.

He unseeingly looked down at his sandwich, then at her again.

“Bet you had the whole goddamn place in your pocket,” he said. Not as a joke this time. Dead serious. “Men tossin’ out their last paycheck just to get one look at you.”

Shit, if Vegas were his backyard and he were thirty and thriving in the old world, he would've been one of those horny idiots.

The corner of her mouth poked up.

Then, there it was. A crack in the armour. The faintest smile—small, sly, quick. And it hit him harder than any punch she'd thrown. He could've sworn a goddamn dandelion sprouted from the mildew beneath the floorboards. Didn’t belong there, or last. Made it all the more striking.

“Were you famous?” he asked, voice dipping quieter.

She nodded softly, eyes far away, remembering it or mourning it. “They loved me.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost under his breath. “I’m sure they did.”

Because how the hell could they not? She had that thing—that magnetism. Something about the way she said it—like she knew she’d owned it. The stage. The room. The people. All of them orbiting her while she stood dead center, burning like a damn flare in the dark.

Due to his envious tendencies, he had to ask, “Met your husband there?”

Just like that, the moment shattered. Her face dimmed. The glimmer was gone.

She shook her head. “He help me.”

“Help what?”

She tried to lift her wrists to gesture, but remembered the cords. Let out an irritated breath, rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”

Bullshit.

He stared at her, waiting. She didn’t meet his eyes. So he hazarded a small-minded guess. “He helped you stay in America?”

Another shake of the head. “No, no. In QZ. Gave me ID. I don’t have a visa then.”

Joel leaned back in the chair. The old thing groaned under his weight. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, sighed. “Jesus.”

“I married him,” she said simply. “I have to… um…” Her shoulders rolled in an inward shrug. “Protect. My mama and me.”

She said it like it was a plain transaction. Like she’d bought safety in the shape of a ring and a man she didn’t love. That hit him sideways. He didn’t know why.

“But my mama,” she continued in a breath, “she… breathing, uh... spores? Breathe in the spores.” Then clucked her tongue. “Then, they took her to the camp. She die. No more.”

That part, she delivered with the softness of a knife. No tremble, no grief. Just a cold, hard period at the end of the sentence. She’d buried her mother a long time ago—maybe in the ground, maybe just in her heart. Joel knew that tone, and what it meant to put someone in the ground then never look back.

He looked at her again—at the tension in her spine, the way her eyes stayed forward, never down, never soft. This wasn’t just some girl he’d taken an interest in and dragged off the street.

She’d survived, just like him. Done things she didn’t want to do, so she and her mother could keep breathing. She’d worn feathers for strangers and married a man to disappear into a system that never gave a shit about her. And now here she was, in a dingy little room, half-starved and still staring him down like he was the one who should be afraid.

He reached for the sandwich again, held it up to her mouth without a word.

This time, she opened. No more fucking fighting. Just her eyes locked on his, and then her teeth sank in.

He watched her chew. Watched her throat bob when she swallowed. It felt ceremonial, as if she’d finally accepted a truce. Or at least his presence. Something like respect crept up the back of his neck.

He didn’t even realise how intently he was staring until she raised a brow at him, like, what? He looked away, clearing his throat.

She finished the bite, then licked her lips and looked at him with almost approaching curiosity.

“You,” she said, tilting her head. “What you did… before?”

Joel’s body tensed, air thickening around him. It wasn’t a question he liked answering—a life he liked remembering. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.

Still. Fair was fair. He had it in him to be honest.

“Contractor,” he said gruffly.

Her nose scrunched up, confused. “What?”

“Built things,” he explained, rubbing at his beard like the word itself might scratch off some rust. “Houses. Apartments. Plumbing. Sheetrock. Whatever needed fixing, I did it.”

There was a pause before—“Ah,” she said, like it had finally clicked. Then, hit him with a plain ridiculous: “Tinkerbell.”

Joel’s head jerked up. “'Scuse me?”

“You know,” she said, nodding solemnly, deadpan. “Little fairy. With um... tools.”

He exhaled through his nose, trying not to grin. Scrubbed a hand over his face like that might hide it. Goddamn wildfire.

“You call me that again,” he muttered, “and I’ll tie your mouth too.”

She shrugged, eyes half-lidded. “Still Tinkerbell.”

He looked over at her again, her bite marks on his collarbone still smarting, the scratch on his neck bleeding a little. And yet, somehow, she managed to call him a fairy with a toolbelt while being fed scraps from a washed-up relic. A tease between... not quite friends, but not quite enemies anymore either.

He didn’t say anything for a long minute. Just handed her another bite of the sandwich and watched the flicker of light in her eyes as she took it.

Her bite and her kiss—those two things, the same intensity, the same hunger—the difference between them was so thin, it probably lived in a hairline fracture.

X

“So you walked into a fence...” Tess drawled, arms crossed, one brow arched as she leaned against the rusted support beam. Her eyes flicked toward the gauze taped along Joel’s neck.

“...and it nicked you.”

Joel grunted. “Yeah.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just kept his focus on the ration manifest spread out on the crate in front of him, one finger tracing along the rows. Half this list was bullshit—spoiled inventory marked as fresh, numbers fudged. Someone was skimming.

Tess didn’t move, and honestly, didn't need to. Her stare was enough to pull answers out of most men.

But Joel wasn’t most men. And besides, the lie had already lodged too deep in his throat.

The truth was, he hated mornings like this—when the buzz of violence hadn’t quite worn off and his nerves still prickled like static under his skin.

Especially this morning. After waking up to her.

Sprawled across his mattress, all sweet, unconscious temptation, wrists still twisted in cord to the radiator just in case she didn't try to push a pillow into his face and asphyxiate him while he snored. Shirt rucked up to her ribs, plump, round ass on show, one leg bent, the other kicked out, mouth parted, skin soft and warm with sleep. Fucking irresistible enough to make him forget what the hell he was even doing anymore.

He’d left without waking her, not trusting himself to look too long. He'd be back in a few hours anyway.

“It was dark, lights were out,” Joel muttered now. “Let’s move on.”

“Next time,” she said, “try walking into a better lie.”

She came around the crate, hands on her hips. They’d met up to review a shipment—some busted battery packs smuggled in from Zone 3—but she hadn’t even looked at the gear yet. She could always tell when something was off. Joel being quiet? That was normal. But Joel being twitchy—Joel dodging her eyes, fiddling with his collar, rubbing at a nonexistent itch beneath his jaw—that set off alarms.

“You’re jumpy,” she said finally.

“Tired.”

“You don’t get tired.”

Joel shot her a look. “I ain’t immortal.”

She always knew when to push and when to let him breathe. That was Tess. Sharp as a damn blade, dry humour like a whetstone, all clipped words and hard lines—but she'd been by his side through years of blood and ash. They’d run jobs together. Smuggled, bartered, fought like hell to carve a solid life out of the wreckage. There was history between them. Not romance. Not love. Not in the way people used to have it.

But there was something.

He knew she had... feelings. She never said a word, never asked for more, for these ghosts of tenderness. But they’d flickered through—in the way she always drifted to his right side when patrols got rough, like she knew he favoured that side to draw. The time she held his arm longer than necessary after a knife caught his ribs. The little things people noticed when the world burned down and there wasn’t much left to hold onto.

Joel never encouraged it. Never used it, either. He wasn't built that way. He didn’t have it in him to lie to someone like Tess—not when she deserved better. And he didn’t have anything left to give. Not love, softness, not even a glimmer of promise.

Not to her. Not to anyone, really.

Or so he thought—until a girl with a broken accent and showgirl hips ended up on his shitlist. Until she clawed at the quiet places in him he thought were long dead.

“So what’s this about?” Joel asked, shifting the subject as he stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Why’d you drag me out?”

Tess leaned against the frame of a busted pallet jack, arms crossed tight, a cigarette burning slowly between her fingers. Her eyes scanned the space like she was building the words in her head.

“Word is Marlene’s been sniffin’ around.”

He paused. Just a beat. Not enough to give him away. But Tess had known him too long—she clocked it, like a tick in his jaw.

“Tommy mentioned something last night,” she went on, like she wasn’t watching him unravel. “Marlene’s looking for the captain’s wife. The one who went missing after someone shot the asshole in the head. Ring a bell?”

Joel didn’t answer. Just grunted, shoved the crate harder than he needed to. Bones grinding under the weight.

Tess kept going.

She flicked ash to the concrete. “Guess she thinks the woman might’ve seen something. Or knows something. Or maybe Marlene just wants another pretty fuckin’ face to make a martyr out of. Put her on a flyer. Stir sympathy. You know how she works.”

He grunted—noncommittal—but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.

“They’re saying she ran,” he finally muttered. “That she’s long gone.”

“Sure,” Tess said. Her voice was quiet. Measured. “Except Marlene’s not the type to chase ghosts.”

He didn't answer.

He turned, meaning to brush past her—to walk it off, let it cool—but her hand came out quick, firm on his arm. She cocked her head, gesturing over his shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

Joel turned. His blood ran cold.

There it was.

The wanted posters, freshly lined up among the other rotting ones. Stapled all crooked on the rusted bulletin board outside the warehouse window, weathered but clear. The ink was smudged, wind-bleached, but still legible. Still her.

It wasn’t even a good sketch, rushed, blurred shading, like someone drew her from memory after seeing her once. But it was her. The slope of her nose, the shadows under her eyes. The curve of her mouth, parted just enough to make him remember how much it hurt to kiss her. She looked startled in the drawing. Like she’d just turned around and found someone aiming a gun at her back.

His throat closed.

The poster flapped in the wind, mocking him with every ripple.

Liar, liar, liar.

He’d lied to her. Told her there was nothing out there. Said the streets were crawling with patrols looking for her husband's murderer. That she’d be shot on sight. That it was better—safer—to stay.

And now here was the proof he was right... just not in the way he’d claimed.

Yes, they were looking for her. Not to kill.

To use. To catch and cage. Trade and twist. Make it into something she didn’t understand and couldn’t fight against.

A prize. A pawn.

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides. The ache started in his knuckles and climbed up his arms, settled in his chest like a dull hammer strike. Rage stirred low in his gut—hot, seething—not at Tess, not at Marlene. At himself. For how fast he’d gotten tangled, how deep he’d let her burrow in. For thinking, even for a second, that he could bring someone like her into his world and keep her safe.

He should’ve let her go that first night. Should’ve turned around and walked away from the sound of her crying behind that locked door. Should’ve shut it all out—like he always did.

But no. He felt like the goddamn wolf in the story, telling Little Red to rest a while. That he’d take care of everything.

Now here she was—on paper. A bounty. A target. A story someone else would write if he didn’t do something fast.

Tess came up beside him, quiet, cigarette nearly burnt out to the filter between her fingers. She didn’t speak right away, just stood with him, her shoulder brushing his.

“You ever see her?” she asked finally, voice low.

Joel didn’t move. “No.”

A beat passed. The silence crept in, discomfiting.

“Would you tell me if you had?”

He turned his head to meet her gaze. Her eyes weren’t sharp—just tired. Guarded. Asking more than the question itself.

“You think I’d be stupid enough to hide someone FEDRA wants that bad?”

Tess didn’t blink. “You’ve done dumber. We all have.”

Joel let out a humourless breath. Scoffed, looked away. “I got enough shit to worry about.”

And that was the truth. Except it wasn’t the whole of it.

Because this wasn’t just some woman anymore. Not some frightened girl stashed behind his door. Not the reluctant wife of a dead tyrant. She was wanted. Valuable. Tied into something bigger—that neither of them had any damn control over.

And he—reckless, half-broken bastard that he was—had gone and tied her up, brought her into his home like she was a stray he could tame. Thought if he fed her, clothed her, gave her a warm corner of his bed, that’d be enough. That she’d stay. That he could keep her safe.

Look, that should’ve been the end of that conversation. But Tess took one last drag and said, all casual—

“Three hundred ration cards.”

Joel pinched his lips. Jesus, she could not be serious.

“Not bad, right? We find her first,” she added, tossing the cigarette to the ground, “we could hand her over. Say we picked her up wandering. Could use the trade.”

She said it with that dry smile of hers, that half-joking tone that wasn’t really joking at all.

Joel’s jaw worked. Don’t take the bait.

She was watching him sideways, like a trap. As though she already knew the answer and was just waiting to see if he’d lie.

And he almost did. Almost nodded and said, “Yeah, maybe,” to play along.

When the silence came too fast, Tess noticed.

She just tilted her head, studying him out of the corner of her eye, obviously weighing odds, smelling blood in the water. Joel could feel it—the shift in the air between them, subtle but sharp.

He kept his expression flat, unreadable. But inside, gears were grinding.

Tess wasn’t stupid. She’d been too close for too long. Knew how he moved, how he lied—more importantly, how he didn’t lie. She could read him in a way that made his skin itch.

He could practically hear what she was thinking: You hesitated. You froze. Why? What do you know? Why won't you tell me?

Joel clenched his jaw, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. She was sniffing at the edges of something she hadn’t seen yet. But the shape of it was there. The silence was too precise, his calm too controlled.

He’d misstepped.

Tess didn’t press. She just gave a quiet little “hm,” then looked away, like she was cataloguing the moment for later.

Joel didn’t breathe until she took a step toward the warehouse doors, already half done with the conversation. But she paused long enough to glance back over her shoulder.

“You let me know if you hear anything,” she said.

Joel gave her a nod. One of those short, practiced ones that didn’t mean a damn thing.

Then he stood there, still as stone, while she walked away.

And all he could think about was her—barefoot, soft-voiced, wild-eyed—waiting in his apartment.

But those walls were closing in now, the chessboard moving. He could feel it—the cold edge of the blade behind his back, his own lie pressing down like a boot to the throat.

Because Marlene wanted a pawn.

And FEDRA wanted blood.

And him?

Joel Miller—realist, killer, smuggler, protector, proficient kidnapper, whatever the fuck he was now—didn’t know what the hell to do next. He didn’t even know what he wanted from her. Not in a way that made sense anymore.

Only that the thought of someone else getting to her—this fucking poster itself—made him want to raze the whole shithole QZ to the ground.

© damneddamsy

Reblog and comment, I'd love to hear what you thought! open to critique! How might it go? What's Joel going to do? Do we want a part 2 soon? I don't think it will go on that long 🤔, maybe just 3 or 4 chapters?

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 8: Marking

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) biting, marking, little bit of dirty talk, hair pulling, humping but no actual penetration, Joel loves you so much, this is maybe the tamest thing I have ever written but it's Joel with his mouth on you so it's still insane, if I missed anything please let me know!!

Nighttime in the QZ was a rarity. The sun always set, but the people never seemed to rest.

Most nights, you went to bed restless, trying to tune out the sound of gunfire and the voices of people below your apartment; bright fireworks and flares of a growing resistance stamped out by the louder, brighter response from FEDRA soldiers.

But tonight, the occasional shouts and firecrackers outside your bedroom window were quickly subdued until there was nothing but the gentle hum of flickering streetlamps. Once or twice, there was a crack of light, but in a blink, it would be gone, leaving the zone enveloped in a welcome darkness.  

And inside, beyond the finally tranquil atmosphere that Boston had for once taken on, you straddled Joel where he sat in your shared bed, his teeth threatening the skin of your neck as he placed messy, open-mouthed kisses above your collar bone.

With your hands in his hair, the tips of your fingers pressed gently against his scalp as you tugged on his graying roots. He was soft, presenting the rare side of himself that was tender and pliant.

“Grabby,” Joel mumbled against you, licking stripes over the front of your throat. But the gruff sound he made when you pulled his hair again gave away his enjoyment of your wandering hands.

“Feels nice.” You breathed, one of your hands traveling down the nape of his neck, dipping beneath the collar of his shirt to graze your nails over his back. You rolled your hips, grinding down on the growing erection he sported through faded denim jeans.

“Never said I didn’t like it, sweetheart.” He dropped his face lower, lips exploring the plush skin of your chest and sucking deep marks into you.

“Joel—” He had let his tongue begin to dance over your nipple, gently licking at it before it pebbled enough for him to graze his teeth over it when he took it between his lips and sucked hard. “Fuck, are you just—are you just gonna use your mouth all night?” Your hips had begun to move at a faster pace, somewhat frantic in your search for relief as the spring in your stomach began to coil.

“Ain’t a bad idea…” He moved to your other breast, toying with your nipple in the same way.

“Yes, it—god, please,” You sagged against him, and the breast not currently falling victim to the ministrations of his mouth was engulfed by his calloused hand, kneading you, digging his fingers into the silky skin.

“You think this is bad?” He smiled against your chest, and the scruff of his beard dragged over you in a way that made you shiver. “Wait til I’m gone tomorrow—you’ll be beggin’ for my mouth when I walk through that door in a couple days.”

“Not bad,” you squeaked when he began to rut his hips against you, giving you more resistance to rub up against as you shamelessly bucked into him. “Never bad, Joel, just want—oh, fuck, please, I want your cock.”

“You’ll get it,” he grunted, slowly easing you off of his lap and laying you on your back. He pushed himself off of the mattress, grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed where he stood. “Just wanna sign my work ‘fore I go,” he nodded his chin towards the window, “Need ‘em all to know whose y’are.”

He bent over you and brought a hand down to lift your chin, admiring his work.

He’d left trails of purple bruises over your neck, some verging on wine dark. His other hand poked at the spots on your chest that he’d given you, light marks left by his teeth surrounding the forming bruises.

“They know,” you breathed, leaning into his touch. He moved his hand from your chin and cupped your cheek. “And even if they don’t, I’ll make sure they learn fast.”

“Damn right,” the corner of Joel’s lips threatened to tug into a smile. He loved claiming you as his own, and he loved that you seemed so proud of it. “Can’t blame a man for markin’ his territory, though.”

“And I don’t,” you sighed, thighs squeezing together, thrilled by his possessive nature.

Joel trailed more kisses down your neck and over your stomach, licking gently at the marks he’d created and occasionally nipping at your skin in an attempt to make more.

When he reached your thighs, kneeling between your legs and pushing his cheeks into the supple flesh there, you moaned. He was so close to where you needed him, all he had to do was move your panties to the side and he’d have full access to you.

But still, his mind was on other things; he placed his lips to the skin of your inner thigh and sucked hard, teeth scraping you. His tongue flicked over you, as if to test how much blood had rushed to pool against the skin to bruise.

He bit down harder, then released you with a filthy, wet noise.

“Could’a been an artist in another life,” he mused, pressing his fingers against the wet, red spot he’d sucked into your skin.

“Think I make a pretty good canvas, huh?” You looked down at him, eyes hidden by your lashes.

He smiled up at you, and it was the smile you knew was reserved for you alone.

The crooked one, with only one side of his mouth threatening to open; the one that showed off a glint in his eye that read as sympathetic—humane and adoring.

Joel.

You much preferred it over the hardened look he tried to bear most often.

This look was much more suitable for him, and you met it with a gaze you hoped encapsulated your genuine love for him.

And then he dipped his head back down, repeating the process of creating a hickey on another part of your thigh.

You whimpered, letting your head fall back against the mattress. Your eyes threatened to close, delighting in the way his mouth moved against you. You felt your body fall into a lull of comfort and bliss.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he spoke into your skin, “Promised to give you my cock tonight—intend on keepin’ that promise.”

[daryltwdixon]

𝐦𝐚𝐲

hello angels welcome to another month of fic recs. i'll be honest, it was a bit of a dry month for me reading wise. Between working on requests & a new wip im obsessed with, my reading was severely lacking this month. we finally got some goddamn angst in here, as im trying v hard not to be such a perv and only give you smut lol as always make sure to show these authors some love if you enjoyed their stories!

When It's Your Turn by @stitch-away

javi peña au one shot summary: drabble about javier peña being the father of joel and tommy miller and having a hard time my thoughts: no yeah im sobbing. what a creative idea after watching the ep of tommy & joel's dad :')

The Tides Between Us by @yslgreen

dbf!Joel x reader ongoing series summary: The Millers’ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joel’s 50th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everything’s suddenly… awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He won’t cross that line—not with his best friend’s daughter, not when you’re half his age. He’s made his share of mistakes, but this won’t be one of them. my thoughts: ohhhhhhh my god I need to know what happened between joel and reader and this had be biting my nails every time they were in the room together but also needing to see them in the same room. can't wait for p2!!!

Relax, Miller by @arcanefox207

Joel Miller x you one shot Summary: In the Boston Quarantine Zone, you and Joel both find a way to get what you want. my thoughts: no one writes about blowing joel miller enough sorry I said it. I would happily pay this man with my mouth given the chance thank you and goodnight

Honey, Stomach, Mine by @netherfeildren

alpha!joel miller x you 3 part series summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you.  my thoughts: this fic has bewitched me, body and soul. how I wish I could erase my memory and read it again. and then again and again and again. this was the most beautiful thing I think ive ever read in all my 28 years of life. I'm in love, I'm obsessed, I'm utterly ruined by you. I can only pray to be half the writer this author is, because...wow. im forever changed. absolutely gorgeous and delicious all at once.

bétteln by @netherfeildren

qz!joel x reader 2 part series summary: You really want Joel to give you a baby. You don’t really care what he has to say about it. my thoughts: yeeeeeeahhhhhh holy shit. a fic where im obsessed with joel very much like irl? yeah count me tf in. oh! turns out he's also obsessed with ME. even better. obsessed, turned on, licking my fingers clean it was so good.

A Prize I’d Cheat to Win by @whoevenisjavier

harry castillo x assistant!reader ongoing series summary: you fuck your married boss during a late night at the office. my thoughts: the banter!!! came (lmao) for the smut stayed for the writing!!! The details about their work environment and projects!!! I thought this was so so well written as a story and all the character details. And idk the moral dilemma was very intriguing because it wasn’t so black and white. obvi if this isn’t your thing scroll on by !

[stylesispunk]

"Where is my love?"

Joel miller x f! reader

summary: Isn't she coming to me?

w.c: 7k>

warning: angst, mentions of death, and grief.

a/n: this is a sad one and closer to my heart because grieving is the love we can give to people who are gone. The only change of this is that has been ten years since the "end of the world" and is based on the last chapter of the show. reblogs and comments are always appreciated and for the love of god, can you please help me with inspo for writing, I want to write for other characters, so if you have any suggestions are welcome. Have a lovely reading 💌 dividers by @/saradika

masterlist

Your paths crossed a long time ago. When the world had descended into madness, the souls met the dead in a now forgotten land. He came across you, and he fell in love with you. The sunlight radiating after the freezing storm was a fire keeping his brittle heart warm.

You had saved him from ending his own life that day, when he had lost faith in a horror movie without an ending or a purpose. He did lose everything he had known—everything he had ever loved and protected—but he had met you.

For him, you were an angel, not delicate nor free from sins, but an angel who appeared after he thought he had met his spirit in heaven.

You have looked after him and Tommy for days, taking care of their well-being and taking care of the reminiscing scar plastered on Joel’s forehead as a reminder of his almost-death encounter with his angel, you.

And you had loved him ever since; you found yourself increasingly drawn to him, not just for his vulnerability under your eyes but because he had brought sense back to life. His presence seemed to chase away the shadows that had been going to hunt you since now.

As the days turned into weeks, months, and then years, the bond between you and Joel only grew stronger. You found yourself drawn to his strength, his resilience in the face of adversity, and the way he faced each day with unwavering determination.

You had loved him after acknowledging every terrible thing he had done, and you loved him anyway. The darkness inside of him, taunted by the loss of the previous time, didn’t prevent you from looking at him as if he hung the stars of the sky. You both looked at night before sleeping, trying to find some reassurance.

Together, you faced the challenges, from the first days of the end of the world to the QZ, to Ellie, to where you were right now, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could overcome anything.

Now, here in Jackson, in the quiet moment before sleep, you and Joel would still gaze up at the stars, finding solace in the vastness of the night sky. And as you held each other close, you found reassurance in the knowledge that no matter what tomorrow brought, you would face it together.

Joel broke the silence, his voice soft yet filled with the weight of years gone by. "You know, I never thought I'd find this kind of peace again. Not after everything that's happened."

You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness. "We've been through hell and back, Love. But somehow, we made it together."

He reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking the comfort your touch brought to him. "I don't know what I would do without you," he admitted, his voice breaking a little.

"You don't have to find out," you replied, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

Joel nodded, his gaze returning to the heavens above. "Yeah, together," he echoed, as if trying to convince himself of the truth of those words.

"You will never lose me,” you whispered, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. "And I'll always be here to guide you home."

He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of your lips over his skin. "I love you," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of a lifetime of pain and longing.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart overflowing with love for the man beside you.

Being in Jackson brought you back to a civilization, to peace, to a place where you could both sleep next to each other at the same time without fearing other people coming for you.

But as much as you cherished the peace and stability that Jackson provided, you couldn't escape the reality of everyday life. With it came the mundane challenges, the petty conflicts, and the occasional tension that threatened to disrupt the tranquility you had found together. There were disagreements, misunderstandings, and moments of frustration that tested the strength of your relationship.

You felt a rush of joy as you entered the door of your Jackson home. You couldn't wait to tell Joel about the trade you had made, so you were looking forward to seeing his reaction.

"Joel," you called out, your voice full of anticipation as you approached the living room where he was sitting. "Guess what? "I made a trade today."

Joel looked up from his book, interest in his eyes. "A trade?" "What did you get?"

You smiled, holding out the little camera you'd traded for some extra food supplies. "I exchanged some of our extra coffee for this camera! It's in excellent condition, and I thought we might use it to save some memories."

As you proudly showed the camera, Joel's initial curiosity turned into an unhappy face. He set down his book and looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and stress.

"You traded all of our extra coffee for a camera?" Joel repeated, his voice filled with frustration. "We rely on that coffee, you understand. It's not simply an extravagance; it's a product in high demand here in Jackson."

You faltered, understanding the potential repercussions of your impulsive trade. "I know, Joel, but I thought..."

"You thought what?" Joel interjected, his irritation growing. "That a camera was more important than having enough food to get us through the winter? "What if something happens and we need that coffee?"

You bit your lip, feeling a sense of remorse rush over you. "I didn't think of it that way. I just thought it would be wonderful to have something to save our memories."

Joel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I understand, but we must prioritize our needs before our wants. You cannot go out there and make bad decisions."

His words hurt, and you felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You didn't plan to compromise your safety, but in your excitement, you forgot to consider the repercussions of your actions.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you said quietly, feeling a sensation of shame rush over you. "I didn't mean to cause any harm."

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being this childish," he murmured, strolling past you to the kitchen and leaving you in

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being so childish," he replied, walking past you to the kitchen and leaving you in the living room with a bitter taste in your mouth.

A wave of guilt swept over you. You didn't mean to act impulsively or selfishly, but you now see that your actions had far-reaching implications.

Feeling the weight of Joel's disappointment, you remained in the living room, staring at the camera in your hands, your heart heavy. You realized he was correct; you needed to be more responsible and more aware of the circumstances and the actions that could affect your survival; being at peace in a place did not imply the risk had passed.

With a heavy sigh, you lay the camera down on the table, the excitement you had felt earlier replaced with a sense of regret. Joel's words lingered in your head, reminding you of the excitement you had felt earlier, replaced by a sense of remorse. Joel's words echoed in your mind, a reminder of the need to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You walked upstairs to your room, and with a heavy heart, you lay in bed, the events of the day on your mind. Despite the comfort of the blankets that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the sense of remorse and sorrow that persisted within you.

You closed your eyes and replayed the conversation with Joel in your head, each word stinging like a sharp reminder of your failure. You knew you'd let him down, and the thought gnawed at you, leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the weight of Joel's disappointment gradually began to lighten. A few hours later, you awoke to the faint click of a camera shutter. Blinking sleepily, you opened your eyes to see Joel standing by the bedside, a tiny smile on his lips as he held the camera.

"What are you doing?" you said, your voice still laced with sleepiness.

Joel chuckled and lowered his camera as he neared the bed. "Just capturing a moment," he said, his eyes filled with adoration as he glanced down at you. In confusion, you furrowed your brow and sat up slightly in bed. "A moment of me sleeping?" you asked, feeling both amused and fascinated.

Joel nodded, his smile growing wider. "Yes, a second while you sleep. You looked beautiful; I couldn’t resist."

Despite the lingering anger from earlier, Joel's gesture made you feel warm. It was a modest act, but it showed a lot about his remorse and faith in your relationship. Reaching out, you took the camera from Joel's hands, studying the image of yourself sleeping soundly.

"I look horrible," you muttered. Joel softened his smile and leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Liar," he muttered. "Sorry for how I acted earlier." He moved forward, pressing his lips against your cheek this time.

"You're just an old, grumpy man," you remember, with a tiny giggle. His soft kisses eased the tension between you. His amusing response lightened the mood and lifted the sadness that had been in your heart.

"Old grumpy man, huh?" Joel chuckled, shaking his head in mock indignation. “I’ll show you what this old, grumpy man can do,” he said, planting a more urgent kiss on your lips this time.

You worked hard in the weeks following your fight with Joel to repair the distance that had grown between you. Despite the apparent signs of peacemaking, you still had a persistent sense of insecurity.

Then a new woman arrived in Jackson. She was closer to Joel's age, and you couldn't help but notice the easy connection that had developed between them. They spent a lot of time together, whether on patrol with Tommy or speaking in the common areas of Jackson.

You tried to ignore the jealousy that was bubbling up inside of you. After all, Joel had always been polite and accommodating to strangers, so there was no reason to suspect anything other than friendship between them.

But as the days went on and you saw Joel and the new woman form a stronger bond, your concern grew. You couldn't escape the nagging suspicion that there was something more between them—something that harmed the precious trust you'd worked so hard to build. 

On today's evening, as you watched Joel and the woman laugh from across the room, you felt a pang of jealousy. You excused yourself and withdrew from the privacy of your thoughts since you could no longer contain your feelings.

You were alone in the living room, struggling with opposite emotions. Part of you felt ashamed for doubting Joel and allowing jealousy to cloud your thinking. But another part of you couldn't help but feel sad and insecure as if you weren't enough for him; after all, it wasn't just you, him, and Ellie outdoors any longer, and here in Jackson, you weren't the last woman in the world.

As you sat alone in the living room, buried in your thoughts, the sound of steps broke your state of trance. Looking up, you noticed Ellie enter the home, looking bright and cheerful, until she spotted your teary eyes.

"Hey, I missed you at dinner in the bar," Ellie said, concern etching her features as she approached you. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to brush off her concern with a forced smile, but Ellie wasn't fooled. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, your voice betraying the turmoil within you.

But Ellie wasn't about to let it go that easily. She moved closer, her gaze searching yours with intensity. "No, it's not. What happened? Why are you crying?"

Your heart ached at the concern in Ellie's eyes, and despite your best efforts to hold back the tears, they continued to fall. "I...I don't know," you admitted, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. "I just...I don't know where Joel is."

Ellie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Joel? He's eating with Tommy and the new girl, why?"

You shook your head, unable to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't know," you repeated, feeling the tears threaten to overwhelm you once more. "I just...I need to talk to him."

Sensing the urgency in your voice, Ellie nodded in understanding. "Okay, let's go find him," she said, taking your hand and leading you out of the house.

As you followed Ellie towards the bar, your heart raced with fear and anticipation. You knew that whatever awaited you there, you couldn't continue to let your doubts and insecurities consume you.

Once inside the bar, you noticed Joel in the crowd, his gaze settling on yours with a warmth that shot an emotion through your chest. It was as if a magnetic force drew you closer together, despite any remaining doubts.

You moved across the crowded bar, Ellie's hand firmly clutched in yours, Joel's smile widening, and his gaze never leaving yours.

Finally reaching Joel's side, you felt a wave of relief sweep over you as he held you in his arms. The warmth of his hug swept away the residual frost of doubt, leaving you with an eager sense of calm and belonging.

"I missed you," Joel murmured, his voice soft as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you leaned into Joel's embrace, reveling in the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only you and Joel locked in a tender embrace. It was as if time itself had slowed to a halt, allowing you to savor the precious moments you shared together.

As Joel pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, you felt a rush of emotion swell within you, a profound gratitude for the love and support he had always shown you.

As the tender moment between you and Joel lingered, a voice interrupted, pulling you back to the present. "Hey, Joel!" called out a cheerful voice, and you turned to see a woman approaching, a bright smile on her face.

Joel turned to face the stranger, his arm still wrapped over you protectively. "Oh, hey Rachel," he said, a warm smile on his face. "This is my girlfriend," he added, introducing you. Then he turned his face to introduce the stranger to you. "This is Rachel, and she is new to Jackson."

You smiled politely at Rachel, but a tinge of dread came over you as you watched how she drew in closer to Joel, her hand casually resting on his free arm. You repressed a jealous pang and pushed yourself to keep a friendly demeanor, even though your heart squeezed with uncertainty.

"It's nice to meet you, Rachel," you said, your voice solid despite the tumult inside you.

Rachel returned the welcome with a warm grin, and her eyes flickered with intrigue as she glanced. between you and Joel. "Likewise," she replied, her tone friendly but tinged with a hint of flirtation.

As the night went on, you couldn't ignore the sense of unease that hung in the air. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, Rachel's lingering touches and seductive glances at Joel gnawed at your insides, stoking the jealousy that threatened to engulf you.

With each passing moment, it became more difficult to ignore Joel and Rachel's growing friendship. Their laughter and friendly banter got on your nerves, reminding you of the bond that they had.

You tried to ignore your misgivings and enjoy the evening with Joel, but insecurity weighed heavily on you. It felt like you were on the outside looking in, watching helplessly as Joel and Rachel got closer with each passing second.

Rachel's flirtations became more daring as the night progressed, her touches lingering a bit too long and her laughter provocative. Despite your best attempts to remain calm, the jealousy simmering beneath the surface threatened to explode.

You stole looks toward Joel, hoping to find reassurance in his eyes, but he seemed unaware of the impact Rachel's actions were having on you. It was as if she had enchanted him, consuming all of his attention.

You excused yourself from the table, unable to take the sight of Joel and Emily's flirtatious behavior any longer. You could understand, after all, that Joel was a handsome man who hadn't received this much attention since the world ended; yet, that didn't make it any less painful.

As you excused yourself from the table, a slew of feelings surged through you—pain, jealousy, and a deep sense of isolation. You longed for Joel's reassurance, his acknowledgment of the hurt that Rachel's behavior was causing you, but as you stole a glance at him, you saw only obliviousness in his gaze.

With a heavy heart, you moved away, your footsteps quietly echoing on the bar's hardwood floor. You felt Joel's stare on your back, but you couldn't force yourself to look into his eyes, scared of what you might find reflected there.

As you approached the edge of the room, you hesitated, your back facing Joel, struggling to find the perfect words. Finally, you spoke, hardly rising above a whisper. "I need some air," you remarked, your voice filled with anguish.

After a period of silence, you felt Joel's hand on your arm, warm and soothing. "Hey," he replied quietly, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of longing and frustration. "I just...I need some time," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I'll be outside."

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with understanding as he nodded in response. "I'll come find you," he promised, his voice gentle as he squeezed your hand.

But instead, as you walked towards the house, the weight of the evening's events bearing down on you, you felt Joel's presence beside you. His steps were quiet, but his presence was comforting, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your pain.

"Hey," Joel said softly, his voice breaking the silence between you. "I'm sorry about back there. I didn't realize... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

You glanced sideways at Joel, the warmth of his gaze softening the edges of your frustration. "It's not your fault," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "I know you didn't mean to."

Joel fell into a step beside you, his hand reaching out to brush against yours. "I just want you to know that you're the only one for me," he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. "No one else matters, not like you do."

“You could have told her about it,” you said, frustration edging into your tone.

Joel's expression faltered slightly at your words, a hint of defensiveness flickering in his eyes. "I didn't think it was necessary," he replied, his tone tinged with irritation. "I didn't want to embarrass her or make things awkward."

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, the sting of jealousy and insecurity reigniting in your chest. "But by not saying anything, you made me feel like my feelings didn't matter," you countered, your voice tinged with hurt. "You made me doubt myself; doubt us."

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice strained. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just didn't know how to handle the situation."

The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. You wanted to believe Joel's assurances of love and devotion, but the lingering doubts and insecurities threatened to cloud your judgment.

"I need to rest," you said, changing the subject, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "Tomorrow, we need to get up early for the patrol.”

“Actually, I’m not coming with you,” he said carefully.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll promise Rachel to...“

The air crackled with tension as Joel's words hung between you, his admission weighing heavily on your heart. Anger flared within you, fueled by hurt and betrayal.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice laced with frustration and disappointment. "Why would you choose her over me?

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with regret. "I’m not choosing her over you; I would never do that," he replied, his voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't realize it would upset you."

You shook your head, unable to hide your frustration. "You should have talked to me about it first," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You should have considered my feelings."

With a heavy heart, you turned away from Joel, the ache of disappointment echoing within you. As you retreated into the solitude of your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder if your relationship could withstand this latest test or if it was destined to crumble beneath the weight of unresolved conflicts and broken promises.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight!” you exclaimed as you kept walking.

The next morning dawned with a strong sense of tension in the air, the previous night's events still fresh in your mind. As you awoke from your sleep and began to prepare for the day ahead, the pain of disappointment and deceit chewed at your heart, casting a shadow on the early sun.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed aside any remaining doubts and concerns, determined to focus on the task at hand. As you approached the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a soothing reminder of Joel's presence.

You discovered him standing by the counter, holding a warm mug of coffee, and preparing a second cup for you. His expression was solemn.

His eyes were downcast, as if weighted down by the events of the night before.

"Morning, angel," he said, his voice tinged with regret, as he gave you the mug. "I made some coffee."

“Thank you, but I’m leaving,” you replied, shortly walking towards the door.

"Angel, wait," Joel called out, his voice pleading as he reached out to gently grasp your arm, halting your departure. His touch was warm against your skin, a silent plea for you to stay and hear him out.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to escape the tension that hung between you and the longing to resolve the issues that had driven a wedge between you and Joel. With a heavy sigh, you turned to face him, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you like a leaden blanket.

“Take care; you know your safety is the most important thing for me,” he reassured, meeting your sad gaze.

"What a shame you're not going to be there to protect me," you replied bitterly, unable to mask the hurt in your voice. The words spilled out before you could stop them, a reflection of the pain and frustration that churned within you.

Joel's expression softened; his eyes filled with remorse as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

Joel closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss filled with longing and remorse. It was a silent reassurance of his love and commitment, a promise to mend the wounds that had been inflicted upon your relationship.

As the kiss lingered, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. Despite the pain and hurt, you knew that Joel was sincere in his desire to make things right, and you were willing to give him another chance.

Pulling away, Joel met your gaze with a mixture of regret and determination. "We'll talk when you get back," he said softly, his voice filled with resolve. "I'll be here waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of agreement, you returned Joel's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your shared commitment to each other.

As you and Tommy ventured out on patrol, the rhythm of your footsteps echoed against the deserted streets of Jackson. The tension that had weighed heavily on you began to ease slightly, replaced by a sense of purpose as you focused on the task at hand.

"So, what happened between you and Joel?" Tommy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you. His voice was filled with concern, and his eyes were studying your expression carefully.

You sighed, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. "We had an argument," you admitted reluctantly, the words heavy on your tongue. "I just don't know how to trust him again."

Tommy nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get it," he said softly. "But you have to remember, Joel cares about you more than anything. He'd do anything to protect you, even if he doesn't always show it the right way."

You mulled over Tommy's words, the weight of his reassurance providing some measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty that plagued you. Despite the doubts that lingered in your mind, you knew that, deep down, Joel's intentions were genuine and his love for you was unwavering.

"I know," you replied, a sense of resolve creeping into your voice. "I just need to figure things out."

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze filled with empathy. "You will," he said confidently. "And when you do, Joel will be right there waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of gratitude, you continued on your patrol, the weight of uncertainty still heavy on your shoulders but with a glimmer of hope shining through the darkness. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Tommy's support and reassurance, knowing that with his guidance and the strength of your bond with Joel, you would find a way to navigate the challenges that lay ahead.

“Of course, you will say nice things about your stupid brother,” you joked.

Tommy chuckled at your jest, the sound carrying through the quiet streets as you continued on your patrol. "Hey, he may be stubborn and thick-headed sometimes, but Joel's got a good heart," he said with a grin. "And he cares about you more than anything."

You couldn't help but smile at Tommy's words, grateful for his unwavering support and his ability to see the best in Joel, even in the midst of conflict. "Thanks, Tommy," you said sincerely, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. "I appreciate it."

Tommy nodded in response, his expression filled with understanding. "Anytime," he replied, his voice laced with warmth. "We're family, after all. And family sticks together, no matter what."

As you and Tommy continued your patrol around Jackson, everything was eerily quiet, with the only sound being the subtle crunch of gravel beneath your feet. The weight of insecurity lingered in the air, but you pressed on, determined to do your job and safeguard your town.

A group of people appeared from the shadows unexpectedly, their faces hidden by the night's darkness. Your heart jumped into your throat as you understood the danger that was immediately surrounding you.

You weren't a weak person; in fact, people considered you a powerful fighter, always merciless when it was required and determined to save the ones you cared about, so your instincts kicked in and your senses heightened as adrenaline flowed through veins. Despite the suddenness of the attack, you maintained your composure, guided by your training and expertise.

Until one of them grabbed you and pinned you down, your heart raced with a mix of fear and determination. You struggled against their hold, every muscle in your body tensing as you fought to break free. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the grip of your assailant remained firm, their strength overpowering.

With a surge of desperation, you summoned all your strength and training, channeling it into a fierce struggle to break free. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of finding a way to overcome this unexpected obstacle and emerge victorious.

Beside you, Tommy fought valiantly against the other attackers, his determination matching your own as he defended against the onslaught. Though outnumbered and caught off guard, you refused to give in, clinging to the hope that help would soon arrive.

“So, you’re Joel’s Miller girl,” a feminine voice said.

The voice cut through the chaos, freezing you momentarily as you tried to recognize the mocking tone. Despite the tense situation, a surge of anger flared within you at the mention of Joel's name. You refused to let fear or intimidation weaken your resolve.

With renewed determination, you continued to struggle against your assailant's hold, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and survival. Every fiber of your being was focused on breaking free and finding a way to overcome this threat and protect yourself and Tommy.

“Tommy!” you exclaimed, worry creeping up with you.

“I’m fine!” he reassured back.

“What do you want?” You asked the girl, who is now in front of you.

The girl smirked, her eyes filled with venom as she peered down at you, pinned under her. "What do I want?" she said, her voice full of scorn. "I'd like to send a message to your dear Joel. I want him to understand that no one is safe, including his girl."

Her statements enraged your fury, but you kept calm, refusing to show any signs of weakness in the face of her remarks. "And what message would that be?" you asked, your voice steady despite what was occurring.

As she drew in closer, the girl's smirk deepened, and her eyes took on a malicious glitter. "The message is simple," she stated, her voice low and frightening. "I will take away what he loves.

the most from him, as he did with me.”

“What?” but before you could even realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain through your abdomen.

The sharp pain ripped through your abdomen, stealing the breath from your lungs as you gasped in shock. A guttural cry of agony escaped your lips as you felt blood seeping from the wound, staining your clothes crimson.

The girl's cruel laughter echoed in your ears as she withdrew the weapon, a twisted smirk of satisfaction twisting her features. "That's the message," she said coldly, her voice dripping with malice.

You didn’t want to die here without seeing the smiles of the people you loved.

Your vision blurred as waves of pain washed over you, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. Through the haze of agony, you fought to stay conscious, your thoughts consumed by a desperate need to survive, to make it back to Joel, to warn him of the danger that now threatened you both.

“Hey, stay with me. I’m taking you to Jackson,” Tommy said desperately, but his voice was just an echo at this time.

The world seemed to spin around you as you fought to hold onto consciousness, Tommy's voice barely registering amidst the haze of pain and confusion. Every fiber of your being screamed in agony, but you refused to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume you.

With a herculean effort, you summoned whatever strength remained within you, clinging to Tommy's words like a lifeline. Through sheer force of will, you forced your eyes to focus, locking onto Tommy's determined gaze as he lifted you into his arms.

The journey back to Jackson was a blur of agony and desperation, with each step sending waves of pain coursing through your battered body. But with every labored breath, you clung to the hope that burned within you—a determination to survive and protect those you loved.

As the walls of Jackson loomed into view, relief flooded through you, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. With Tommy's unwavering support, you stumbled towards safety, with the promise of medical aid and the comfort of Joel's embrace urging you forward.

As you were carried through the gates of Jackson, the weight of exhaustion and pain threatened to overwhelm you.

Tommy stepped into Jackson's doors, crying out for help as you lay practically still in his arms. The wound in your stomach was major, and he couldn't shake the thought that you would die as a result of his inability to protect you.

As Tommy stormed through the doors of Jackson, his voice buzzing with desperation, terror spread throughout the neighborhoods. People turned their heads, concerned expressions on their faces, as they saw you almost unresponsive in his arms, crimson blood covering the clothes you were wearing.

A crowd swiftly gathered around Tommy, their alarming murmuring filling the air. Tommy ignored them, focusing entirely on getting you the help you so desperately needed.

As Tommy went towards the improvised infirmary, frantic yells sounded out, requesting the medical attention they had here. His steps were heavy with guilt, and each instant seemed to last forever as he feared the worst.

Finally, the infirmary doors swung open, and a team of medics led by Jackson hurried forward to take you from Tommy's arms. They worked fast and effectively, their expressions serious as they assessed the seriousness of your injury. 

Tommy stood back, his hands quivering with terror and remorse, as he saw the doctor rush into action. He couldn't shake the notion that your condition was a result of his failing to safeguard you from harm.

Joel's heart was tight with fear when he saw a commotion near the infirmary. Without hesitation, he raced towards the crowd, his instincts screaming for him to get to you as soon as possible.

Joel's heart raced in his chest as he pushed his way through the crowd, finally arriving at the infirmary entrance. He saw you, pale and frail, in the arms of the doctors, your life hanging in limbo.

Joel moved forward without hesitation, arms outstretched, reaching for you. "No," he murmured hoarsely, terror and desperation evident in his tone. "Please, don't let her die."

The medics stepped aside, allowing Joel to take you into his arms. As he held you close, he could feel the warmth of your body against his, but it was too still, too fragile. Tears welled in his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, silently praying for your recovery.

“Hey, angel,” he murmured, finding strength in his voice. “Open those beautiful eyes of yours for me, baby, okay? Please, do it!” He continued sobbing as he caressed your hair. “I can lose everything, but not you... Oh god, not you, please?”

Joel kept holding you in his arms, preventing you from going away from him, and you could feel his touch, his care, and his voice pleading with you to stay with him. You wanted that, you wanted so bad, but the strength was dying inside you, and everything you ever knew went black.

You became a lifeless frame in the arms of your biggest love. When you stopped breathing, Joel’s heart stopped beating because, as if it was glass, it shattered.

The look of the doctor and the face of Tommy told them the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge, confirming the unthinkable: you were gone. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Joel's world shattered around him. He clung to your lifeless form, his body racked with sobs as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of his loss.

"No, no, please," Joel choked out, his voice breaking with grief as he held you close, unwilling to accept the truth of what had just happened. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his sobs echoing in the silence of the infirmary.

For a moment, time stood still as Joel clung to you, unwilling to let go and unwilling to accept that you were gone. The world around him blurred, and the pain in his heart was too overwhelming to bear.

But as the reality of your loss settled over him, Joel's grief turned to rage, a primal, consuming fury that burned through him like wildfire. With a guttural cry of anguish, he cradled you in his arms, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

In that moment, Joel felt as if his world had come crashing down around him, leaving nothing but darkness and despair in its wake. He had lost everything—the love of his life, his reason for living, his angel.

And as he held you close, his heart shattered into a million pieces, each one a painful reminder of the love he had lost and the life that had been snuffed out too soon. For Joel, the world had ceased to exist, consumed by the gaping void left in the wake of your passing.

He was never going to kiss you again; he was never going to hold you close at night or wake up to your smile in the morning. The future he had imagined, filled with laughter and love, now lay shattered at his feet.

A few hours later, Joel woke up in your shared bed, and you were sleeping next to him.

Joel's hand extended out to touch you, and a sense of warmth and comfort came over him. For a little while, he felt the smoothness of your skin beneath his fingertips and the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed peacefully beside him.

But then reality slammed back in like a tidal wave, yanking him from his comfortable state of sleep. His hand gripped the empty air, his fingers wrapping around nothing but chilly emptiness.

Joel's eyes opened abruptly, and he found himself lying in the dimly lit space, alone in the bed that had previously accommodated both of you. The ache in his chest returned with vengeance, a searing pang of anguish piercing his heart as he realized you were no longer alongside him.

Joel let out a deep sigh as he ran his hand through his hair, the memories of the dream still fresh in his mind. It felt so genuine and so vivid that, for a brief minute, he believed you were still alive and with him.

You were gone, taken from him in a cruel twist of fate, and no amount of dreaming could bring you back to him.

It's been a week, and he didn't attend your funeral because he was unable to accept that you were no longer alive.

Until today, when he stepped out of the house, which was surrounded by the flowers that some members of the community had left for you, and walked to your graveyard.

As Joel approached your graveyard, he felt an enormous burden settle over him—the weight of grief and loss that had been his constant companion in the days since your death. The walk appeared longer than it had ever been, with each step weighed down by the weight of his grief.

As he reached the grave, Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of the newly turned earth and the plain headstone traced your name as if it were your face. Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of freshly churned ground, with a simple monument marking your final resting place, acted as a sharp reminder of your absence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you; I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he laid a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the headstone, each bloom a silent tribute to the love and loss he felt in his heart. The scent of the flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of the graveyard, a poignant reminder of the fleeting beauty of life and the inevitability of death.

Joel's voice quivered as he spoke, every word heavy with the weight of his despair and sorrow. He kneeled near the grave, his hand resting on the cool surface of the headstone, seeking comfort in the memory of your love.

"I want you to know that it was never me who protected you, but you who protected me," Joel said quietly, his words barely audible above the delicate murmur of the wind through the trees. "You were always the one who gave me strength, who showed me what it meant to love and to be loved."

As Joel spoke, tears streamed down his cheeks, revealing his real and unadulterated grief. At that time, surrounded by the serene tranquility of the graveyard, he felt profound loss, a yawning void that could never be filled.

"But now you're gone," Joel added, his voice breaking with sadness. "And I do not know how to go on without you."

Joel rose to his feet after one final long glance at the headstone, a sensation of purpose coming over him. He may have lost you, but he promised to always carry your love with him, to respect your memory in all he did, and to find a way to move forward, even in the face of his greatest pain.

You were always in every star shining above, in the sky.

He was back in the dimly lit room, with the weight of the grief still over his shoulders, and with trembling hands, he reached for the small camera you had traded, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device.

As he turned it on, the screen flickered to life, illuminating the darkness with a soft glow. And there, displayed before him, was the image he had captured of your sleeping, your peaceful expression a bittersweet reminder of how simply you could make him happy.

With a heavy heart, Joel reached out, his fingertips gently tracing the patterns of your face on the screen. It was as if he could feel your presence beside him.

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he lingered on the image, his heart aching with longing for the touch he could no longer feel. But in that moment, surrounded by memories of you, he found a glimmer of solace, a reminder that though you were gone, your love would always remain.

[chasedbyatlantic]

flawless, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — joel miller comes to you hurt and in pain, after realizing that you are the only one that he can find peace with - you're there to welcome him with open arms.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, boston qz era!joel, gender neutral!reader, no use of y/n, frenemies to lovers type trope, angsty to fluff, mentions of blood/injuries/death (lightly mentioned), joel being so sappy i love it, swearing, cute ending. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.9k

a/n: i hope u love this as much as i do. i've been meaning to write it for a while, and it's a bit of a diff style from my writing but i love how it turned out! make sure to reblog, like, comment and follow for more! xoxo

—

It had to have been three in the morning by now. When Joel said he was going to be at your place by seven, you believed him. He was a man of his word after all - or at least ninety nine percent of the time he was. He had told you this morning that he was heading outside of the walls after his shift at the "graveyard" (the nickname given to where the bodies of infected were burned), and he would be back just after sunset. You had protested to join him on his well-travelled route, but he had forbid you from going with him. Despite not going with him, he had promised to swing by your place once he was back and drop off any goods he may have scavenged while out.

You weren't sure why he wouldn't agree to let you come, it wasn't like he was your father, or brother, or boyfriend - you guys were friends. Sure, the two of you had hooked up every so often, but that gives him no right to make decisions for you, about what you can do or where you can go. It's the zombie apocalypse for Christ sake, you can do what you want when you want.

You had been up for an extra few hours, it was way past the time you would usually be asleep. You were waiting for that knock on the door, you were waiting for the bickers on why you were awake and waiting for his return, you were waiting for Joel. In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were up. Maybe it was the thought in the back of your head that he was dead, or stranded alone somewhere far outside of the walls.

You had to shake those gruesome thoughts out of your head as you were forced up and toward your window, having to close it due to the newly started rain. As soon as the window was shut, the sounds of pitter-patter were echoed through your entire apartment, the only thing it did was put you on edge. He was probably at home, you thought to yourself, thinking it was too late to bother you and that he would see you first thing tomorrow. You could only hope for that.

You had decided it would be best to go and sit down on your sofa, the one in front of the TV that hadn't worked for twenty something years. It wouldn't hurt you if you remained up for the next little bit, just in case. In case there would be a knock on your door, in case he showed up. You took a seat on the well weared in part of the sofa, kicking your shoes off and cuddling up to the blanket covering the arm. It wouldn't hurt you if you stayed up waiting with your eyes shut, would it?

It was a quarter to five when a few sets of knocks went off at your door. You had shot up from the light rest you had fallen into, mentally cursing yourself for not being able to stay up. Was it Joel? You really shouldn't be caring this much about him, or this situation. You were sure it wasn't anything serious, but this is what friends do for each other, right?

You had gotten up as quick as you could, tripping over your shoes and almost face planting on the ground. Without spending any time to worry about it, you moved over to the door. Whoever it was on the other side, Joel or not, mustn’t have heard you make your way over to the door since there was another set of desperate knocks. It felt like an eternity while you undid all four locks, before swinging it open.

Your eyes could only fall into the gaze of the grey ones in front of you. You weren't sure if he was crying, or if the paths under his eyes were extra watery from the torrential downpour happening outside (though, you wouldn't question him about it). Your eyes had scanned over his saddened face, to the puddle of water beneath his shoes. Your hand had automatically found its way to cup his cheek, your thumb running over his skin as gentle as possible, "Fuck, Joel."

You could feel him soften his muscles when you did this, despite his facial expression remaining neutral, "I gotta come in." He had mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You had immediately dropped your hand from his face, and moved out of the doorframe, allowing Joel to enter. It was only when the dull light from your candle lit lamp engulfed Joel that you could really see what had happened to him.

A black eye, a busted lip, small bruises littered around every masculine feature he had. You were going to kill whoever did this to him. "I got clothes that'll fit you, hold on." You had turned and shuffled your way into your room, digging through the drawers when you had reached them. You had a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you, but would most likely fit Joel. Before leaving the room, you swiped a shirt that was laying in the pile of clean clothes off to the side.

You emerged not long after, seeing the barely-clothed man remove his last sock off his right foot. You two were past the point of being embarrassed in front of each other, you had learned to adapt due to the many years spent surviving together. As you walked past Joel, toward the kitchen, you shoved the clothes into his arms. You wanted to give him a little privacy, so he could hold onto his pride, if he managed to have any left.

Making your way into the kitchen, you immediately got out a mug from your tiny mug collection, and turned the gas-powered stove top on. Placing the mug beside the stove, you had brought over a little pot and dumped an entire bottle of water into it. It didn't take long for the water to boil, so once it was done, you immediately put it in the mug labeled "World's Best Boss" and started to scavenge. You hadn't opened the box of tea you were looking for, you wanted to save it for a special occasion. Tonight was special enough, right?

You had found it after a moment of searching, taking a packet out of the box and moving back over to the living room. Your eyes fell on the emptiness of the sofa, the man nowhere to be found. He couldn't have left, you didn't hear the door open or close. Just before you were going to call out for him, he walked out of the darkness (his limp more noticeable than before). "Put the clothes'n y'ur bath tub, didn't want the floor all wet for ya' to clean." His voice was hoarse.

You shot him an almost unapologetic look as you placed the mug down, dropping the tea bag inside. "Stop worryin' 'bout that, now sit down and let me help." For once in his life, Joel Miller kept quiet and did what you told him. You had wished it would be under different circumstances, but a win is a win. "Now," You began, "I know you like coffee, but this was all I could find."

It had to taken Joel a moment before he realized that there was a warm drink waiting for him, his nose too stuffed to have taken in the scent. It had been a while since Joel had something warm to drink, a while since someone's cared enough about him to make him something like that. Even though he despised any sort of drink other than coffee (and water, of course), he would not complain about this. Not now, not ever. He reached forward for the mug, carefully bringing it back to his lap. "Best boss, hm?"

You could only giggle as you were now opposite of Joel, instead of being on the couch, you had pushed it away and were digging on the floor. Months ago, you had figured out there were two layers of wood that divided you and the person who occupied the apartment below you. That space served as a cubby, so you figured why not use it for its purpose? "You're gonna be jumpin' with joy, Joel Miller." He looked puzzled, trying his best to ignore the immense pounding that came from everywhere in his body. That's when he caught glimpse of what you were holding, headache medicine.

Sure, headache medicine was some measly little thing that probably didn't work as well as it used to anymore, not many people would bat an eye at it before the apocalypse. But now, it was gold. People were sentenced to the firing squad if any guard in the QZ found out about medicine that wasn't recorded, since it was so scarce. "Why the fuck do you have that?" Was all Joel could say, forgetting about himself for a moment, and worrying about you. That's what friends do, right?

"For emergencies like this." You had gotten up from the floor, kicking the wooden plank back into its home before moving over to Joel. You had opened the cap, taking out four. Four would send you into the doctors office if you took them before they expired, but since they expired twenty years ago, they only worked half (if you were lucky) of what they usually would. You had reached out for Joel's hand and placed the pills in there, "Drink tea with'em to help them go down easier."

He listened to you, silent for a moment. After he had swallowed the mouthful (literally) of pills, he broke silence. "I don't want you runnin' 'round'n gettin' shit like that." He was referring to the pills, "You know what happens if ya' get caught." How could even talk this much with a busted lip, you thought to yourself. You repeated the 'if ya' get caught' part to him as you slipped away once more into the kitchen.

Joel called your name out a few times as you left, leaning farther back into the couch each time. By you talking to him, he was distracted. Distracted from the crushing headache, the horrible tension that rose to his lips every time words were escaping from his mouth, the pain throughout his body. He would tell you what happened, when you came back, but only if you asked.

You returned with a small bowl and a rag, something to clean up his face (and anywhere under the clothes he may want cleaned). You sat down beside Joel, on the sofa, "Lay down." He looked confused, not really understanding what you had meant. Not wanting to waste anymore time with those open wounds leaking every so often, you grabbed his shoulders and forcefully (yet carefully) brought him down so his head was rested in your lap.

You could tell that it hurt Joel when you did that by the small grunts he had managed to let escape his lips. You didn't mean to hurt him, not at all, but you couldn't deal with any bickering if he decided to start now. "So, Mister Miller," You began, dipping the rag into the bowl, "How did you get your shit rocked so badly?"

He wasn't impressed by the way you put it, shooting you a quick glare, "Runners." Was all he said. Runners? How could runners do this to him? A million thoughts ran through your head, but you quickly cut yourself short. "Are you-" Joel knew what you were asking, was he bit? "No." He responded, a bit too quick, before continuing his short, yet descriptive, story, "Was with a few people ya'dunno, came across Runners out in a building, they all turned on me'n tried to get out." He paused for a moment, "Four'o them plus two runners on me, would've killed 'em myself if the runners didn't get 'em first."

You could tell Joel was hesitant to tell you, thinking you would see him as weak. No, far from that actually. You could only think highly of the man laying in your lap, for he's how you were thriving in this apocalypse. You brought the dampened rag to the gash on his cheek, he jumped as it was alcohol, and not water, "Don't beat yourself up too much for it," Joel flinched at the stinging sensation, "Your secret's safe with me."

Joel had crossed his arms, his hands brushing past your thighs. You felt as if they lingered too long, maybe it wasn't a passing matter. He's comfortable with you, you know that. This is what friends do, right? You had assessed the other wounds on his face, almost all disinfected completely. The bowl of alcohol now having a slight red tone to it.

After a moment, Joel broke the comfortable silence the two of you were in, "I shouldn't have came. Wastin' all y'ur supplies'n all." This didn't impress you, so Joel had earned a slight slap on his shoulder. "Just let me take care of you, god dammit. How many times have you done it for me?" He was silent after that, knowing. Countless times, after roudy street fights for ration cards, Joel had cleaned you up. Cleaned the blood from your face and stitched the deep gashes that would appear. You were only returning the favour, because that's what friends do.

"Plus," You added now, "we can just scavenge more stuff the next time we take a vacation from this place." If you taking out medicine for him didn't piss him off, this sure as hell did. Without thinking, he reached forward and grabbed your wrist, the wrist that was cleaning up his purpled lip. "Ya' ain't goin' out there, not now, not ever." You had shooed his hand off from you, brushing the comment off, "Can't protect me forever, boss. What's a little fun anyway?" You shouldn't have had the playful grin on your face, but you couldn't help yourself.

Joel could only give you an unhappy look, knowing that you couldn't be stopped with it, as much as he might've tried. He wasn't in the mood to fight you, he wasn't ever really in the mood to fight you. Joel had sat up without a warning, almost causing whatever was left in the bowl to go flying. This earned a whack from you.

"Uhm, ow." He muttered, maybe you shouldn't have done that, added to his pain and all. "Gotta get goin', though." He didn't want to say that, you could tell. It was the tone that he said it in. You could only meet his gaze for a moment, "Stay the night." When someone was hurting like this, how could you say no. How could you turn your best friend away, and let him go home, when he wasn't okay?

You weren't expecting Joel to agree to stay, or at least not cave in without any convincing. It was strange, really, he was acting different. It had to have been the drugs that you had given him, you thought to yourself, maybe it had something that made you nicer to the people you're close with.

You had helped the man up, and left the dirty rag on the table. That was tomorrow (well, when you woke up)'s problem. You took his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, helping him walk better. You would mother him about his limp and legs when he was recovered. Joel was holding onto you as he moved in sync with you to your room.

Once you got there, you had let go of him. He looked at you for a moment, before turning away. "Can ya', uh, help with my shirt?" He asked. You could only nod your head, maybe a bit too quick for your liking. "Yeah, o'course." Then, following what you just agreed to do, you grabbed the hems of the shirt Joel was wearing and helped to slide it off of him. This is what friends do, right?

You tried your best not to stare, you really did, but the marks on his chest pulled you in. After taking a moment longer to let your eyes linger, you pulled away and helped him under the comforter. "I'll take care'o those tomorrow." You had turned to make your way the door, to sleep on the couch, to give Joel as much space as he could. He grabbed your wrist, though, before you were able to get too far from him. "Can you, er, stay?"

Joel wasn't looking at you when he asked that, he was looking anywhere but. You wanted to stay, really did you, but you felt like you couldn't. "Listen, Joel, I want to, bu-" You were cut off by him interrupting you, "Please." Please. Joel Miller doesn't say please. This took you almost by shock, but you tried not to show it. You only nodded your head, and moved over to the other side of the bed.

You could feel Joel watching your every move, but you didn't care at this moment. You removed your pants, but kept your shirt undergarments on. You would call today a day of victories, not for Joel, but for you. He had listened to you so much, and didn't fight it. You wish it was under different circumstances, but a win is a win. You knew he wasn't up to his usual par, but it still counted.

It happened with a blink of an eye. First you were hesitant to get into the bed with him, not wanting any mixed signals to be sent at the current moment, next you were laying right beside him, and his current good arm wrapped around your waist. If Joel was happy, you were happy. The sounds of rain made it better, made it more peaceful for Joel. He could relax, and take his mind off of the pain he was feeling. This is what friends do for each other.

—

flawless, the neighbourhood

[abigailandersonsslut]

And then, there was you.

Chapter 3

Abby Anderson x Reader

1.7K Words

WARNINGS ⚠️ NSFW- the ending contains some spiceyness. MDNI.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

After dinner you got everything cleaned up, and made your way to the living room. Abby and Lev were sitting in the living room talking amongst themselves. You decided on setting the garage up for a makeshift room for them.

Clearing your throat, catching their attention you asked “Are you guys good to sleep in the garage tonight? I mean you’re more than welcome to stay wherever, I just want to make sure you're comfortable.” Abby gave you a small tentative smile. You could tell she was a bit unsure of whether or not to stay here. Taking a seat across from them in your recliner, you gave them a soft smile.

“Look, I know this is a lot to take in. I don’t know what happened to you guys back there, but I do know how it is out there. I can only imagine what actually happened. I’m not going to force you to stay, but I really think you should.” You told them.

They studied you for a minute, Abby was the first to speak. “I think that sounds alright, I mean as long as that’s okay with you?” Her eyes searched yours for any hesitation. You smiled wide, cheeks a little pink and looked at them both.

“Of course it is! Let me get you guys set up in there- Oh! You guys probably want to shower and change right? Lev, my clothes might be a bit too big for you but let me see what I have.” Lev looked at you and for the first time gave you a small smile.

“Thank you” he said.

Your heart growing warm, you stood up off the couch and began walking to your room. You stopped at the doorway and turned in your heel to tell Abby something you almost forgot.

“Abby with your stitches, I wouldn’t recommend a shower. Maybe run a low bath?” I’ll make sure to bring out some washcloths as well.” You said then began your search for some spare clothes.

*************************************

After finding the clothes, you handed them out to Abby and Lev. Lev took a shower first, which left you with Abby. You two were in the garage as you fixed up a spot for them to sleep tonight. Luckily the house had a pull out couch that you were able to put some sheets and blankets on.

Abby being the first to break the comfortable silence said to you “ So what happened between you and her?”

Pausing at smoothing out the blanket, you turned to look at her. Looking up at her, you noticed her brows furrowed just a bit. Almost as if she had been thinking about this for a while.

Leaning back on your elbows feeling a small strip of skin exposed as your tank top rises up your stomach. Your eyes flick to Abby’s, noting the faint pink flush dusting the tops of her cheeks. Her mouth parting slightly, she began to back track on her question but you cut her off.

“It’s a long story,” you huffed out a breath and laid the back of your head against the mattress, bringing your arms up to rub your face. Ignoring the feeling of your shirt rising higher. You brought your arms behind your head looking up at Abby through your eyelashes.

“I grew up in the Chicago QZ, well more like I survived it” you half laughed “but when I was about 15, infected swarmed us and we already had so little supplies.. So only a few others and myself survived the attack. I wanted to find the fireflies, I’d heard rumors about them and figured they’d be my best shot at survival or maybe even be a part of something meaningful. I fucked around for a while on my own, traveled west for while, made some friends and lost some. That was until I got about 5 miles from here, I stumbled up on Ellie and Joel doing their patrol rounds, so of course they took me in. They helped me get set up here” motioning to the house.

“Ellie and I were friends for a while, until she came over one night and well I’m sure you can imagine what happened” you gave Abby a smile and a wink, laughing at the way you could see some redness beginning to blossom on her chest. She stood at the edge of the bed with her arms crossed literally towering over you. You eyed her to make sure she wasn’t getting bored with your story, but you could see that she was hanging onto every word. So you continued.

“Things started getting pretty serious after that, there wasn’t really a moment when we were apart from each other- though that wasn’t really a change- she stayed over here a lot, I mean practically lived over here. I’ll spare you from all the lovey dovey gooey shit. Then I don’t know, I think about 2 two years later we met Dina, and we became pretty close with her.” You grimaced remembering the day she introduced herself to us, wishing you hadn’t given her a second look.

Abby sat on the bed, still looking at you and paying attention to every word.

“Fast forward to about a year ago, we had a New Years community party. Ellie and I met Dina there, we had some drinks, smoked some weed, good times you know? I left to the bathroom, and when I came back… they were kissing on the dance floor.”

You looked away from Abby after that last part, not wanting to see her pity. The weight shifted slightly on the bed and you felt her hand grasp your thigh right above your knee. That made you look. When your eyes met with hers, you didn’t see pity, maybe understanding?

“You don’t have to finish if you don’t want to.” she said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay, we’re just getting to the good part” you laughed dryly. “When I found them kissing right in the middle of the dance floor for the whole town to see, I ran. I was so embarrassed and betrayed, but above all of that I was so angry. I looked back just hoping to see her, to tell me it was just some misunderstanding. She didn’t though, she never came, and shortly after that they left together to Seattle. That’s when I understood”

Realizing this is the first time you’d ever spoken to anyone about this so rawly, it left you a little embarrassed. You got up quickly, feeling Abby’s hand drop from your thigh. You frowned slightly at the loss of contact. Only realizing then how much you liked that little bit of contact.

“Well that’s enough trauma dumping from me tonight. Let me get you guys some pillows.” Feeling a little mortified how you just over shared to a complete stranger, you hustled out of the room albeit maybe a little quicker than necessary.

Dusting yourself off from your embarrassment, you almost ran into Lev just getting out of the bathroom.

“Did everything fit okay?” You inquired. You noticed the basketball shorts and novelty T-shirt were almost swallowing him up.

Lev nodded in response, which was followed with a small smile. “Thank you, for everything,” he said quietly.

“Of course hon, want me to get your clothes washed up? That way you’ll be able to put something on that’s your size in the morning” you asked.

“If you don’t mind” he said, then handed you his clothes to your outstretched hands.

You gave him a warm smile and said “of course not”

Shortly after, Abby got in the bath. You were handwashing Lev's clothes in the kitchen, you’ve scrubbed them in the washboard 3 times already. You made a mental note to see if you could scrounge anything up in the town.

You were deep in thought about what you could cook for breakfast, they definitely need some protein and carbs. You noted some oranges on the counter that were about to go bad, you’ll definitely have to make some fresh orange juice too-

“(Y/N)?” You heard Abby call from the bathroom. Stopping abruptly, you walked curiously down the hall.

“Yes?” You called out unsure.

“Could I get some help here please?” You heard her moving around in the tub. Walking up to the door you tapped your knuckles lightly against the door, letting her know you were about to come in.

Opening the door, you were met with Abby’s back. Strong back might you add. You studied the curvature of her muscles, the way her broad shoulders were held back to hold up her posture. Her back was littered with scars, some old and some new. Then your thoughts began to wander, imagining how her back would look- you cleared your throat. Face flushed, imagining a lot more than her muscles you said, “What’s up?”

She turned her head back slightly, “Would you mind getting my back?” She asked. You could see her face almost as flushed as your own, red hues blushing the tops of her cheeks. “I’m sorry to ask, I hope this isn’t weird-“ she began to backpedal a bit until you cut her off.

“It’s absolutely no problem love” you knelt down behind her, seeing her washcloth hung over the side of the tub and grabbed it. Lathering some of your rose scented body wash, you began to scrub gently. She leaned into your touch ever so slightly, soon you’d pretty much gotten her whole back. Though the way her eyes fluttered shut the moment you had started, made you not want to stop. Soon you had migrated to the tops of her shoulders, which elicited a small moan from the now dirty blonde.

Her eyes snapped open, cheeks beyond inflamed. “She began to stutter “I-I think I’ve got it from here” she said. Smirking you gave her back the washcloth, and leaned into her ear telling her “Don’t be embarrassed, usually girls are a lot louder than that when they’re under me”

Her blush visibly deepened, now stretching down to the back of neck. She looked back you, smirk tugging playfully at the corners of her mouth, she said

“Is that so? I think I want you to show me”

************************************

Chapter 4

Chapter 3!! Thank you so much for the love and support ❤️ it means a lot to me that people are loving this as much as I am. Let me know what you think. ALSOO would anybody be interested in me adding Abby’s POV? I was debating on it this chapter but wasn’t sure. Also for all of my smut lovers 🤭 (me asf believe it or not ik it’s been slow) next chapters for you!

[bluebeary-jay]

Hold me close and hold me fast

Hi, my darling @always-andromeda!! I'm your secret santa from the space sisters server 🥰 I hope you're having a fantastic day and will enjoy what I wrote for you 💕 I tried to mix fluff and angst into your Joel prompt and it was tricker than I thought it'd be but hopefully I did it justice 😌 I wish you all that's best and happy holidays!!

Summary: It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, fluff and angst, soft and shy Joel, hurt/comfort, established relationship 💕

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: dividers by @saradika, beta read by @reddedmiller ❤️

Twenty years ago, when the apocalypse started and Joel Miller lost his only daughter, he was certain that he’d never feel happy again. Time didn’t heal his wounds – he still thought like that when he was fighting for survival with Tommy, then when he was doing side jobs with Tess in the QZ… It was never going to get better.

But somehow, as he looked up at the massive tree he just helped the others set up in the middle of the square in Jackson, he realized that it could. It did. Now Joel had a home here. He had his brother back, he had Ellie whom he cared for like his own kid and he had a community that welcomed him into Jackson, people who didn’t know about the horrible things he’d done and therefore didn’t hate him.

“Hi, handsome,” he heard from behind his back and turned around to the most beautiful face in the world – the main source of his newfound happiness. You. His girl. “Are you done with work?”

He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. You were the newest addition to Joel’s life, but the most precious one in his eyes. Unlike everyone else in Jackson (excluding his brother), you knew all about the sins he’s committed. And yet, you still chose him. Every day you continued to choose him, to envelop him with the warmth of your love which Joel wasn’t sure he deserved.

He’d never tell you, though. Not as long as you kept him in your heart.

“Yeah, no, we’re done. M’pretty sure my back will blow if I have to pick up or carry one more damn thing.”

Right at that moment Tommy walked by with another box full of tree ornaments in his arms, and huffed a laugh when he heard his brother complaining.

“Jesus, Joel, you really are gettin’ old.” He put down the heavy box on the snow and sighed, propping his hands on his hips and nodding at you. “You sure you’ll be able to put up with this grump?”

“Positive.” You climbed onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek, and he felt his skin growing hot under your lips. He turned his head to hide the embarrassment evident on his face, missing the slight furrow of your brows, but not missing a hearty laugh his brother let out.

“Aww, is the big, scary man gettin’ all shy from a little kiss on the cheek?”

“Get lost, Tommy.”

Tommy chuckled and bent down to pick up the box again. “By the way, you two have any plans for today? We’re makin’ a screening of some Christmas movies for the kids, and after that the adults will head to the bar. You should come.”

“Well, if you want to?” you directed the careful question to Joel, but he shook his head just slightly, causing you to smile. “But we actually have other plans for tonight.”

That was true, and there was no way Joel would trade those precious hours spent in your company for having to sit – or worse, dance – in a loud room full of half-drunk people.

“Sounds like somethin’ I don’t wanna know about.”

“We’re just gonna bake some cookies for Ellie,” Joel murmured when you bumped his arm lightly with a giggle. The irritation at his brother lessened slightly when he heard the sound of your laughter. “But don’t tell ‘er.”

“My lips are sealed.” Tommy winked at Joel, then shifted his eyes to you. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.”

“That’s the plan.” You took Joel’s hand in both of yours, beaming up at him with excitement. “You’re ready?”

“Yeah.” He inconspicuously let go of your hands to brush the arm of your jacket lightly, and then nodded in the direction of his house. “C’mon, darlin’.”

He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too harsh as he hid his gloved hands in the pockets, intending to blame it on the cold in case you asked. But instead of saying anything, you just matched his step and slipped your hands around his arm. Joel went rigid when you leaned your head on his shoulder, the side of your body almost hugging his.

Joel loved you like no one before and until he met you, he hadn’t been this happy in years. But there was a problem, a major one, in your relationship that he didn’t at all know how to address.

Because Joel didn’t have any clue how to react to all your touches.

No matter if they were tender or needy, brief or lasting, he always felt out of his depth. It’s been so long since he actually wanted to be intimate with someone that when the chance arose… he was at loss. You were such an affectionate person and he loved that part of you, he cherished all touches and gestures you graced him with – craved them even – but…

He stole a glance at you, wondering if you could feel the stiffness of his body when you were so close, but it seemed that you were none the wiser. He tried to will his muscles to relax, but it didn’t work and he still felt an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his arm.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do as your partner, but ever since Sarah died, he hadn’t had an opportunity to show affection to someone. Everything he thought about seemed awkward and incongruous, but he really didn’t want you to think that he was an inexperienced old man who didn’t know how to please – and in your case, love – a woman.

He did. In theory.

So he tried his hardest to show you in other ways how much he cares about you. He brought you gifts, whether they were knickknacks scavenged during his patrols or wooden figurines he made for you. He did what he could to relieve you of your duties, helped around the house and out in the town. He found time during the day to spend with you or at least just talk in passing if you both were busy.

But that still wasn’t enough. He knew that wasn’t enough.

Every damn time you cuddled, every time you kissed him or did something as simple as lay your head on his shoulder, Joel never felt better. He never wanted those moments to end, but at the same time he just couldn’t reciprocate, and it was tearing him apart, because he could see how hurtful it was to you.

“You’re quiet.”

Joel snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at you, noting that you’re almost at his place. He breathed a little lighter when he realized that he managed to go all this way without the need of pulling his arm out of your grasp.

“Is everything alright?” you asked with concern in your beautiful eyes and squeezed his bicep slightly, causing Joel to clench his teeth. “Listen, if you’d prefer to go with Tommy, just tell me…”

“Hey, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured you quickly and even managed to smile as if the guilt of not being able to even kiss your forehead wasn’t eating him alive. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”

“Just right now?” you asked teasingly, and Joel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“Listen here, you little tease…”

A bright smile returned to your face and you tugged his arm down so your lips could reach his stubbly cheek – and (only a little) reluctantly, he let you kiss him with a huff.

But the guilt of not telling you the true reason of his worries was still swirling in his stomach, making him feel sick for the rest of the way.

An hour and a half later the cookies were already done, and somehow the attempt to clean each other off the flour and the colorful frosting you used to decorate them ended up with you sitting in Joel’s lap, kissing him softly.

Not that he minded.

There was nothing as wonderful as the feeling of your lips on his skin, Joel was sure of it. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since he was with someone that made him feel like a young boy in love again, but your every gesture, every sound coming out of your mouth and every day he got to spend with you was just a confirmation of how lucky he was to have you.

Even now, as you were kissing him slowly and without any rush, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But while they initially appeared from the happiness and giddiness you were causing in him, the longer your hands wandered – and the longer his stayed uselessly at his sides – the worse and more stressed he felt.

“You know you can touch me, right?” you asked playfully at last, and the pit in Joel’s stomach grew almost tenfold in size. “It’s highly encouraged, actually.”

There was an actual question in your voice, which made him feel even worse. He should’ve known you’d address it eventually – after all, nothing went past you – but it still felt so awfully embarrassing to admit it to you. He was an old man, but felt like an inexperienced teenager who didn’t know how to make a woman feel good.

You moved to kiss him again when he didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, but on instinct Joel pulled back – actually ducked – out of your reach. Immediately regret painted his face at the rejected look in your eyes, and he started to rake his mind in search for something he could do to fix it, but nothing came to him. He knew what you’d want from him – you’d forgive him if he took your face in his hands, kissed you with all his strength, let you know that you did nothing wrong… but it made him nervous just thinking about it, let alone do it.

“Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look at me… What’s wrong?” You brushed some hair out of his forehead and Joel exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the knees at your touch. “Talk to me, baby. Did I do something?” Joel shook his head and you pressed your lips together. “Did something happen, then?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly, but he avoided your eyes. “No. Nothin’.”

“Joel…”

The room got too stuffy all of the sudden, the shirt on his back too tight and your body too heavy on his lap. Joel knew he was panicking over nothing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so unsure and embarrassed over his own insecurity and behavior… So he gently removed you from his lap and stood up from the couch.

“Sorry, I gotta… I need some air. I’ll be right back, alrigh’?”

“Joel.”

No ‘baby’. No ‘handsome’. The tone of your voice made him stop dead in his tracks, and he turned around to meet your sad, solemn eyes.

“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”

Your voice, so small and weak, took him off-guard and for a couple of seconds Joel wasn’t sure if you really said that, or if it was just his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. He blinked several times, but you were still in front of him, sad and… oh, god, you were on the verge of tears.

“What?” He couldn’t help a curt, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him – which was a terrible reaction, he realized when you turned your head away from him. “I– I don’t understand.”

“You don’t ever want to touch me first.” You let out a shuddering breath and lifted your arm to wipe your eyes, and Joel realized with mortification that he fucking made you cry. “And when you do it’s only when I initiate it, but sometimes you just pull back and it… it makes me feel so unwanted. And I know I might come off as too clingy…”

“Hey, none of that.” Joel quickly made his way to you and sat back down, gazing at you with his brows furrowed in worry. Your face was tearstained already and you avoided looking at him, but didn’t pull back when he took your hand gently in his. “Darlin’...”

“Just tell me if it doesn’t work for you,” you breathed, your voice thick with tears which also welled up in your pretty eyes again. “I hate not knowing if I… if our relationship makes you happy.”

“Of course I’m happy, babygirl.” Joel lifted your hand as if to kiss it, but hesitated. He had half a mind to draw back, but you needed him now, and he needed to prove that he really loved you. So, tentatively, he pressed his inexperienced lips to your fingers, making you look up with suspicion dancing in your irises. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever felt.”

“You’re pretending.” The quiet accusation combined with you withdrawing your hand caused Joel’s heart to break and he opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t want you to pretend now that I’m upset, I want– Joel, I need you to be honest and tell me if it isn’t working for you. You always move away when I try to hug you and during all this time we’ve been together I can count on one hand the number of times you kissed me first. I don’t…” you choked down a sob and a new wave of tears flew down your cheeks. “I don’t want to waste either of our time if that isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want–”

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I want,” Joel whispered with pain in his voice, moving so he could sit closer to you. “M’so very sorry that I wasn’t…” He searched for the right words, but everything felt flat on his tongue. “I’m sorry. For everythin’ I did that made you feel this way.”

“But why?” you asked pathetically, staring at him with defeat and sadness. “You never said anything and I wouldn’t try to touch you so much if you just told me you didn’t like it!”

“I do like it,” he cut you off with a firm tone, which caused you to stop abruptly. “I fuckin’– I love it when you touch me, darlin’. I’m dyin’ for you to keep doin’ it, but I…”

“You what?” you asked, softer this time, and Joel swallowed hard, nervous how you’ll react. But you had the right to know, so ultimately he pushed through his discomfort.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he finally settled on that. “I really, really love when you touch me, babygirl, no matter in what way.” He took another deep breath, bowing his head to look at his hands so that he didn’t have to face you. “But it’s been so long, damn decades, since I… since anyone touched me in the way you do. I never loved someone the way I love you. I’m very sorry, I just don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do… when someone…”

He trailed off, worried that he might break down and cry in front of you if he says another word, and he’d prefer to avoid it at all cost. The world outside was so harsh and cruel already, and you needed someone strong – a safe haven, a pillar you could lean on. He was that someone for everyone around him for the last twenty years, and even longer before the outbreak.

But it was so much different now. You made him feel safe and loved no matter what he could provide to you and it was almost scary how vulnerable he was becoming in your presence.

“...when someone cares for you?” you asked quietly. Joel nodded, and tears gathered in your eyes again, though now for a very different reason. “Oh, Joel…”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, his own vision also going misty. “I want to give you everythin’ you desire, darlin’. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll try to…” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’ll try to get past it.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You scooted just a little closer and put your hand on his knee lightly. He looked up with anguish swimming in his brown eyes, not believing that you were still here and not already out of the door. You worried your lip between your teeth for a couple of seconds before inhaling deeply. “How about… I show you what to do? We can go as slow as you want.”

Joel slowly shook his head, not understanding. “...show me what?”

“You said you don’t really know what to do, right? So how about I show you exactly how… you know.” You smiled almost shyly, but it only caused Joel’s heart to beat even faster. “Where to put your hands.”

Joel was nodding before you even finished speaking.

It was embarrassing, really, how excited he got at this idea, but just the thought of your hands guiding his, demonstrating where and how to touch you, had him feeling weak in the knees and hot under his clothes. You smiled, almost with relief, and moved even closer until your thighs were touching.

“Here, just relax. We can stop at any time, just say a word,” you said soothingly, placing his palms on your hips and sending him a small smile. Joel wondered if you could see how red his face surely was, feel how sweaty his palms got. “Is this okay?”

“S’better than okay,” he breathed in something akin to wonder. “It’s easier… Everythin’ seems easier with you.” His chest was tight when he looked up at you. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t a lie. You did make it seem effortless, and though Joel could still feel the rigidness of his muscles and tendons, the tension was slowly melting away, replaced by a tingling warmth on his skin.

You gave him a reassuring smile and his eyes flickered to your lips almost involuntary. You noticed it, of course – Joel didn’t think he was exactly subtle with his staring – and cupped his jaw in your hands. His arm, practically instinctively, encircled your waist and pulled you closer before he could stop himself, but you didn’t berate him – in fact, you seemed delighted by his action.

“Now, are you going to kiss me or not?” you whispered coyly, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. Joel chuckled at your attempt to put him more at ease, but it worked and he leaned in to press – very, very carefully – his lips to yours. He felt you smiling against them and his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming relief.

“I love you so much,” he murmured with his mouth only millimeters from yours. “So much, babygirl.”

You hummed a quiet love you, too, and moved your lips up to softly kiss his eyelids, then temple, then cheeks and nose. Joel almost wanted to cry when you started running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It felt so good, your touch so nice and tender… He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone treated him with such care. Maybe never. “Next time it becomes too much, you tell me, got it? And I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Your touch didn’t bother him now that he admitted what was weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now, it felt soothing. Grounding.

So, so loving.

Joel held you closer, melting into your embrace, and claimed your lips in a soft – if not a bit shy – kiss.

There was nothing else he’d rather be doing tonight.

[thatgirlmendo]

Until the Quiet Takes Us

Prologue - more chapters to come?? Let me know if you want tagged.

Summary: Joel returns to Austin and on the way comes across the reader after she had a run in with raiders. They left her for dead but he takes pity on her and promises to stay by her side until she recovers… he didn’t anticipate enjoying your company quite as much as he does…

Pairing: joel miller x female reader

Word Count: 1273

Content Warnings: Nothing sexual (yet 😏) some gore - but not much. Age Gap - Reader is 20s

Writer Notes: Y’all I AM HOOKED on writing now. I can’t stop. This little story takes place in the area I went to college and grew up in 😬 I’m excited to write about Joel in my favorite place on earth. I have literally been writing all morning. Comments welcome! I need feedback. Have not proof read yet, but I will once completed.

Sometime in the Spring

Your head is spinning. Your tongue feels heavy. Even opening your eyes feels like too much. You squeeze them shut tighter, trying to focus — trying to remember.

You’d been trekking along the outskirts of Austin, alone now after the last of your group was lost to looters. Cautious and careful you were hopeful that you might scavenge enough supplies to get the hell out of this city for good and continue your plan to head west.

You'd heard Austin was abandoned, that it had been picked clean, ravaged, empty.

And you had believed it. You let your guard down, even just for a moment.

You thought, if nothing else, maybe you could find a place to lay your head for the night, somewhere semi familiar.

It had been years since you’d seen the city you grew up in — and the sight of its skeleton hit harder than you expected. The plan had been to keep moving west, toward the hills, hoping to find old prepper bunkers or forgotten supplies hidden deep in the mountains.

But something pulled you back. Something you couldn't explain.

You knew you were making a mistake the second you stepped closer to the old city center. You knew it, and still but you kept walking.

The layout in front of you brought a small smile to your face. You remembered this place. Long ago, you and your dad would spend your weekends here — walking down Congress Street, hauling the kayak out for a lazy trip down the river. It was tradition. Muscle memory brought you back, even through the ruins. Even after everything.

Your family had fled to the Boston QZ when everything fell apart. You'd grown up there, survived there — until you escaped with a ragtag group of kids barely older than you. Jackson or bust had been the dream. But truthfully, there had been no real plan. Just to keep moving and stay breathing.

One by one, you'd watched your friends fall. One by one, you'd buried them in shallow graves or simply left them behind because your plans no longer aligned with theirs. Until you were here, alone. In the place that once brought you so much happiness. Now you were standing on the bones of a city you barely remembered, trying to chase down a ghost of who you used to be all those years ago.

You crouched by the rubble of what you thought might have been your old street.

The house was long gone, buried under concrete and ash.

But if you closed your eyes... you could almost see it.

Almost, just almost, feel it.

That was your mistake.

You heard the sound but too late.

The snap of a boot against gravel.

You tried to whip around, tried to draw your pistol — but something slammed into you hard from behind.

Your knees buckled. The world tilted sideways.

You hit the ground, struggling to sit up, fighting against the darkness closing in —

And then everything went black.

—————————————-

Joel isn’t sure what drew him to trudge through the once busy city center, it only brought back bad memories of before.

Austin’s bones are all that’s left. Nothing but sun-bleached concrete, skeletal high-rises, old shops gutted and dead. He doesn’t usually come this close. Too many memories, too many ghosts. But something about today, something low in his gut, pulled him in. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was penance.

Maybe, just maybe it was fate?

He keeps his rifle slung low, boots crunching over shattered glass, the occasional rustle of wind tugging at the frayed edges of old banners still clinging to the posts that line the old once busy streets. Joel’s learned to listen for the wrong kind of silence, not that peaceful kind, but the too-still, something-ain’t-right kind of silence.

That’s when he hears it, you, a wet, shallow breath. A sound not natural to the ruins around him. He freezes, body tight, hand already at his gun.

Slowly, he follows it with that noise, gun at the ready if something is wrong.

He rounds a corner near what used to be an old coffee shop, and that’s when he sees you. Crumpled near the foundation of what might’ve been a grand house once. Half-covered in dust and debris, blood is caked into your hairline, one arm twisted at an ugly angle beneath you. You’re barely breathing, your chest rising in tiny, pitiful jerks.

Raiders. Joel sighs, he knows the signs. They hadn’t even bothered to kill you, damn them… just left you to die slow, like trash.

He should walk away.

He should.

But he doesn’t. Why doesn’t he walk away?

Something about you, the way your fingers still twitch weakly, as if you’re clawing your way back to life, you want to be alive. Something keeps him rooted to the spot. He curses under his breath, checking the perimeter quickly, then crouching beside you.

“Hey,” he says, voice low but firm. “You with me?”

No response. Your face twitches slightly, but you can’t open your eyes.

Joel runs a hand down his face, grunting. He doesn’t have time for this. He’s supposed to be heading back west, supposed to be done with this goddamn city and everything it represents.

But you’re so small lying there. So broken. And something ugly stirs in his chest when he looks at you — something he can’t manage to shove down.

It ain’t pity. He’s not sure what it is.

He should walk away. He knows he should.

Instead, he crouches down beside you. His hands are rough when he touches you, checking for injuries so he can move you, but there’s a carefulness to him too, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he isn’t gentle.

“Goddammit,” he mutters under his breath. “What the hell am I doin’.”

Your skin’s hot to the touch, fever or infection, maybe worse. But you’re alive. Somehow you are still breathing.

Joel glances over his shoulder, scanning the ruins around him. It’s not safe here. It’s never been safe here.

Carefully, he slides his arms beneath you. You let out a broken, helpless sound, and Joel feels something twist deep in his gut — something he doesn’t want to name.

You’re not his responsibility. You’re nothing to him, noone. Just another stray the world tried to chew up and spit out.

But when he lifts you into his arms, it feels final somehow, like a line’s been crossed he can’t come back from.

He holds you tighter than he should. Like maybe if he just grips hard enough, the world can’t take you away too.

“You ain’t dyin’ out here,” he says under his breath, half a promise, half a curse. “Not on my watch.”

Joel doesn’t know why he says it. Doesn’t know why he feels it like a brand on his skin.

But he keeps walking — away from the city, away from the past — carrying you with him, feeling the weight of you settle into something heavier than he’s ready for.

Something he already knows damn well he won’t be able to walk away from.

Its sickening and heavy. But he doesn't stop.

[stitch-away]

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 day 4 - welcome to the qz ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

pairing: joel miller x reader (gender unspecified)

summary: you bring joel to the qz for a much needed shower. but everything goes south

tags: MDNI no smut but there's nude joel + slight grinding, feral joel miller, fluff, angst, hurt comfort, canon typical violence, descriptions of violence, animal death, blood, ptsd, amnesia, grunty joel bc he can't speak

word count: 5.7k

series: feral joel miller

a/n: i wanted to finish this chapter ages ago but midsem break ended so i'm back on the study grind <//3 the reader's gender is not mentioned. it's kind of implied to be male reader but like barely. i plan on it getting more explicit etc so then it will probably become male reader. but for now it's gn

your chest feels tight, your laboured breathing bringing your mind out of its slumber. as soon as you wheeze you feel the pressure immediately lifted. large hands grab your waist and you’re flipped onto your back. your head smacks against the ground, throwing your eyes open. you’re met with panicked brown eyes, a mere inch from your face. joel. 

last night hits you, as does the stench that lingers on joel. he let you stay with him. or, more accurately, he was not letting you leave him. 

he nudges his head forwards, eyes still wild with fear. he tightens his grip on your waist, letting out a soft grunt. 

“joel,” you smile, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair, “you were crushing me, weren’t you? that’s okay. i’m alright.” with that reassurance, joel pulls you up into his arms, holding you suffocatingly tight as he lets you pet his hair. he lets out a low purr, nuzzling his nose into your neck and inhaling your scent.

“good morning to you too,” you giggle, running both your hands through his hair. as you feel the grime and dirt in his hair, you remember what you wanted to do for him next. “your hair’s a little grimey, buddy. how about i take you back to my place? we’ll get you a shower and clean some of your clothes, yeah?” 

joel stiffens, his purring halting as mind processes the idea of heading into the qz. all those people. all those sounds, loud and painful. it’s the last thing he wants. he growls, pulling back to let you see the discomfort in his eyes. 

“i know it’s scary for you,” you sigh, softly scratching his scalp, “but i promise it’ll be okay. my apartment is quiet. you just gotta trust me to get you there.” despite his reservations, the way you're scratching his scalp and the soft tone of your voice soothes joel. as reluctant as he is, he trusts you now. it's been so long since he's been around another human, let alone trust them the way he does you. it's a scary feeling but he's letting himself feel it. 

he nods, relaxing his grip on you. lord help him if you give him a reason to regret this. 

“thank you,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck hugging him tight, “let's go. i wanna show you place– not that it's very exciting.” you chuckle, standing up and offering joel a hand. “i can introduce you to the delicacies of the qz– canned beans.” joel scrunches his nose. “yeah, that’s about right.” 

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

getting joel leave the forest is tough. he sits at the edge, on his hands and feet, with a pout on his lips and his eyes narrowed. you stand only a few feet away, a little dishevelled from last night, frowning with your hands on your hips. 

“c’mon, joel,” you whine, “it’s not a big deal. you probably need the sun, hiding in that dingy forest all the time.” joel scowls and grunts, turning his head away from you. 

“dude, what are you? 5 years old?” joel snaps his head back, eyes wide as brow furrows deeper. “yeah, well, then don’t act like it.” 

he scowls again but finally moves. he crawls out slowly, feeling at the different texture of the ground outside the forest. it’s drier but the grass is soft. it’s not unkind to joel’s calloused hands, almost welcoming. as he crawls forwards, he looks up at you. there’s a nervousness in his eyes he’s looking to you to quell. 

“you wanna stand?” you ask, “you’ll need to once we get inside the qz.” he nods and rises to his feet. as he stretches out, uncurling his muscles, he towers over you. you’re still not used to the shear size of the man but it’s no longer intimidating, almost comforting now. maybe it’s because you know he trusts you, the only person in 20 years, or because of how he cared for you overnight. regardless, it’s a sense of comradery and belonging you haven’t felt in a long time.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

the walk along the trail is undisturbed. joel seems content to walk alongside you. but as you get closer to the qz, the noise of the bustling city reaches joel’s ear. he shakes his head, letting out a snarl as he slows down. you turn to face him, wincing slightly. you feel a little bad for whining at him before. 

“hey,” you place a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, “hey, hey, it’s alright.” you soften your voice, rubbing soft circles on joel’s shoulder. “i promise this is gonna be okay. just stay close to me and cover your ears if you need to. c’mon.” you slip your hand down to hold his. it’s harsh and rough against your soft palm and much bigger, his fingers engulfing your hand. you see his jaw clench and him nod.

as the guards come into view, joel’s grip tightens on your hand. you give his hand a soft squeeze before he finally let’s go, covering his ears. the guards give joel some foul looks but they let him in without much of a hassle. 

you grab hold of joel’s shirt, tugging him into the busy streets of the qz. the city assaults joel’s senses, causing him to whimper, not loud enough for others, but enough for you to hear. his eyes meet yours, saying all the words he can’t speak. without a second thought, you run, pulling joel with you down the street. he’s more than capable of keeping up as you curl round corners and clamber up the stairs to your apartment. you look back at joel every now and then, giving him a smile. your running became more like a game of cat and mouse than a desperate measure to help joel adjust to his environment. you even get a flash of a smile from him. 

unlocking the door in less than a second, the pair of you burst inside, you jumping straight onto the couch. joel follows you, leaping out the couch to smother you. he nuzzles his head into your neck, letting out a grumble that sounds like a cross between a chuckle and an appreciation. you laugh, feeling the way joel’s beard tickles your neck.

“alright, buddy,” you chuckle, pushing at his shoulders, “you need to hop off. we gotta get you in the shower before you stink out my whole apartment. joel whines, pulling back to rest on your hips. he has a soft pout on his lips as he straddles you, pressing his weight down on your crotch. a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. joel immediately lifts his hips, hovering over you on his hands and knees. he grunts softly, his eyes wide with concern, he’s terrified he’s hurt you. ignoring the heat in your crotch, you cup joel’s cheeks, softly brushing his beard.

“it’s okay, joel,” you whisper, shaking your head, “you didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. uh– just hop up. i’ll run the shower for you– or would a bath be easier? doesn’t matter.” joel crawls off the couch, a confused look on his face. you really don’t wanna have “the talk” with a grown-ass man. maybe he doesn’t need the talk, maybe he knows but genuinely thought he hurt you. you push those thoughts aside– along with the image of him undressing the other day that has decided to intrude at this moment– and head into the bathroom.

it’s small, a tight squeeze for the two of you, but joel manages to fit in the bath. he squats down, staring at you, sitting awkwardly in this foreign object. 

“so, i’m gonna turn on the water,” you say, pointing at the tap, “it’ll come out at the end. it’s gonna be cold, okay? and i need ya to take your clothes off now.” joel frowns, pulling at his clothes in question. 

“it’s okay now,” you clarify, “we’re in a bathroom and you’re getting ready for a bath. you take your clothes off when you bathe.” joel still looks unsure but starts to pull his shirt off, chucking it on the bathroom floor. seeing his broad, hairy chest and sculptured muscles, fully on display in the soft light of the bathroom, is something you’ll never forget. he looks like heaven.

he stands, hitting his back on the cold tile walls, arms huddled tight to himself as he tries to unbuckle his jeans without hitting his elbows too. he lets his jean drop, his buckle clipping the edge of the bath. to your surprise, joel doesn't wear underwear– why would he need to out there in the forest? you slap a hand over your eyes out of instinct, only hearing a soft rustle as joel pulls his jeans and the new boots you got him all the way off. he grunts at you, chucking the clothes at your feet. when you don’t uncover your eyes, joel barks at you. 

“did you just bark at me?” you ask, dropping your hand. you’re greeted by the sight of joel’s nude body crouched in the tub. his thighs are thick with muscle and peppered with the same dark brown hair on chest. between those thighs is a dense patch of hair, left to grow wild for 20 years. despite the lack of maintenance, it does little to hide the size of his cock, hanging between his legs, taunting you. he’s thick, even flaccid, with a good four inches and he’s uncut. 

you pull your eyes from his junk, back up to his face as he barks at you again. he has a wide smile on his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction to his body. he hasn’t had anyone look at him softly in years, let alone look at him with the kind of hunger you are now. it’s intimidating being truly looked at after all this time, but the warmth of your gaze dulls any anxiety. 

“you’re right,” you chuckle, “i should actually wash you instead of just staring.” you pick up joel’s clothes and dump them in the laundry basket. you head back over to joel, grabbing the soap, shampoo and conditioner, and a flannel, kneeling down beside the tub. 

“remember, it’ll be cold,” you say, placing your hand on the tap, “it’ll take a little while for it to heat up, so bark when it’s warm enough for you, okay?” joel nods, tensing a little as you turn on the tap but he doesn’t snap or snarl at you. “good boy.” 

joel’s ears twitch and he turns his head to look up at you. you see a flash of affection in his eyes before he shakes his head and frowns, turning away so you can’t see his flushing cheeks. 

“come on, cutie,” you smirk, unable to stop yourself from teasing him. he groans at you and then barks, nodding at the tap. you switch it off and start to wash his body with the soapy flannel. he flinches but lets you wash his back.

you’re gentle at first, getting him used to your touch. as he eases, you scrub a little harder. the grime on joel’s body is practically baked on there. 

the water turns brown as the dirt washes off of joel. with the dirt dissipating, you can see the scars the marr his body. he’s been out on his own for so long, it only makes sense that he’d have scars. but seeing them, confirming the pain you know joel’s mind is hiding, it makes your heart ache. you trace a finger along the scars softly, watching the muscles in joel’s back ripple as he flinches under your touch. 

“is this okay?” you ask, stilling your movements. joel looks at you over his shoulder and nods. with his approval, you continue tracing the painful lines on his body, wondering which one hurt the most. 

you turn joel around, washing his soft sculpted chest and arms gently. as you move down his body, you try your best to not to stare at his more intimate areas but it’s difficult– especially when joel doesn’t seem to mind.

“would you like to do your…private parts?” you cringe just asking the question, “i don’t know if you’re comfortable with me cleaning around there.” joel tilts his head and you point to his cock and ass. he frowns at you, gesturing with his head to his crotch as to say you can do it.

“are you sure?” you ask, slowly bringing the flannel to his crotch. he nods, a lot more unphased by his nudity than you. you gently wash around his crotch before taking his cock in your hand. it’s heavy, even though he’s soft, and you can feel it twitch under your ministrations. you know to wash your penis correctly you have to clean under the foreskin, and he probably hasn’t done that for decades, but you think this time round that’ll be too far. so you elect to ignore it, moving his balls and then to his ass. 

“i’ll be right back, joel,” you mutter, dropping the flannel in the tub, “rinse yourself and drain the bath.” after being that close to him, touching his entire body even if it was through the boundary of a flannel, you have to step out for a minute.

you head to the kitchen and pull out a cold beer. the coolness of it helps to calm the heat of the stuffy bathroom and the tension that joel seemed all but oblivious to. 

once you’ve composed yourself, and finished the beer, you return to joel. he’s sitting there naked in the empty bath. 

“it’s time to wash your hair,” you smile, grabbing the shower head off its hook, “i’m gonna have to use the shower for this, so try not to freak out. it’ll only be to wet your hair and then rinse it, okay?” joel nods but you can see his body curl in on itself as he waits for you to turn it on. as the water flows out, joel flinches back with a wary eye on the fast running water. it’s noisier than the bath tap but it’s equally as harmless, joel decides. he shuffles closer, bowing his head to let you wet it. you make quick work of wetting it and turning the shower off again.

“you’re doing great, buddy,” you smile, squirting shampoo into your palm, “i’m gonna put shampoo in now. it’ll get all that dirt out.” you smear some of it on your other hand and start to move them through joel’s hair. as you feel the dirt and grime coming away from his scalp, you can also hear a soft hum from joel’s throat. his eyes are squeezed shut and he has a small smile on his lips as you massage and clean hair and beard. you wash the shampoo out and repeat the process with conditioner.

“look at you,” you smile, standing up to admire a now clean joel, “you look like a wet cat but a very clean one at that.” joel frowns, sticking his lip out in a pout. 

“hey, i wasn’t the one purring like a little kitten getting belly rubs just before. you act rough but you’re just a little kitten, aren’t ya?” joel snarls at you and you put your hands up, backing away. “i’m sorry,” you chuckle, “i’ll stop. you get dressed and i’ll make you some of those canned beans.” he rolls his eyes at your grinning face, but he can’t help but smile a little too. it’s been so long since he’s had a sense of domesticity. his mind has been craving it, even if he never knew it.

you leave joel to get changed and head into the kitchen. you crack open a can of beans and dump them in a pot, chucking it on the stove. grabbing another beer from the fridge, you lean against the kitchen counter. as you take swigs of it, you hear the soft pad of footsteps and the rustle of clothes. a clink of a belt is heard and then joel pops out of the bathroom. he looks frankly adorable in the clean new clothes you got him and with his hair all damp and slicked back. 

he sits down on the couch to pull his sock and boots on. as he does he grunts at the beer in your hand. 

“this?” you ask, shaking the beer slightly, “it’s beer.” finishing fixing his boots to his feet, joel crawls over to you. he sits at your feet and reaches up for the bottle.

“no way,” you tut, pulling it away from him, “i’m not having you getting drunk. no offence, buddy, but a drunk six foot tall wild cat is not what i need running around my apartment, let alone the qz.” joel snarls at you again, baring his teeth.

“is it the cat thing again?” you ask. he shakes his head. “oh, so, you’re just being a little brat are you?” he scowls and lunges for the beer again. 

“joel! jesus christ,” you mutter, pulling back and placing the beer back in the fridge. joel is sitting in front of you still, a frowning pout on his face. you crouch down to his level, placing a hand on his knee. “what’s wrong, buddy? you don’t have to lash out. talk to me. i’ll get a pen and paper if you need it.” 

he hangs his head, shaking it before lunging forwards. he falls on top of you, squishing you as he presses all his weight down, just like he did back in the forest. you wheeze a little, feeling the weight of joel bearing down on you, but you let him stay there, moving your hands to his back. 

the pair of you lay there for a moment in the soft silence of this strange but heartfelt embrace. you run your hands along his back and then up into his hair, gently scratching his scalp and behind his ears. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you whisper, holding him closer. he shrugs. “do you know what’s wrong?” he shakes his head. “i see. it’s okay, i got you.” 

the forgotten beans on the stove start to boil, bringing them to your attention once again. 

“shit,” you mutter, “joel, i gotta check on the beans. let me up, buddy.” joel groans but rolls off you. you flick the stove off and give the beans a stir. “they seem alright. want some?” 

joel nods and you serve you both up a bowl. you place them on the table and sit down. joel doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. 

“you gonna sit up here with me?” you ask, patting the chair next to you. he tilts his head and crawls over to the chair. he sniffs it and feels it out before crawling up onto it. he keeps his legs up to his chest, leaning forwards to sniff the beans. you chuckle as he scrunches his nose. 

“yeah, they aren’t as good as those nice cuts of meat you get out in the forest,” you smile, digging into the beans, “but it’s some of the best shit out here.” joel lets out a small laugh before bringing his hand up to scoop up the beans. you realise you’re gonna have to tell him to use a spoon eventually but you let him simply enjoy his meal.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

“alright, buddy,” you clap your hands together softly, turning away from the kitchen sink, now full of your dishes, “there’s a doctor’s office not too far from here. you wanna go get a check up? make sure everything’s alright?” joel grumbles, shaking his head. “you worried about the noise?” he nods. 

“it’s not too far from here so you won’t have to put up with it for long, okay?” joel frowns. “i can find you some headphones when we go out.” he scrunches his nose up but stands up, giving you a nod. you smile, walking up to joel and cupping his cheeks. 

“i know this is hard for you,” you say, gently rubbing his bearded cheeks, “but you can trust me. i won’t let anything happen to you.” joel purrs, leaning into your hands. you smile, giving him a scratch under his chin. you grab your bag and nod at the door. “let’s go.”

joel follows you out the apartment, hanging close behind you. as you descend the stairs, getting closer to the noise of the street, you can feel joel’s anxious twitches against your back. you turn around to take joel’s hand, catching the eye of one of your neighbours leaving his apartment for his shift. before you have time to recognise which neighbour it is, you see his face twist into a scowl.

“hey!” he yells, storming down the stairs, causing joel to jump, “is that my fucking shirt? you little shit!” you don’t have to tell joel to run, he’s already pulling you down the stairs at a speed you can barely keep up with. you stumble over your feet as joel pulls you into the street, your furious neighbour close behind. 

the chase is a blur, all you can see and hear clearly is the back of joel’s head and the screams of your neighbour. any attempt at civility is gone from joel’s mind with him bowling people out of the way with zero regard as he navigates the busy streets. 

you snap yourself out of the shock of the moment and realise joel is taking you both to the checkpoint of the qz. if you two burst through there, you’ll certainly be shot. with all your strength, you tug joel in the direction of the hole in the wall you use. he looks at you, eyes wide with concern. you haven’t seen someone look at you with such a concern for your welfare, honestly, ever. and it’d be sweet if you weren’t running from your neighbour right now.

“through here,” you yell, pulling joel to through the crack. you slip through easily but joel’s broad frame has more trouble. you watch through the crack as your neighbour catches up. joel looks at you for a second before turning his back to you and blocking out the crack and your view of what's happening behind the wall. 

for a moment, you stand there, chest heaving and mind terrified as you hear your neighbour yell at joel. you hear joel’s snarl, a sickening crunch, and then silence. when joel’s back doesn’t move from the crack you feel your stomach leap into your throat.

“joel!” you scream, running to the wall, grabbing at joel’s shirt, “joel!” your voice is hoarse and tears are welling in your eyes. you can’t be the reason he dies. after all this time surviving on his own, you can’t be the cause of his death. 

your hand is pulled forwards as joel finally turns around. he whimpers seeing the terror in your eyes. he brings his hands up to wipe your tears and you notice the blood splattered on his knuckles. 

“joel…” you whisper, taking his bloodied hand in yours. before you can ask him what happened he shakes his head, pushing you back so he can squeeze through the gap. once he slips through the crack, you get a glimpse of the scene on the other side. your neighbour is lying, motionless on the street, his nose bleeding and face marred with blood.

“joel! wh-” joel slaps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head again. his expression is firm but his eyes are screaming for your forgiveness. he doesn’t give you the chance to before he’s pulling you in the direction of the forest. 

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

the trek through the forest is deafeningly silent. you stare at the ground, following joel’s heels. the image of your neighbour bleeding out on the street is seared into your mind. you didn’t mean for him to get hurt, you were just trying to help joel. 

once you reach joel’s home, you slump down on one of the logs, too out of it to do anything but sit in silence. joel trails off to wash his hand in a nearby stream. when he returns he crouches down in front of you. he lifts your head, holding it gently in his broad calloused hands, to meet his eyes. he doesn’t need to say anything, even if he could, his eyes telling you how sorry he is. 

“it’s… it’s okay,” you sigh, your voice weak, “what you did… that was wrong. but i get why you did it. i don’t blame you.” joel presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, simply appreciating your forgiveness. 

“and i’m sorry,” you whisper, placing your hands on joel’s shoulders, “i should’ve taken you to the qz, especially in stolen clothes. it was my fault you had to do that.” joel whines, shaking his head and pulling you into his arms. 

he holds the back of your head with one hand, the other snaking round to hold your waist. he starts to rock you in his arms. he’s not sure why. feelings of love and warmth come back to him, memories in feelings alone, before the grief his mind has been running from hits him like a truck. he holds you impossibly tight, his mind resorting back to the trauma that put him in this state. as much as he wishes he knew what happened, he can’t conjure more than the gut wrenching feeling of loss. maybe it’s better he doesn’t remember.

the embrace is short lived as joel’s head snaps around. his ears perk up and he immediately carries you inside his hut. he shakes his head at you and then disappears, unsheathing his knife from his hip as he does. it’s obvious joel wants you to stay put and silent, but there’s no way you’re leaving him alone. 

you pop your head out of the hut to see joel crouched behind a bush and a group of four men carrying guns, raiders, enclosing in on him. guilt hits you again when you realise they must have followed you two from the qz. as one of the raiders gets closer to joel, you panic.

“joel! look out!” you yell, the raider’s attention turning to you. joel snaps his head round to you, scowl on his face. his look says it all; you fucking idiot. 

before the raider can take his shot at you, joel growls, distracting the man and lunging at him, slitting the man’s throat cleanly with one slice. as the man drops, joel throws his gun to you and turns to a raider sneaking up behind him. 

you scramble to grab the gun, clutching it to your chest as you back up against the hut. as you tremble, too terrified to move, you see joel disarm and snap the neck of another raider as he fights off one from behind. a bullet nicks his arms and he roars in pain. but it only seems to emboldened him, with him charging at the man behind him, stabbing him square in the throat, wrenching the knife to the side. 

too transfixed on the spurt of blood pouring from the raider’s neck, you fail to notice a dog run at you from the side. the dog growls and lunges at you, sinking its teeth into your arm. you scream out in pain as the dog’s teeth sink deeper into your arm, slicing through all your layers of skin and puncturing muscle. 

joel’s attention is immediately gone from the remaining raider, bounding over to you. without a second thought, joel plunges his knife into the neck of the dog, the animal’s jaw going slack around your arm. joel rips the gun out of your hand and stands, aiming it at the raider’s head. he lets out a guttural roar, giving the man a second to speak. as the the man pulls his gun on him, joel finger twitches and he shoots the man clean through the stomach. he throws the gun away and jumps on top of the man pinning him to the ground, spitting in his face as he growls again.

despite the pain in your arm and the horrific sight of the limp dog beside you, you stand on shaky legs and stumble over to joel and the raider.

“he wants you to explain yourself,” you wince, cradling your bleeding arm, “why are you here? how did you get a dog?” joel scowls at you but doesn’t stop you. 

“oh, so you speak feral fucking man?” the raider laughs, his voice humourless and gargled from the blood filling his lungs. 

“answer the fucking questions,” you snap. the raider groans and joel shakes him, smacking his head against the ground.

“fine!” the man yells, wincing, “we saw you leaving the qz.” joel snarls at you this time, a look of betrayal in his eyes. “and we got a dog from jackson. happy?”

“where the fuck is jackson?” the raider rolls his eyes but answers when joel growls at him.

“it’s in wyoming! okay?” he groans, “now can you just fucking kill me?”

“how do they have dogs?” 

“i don’t fucking know– ah!” joel shoves a finger into the man’s bullet wound. “they’re a massive settlement in wyoming. i think an ex-firefly set it up.” you nod.

“thanks.” the raider goes to make another snide comment but joel beats him to it, snapping the man’s neck. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the sound of joel’s and your own breathing. this can’t be real. you’ve only been venturing out of the qz for 4 days and you’ve already seen more violence than you have in your entire life. at the hands of joel. you knew this man wasn’t a gentle giant or anything, he’s survived in the wild by being ruthless, not kind. but seeing it first hand is sickening. 

after a few silent moments, you feel joel’s hands hold your shoulders, guiding you back into the hut. only once you’re back in there do you open your eyes. your arm is soaked in blood and there’s more covering joel’s upper body. you had washed him clean not an hour or more ago, only to have that effort ruined in a quick few minutes. 

joel rummages around in the bag you brought, finding spare medical supplies and a water bottle you had packed. he pours water over your arm and wraps it up tight in a gauze bandage. he ties it off and then does the same to the wound on his arm. 

you sit, even more dissociated than before, on the blanket in the hut. you can’t go back to the qz. you’ve stolen from your neighbours and one of them is severely injured, if not dead because of that. and you led raiders to joel’s sanctuary in the forest that ended in their deaths and the death of an innocent animal. 

you look up from your daze of self loathing and shock to see joel clumsily writing on the notepad from your bag. 

“betrayed me,” it says when he holds it up for you. 

“i know, joel,” you croak, tears filling your eyes once again, “i fucked up. i should’ve never come out here. i should’ve left you the fuck alone, like you wanted. i know, okay? you don’t have to rub it in. i can leave, for good, if that’s what you want.” joel waits a beat, his heart aching as your tears fall. he considers telling you to leave. 

“no,” he writes, “you need me.”

“i need you?” you ask, frowning, “the hell does that mean?”

“alone,” he points at you, “injured.” 

“but i betrayed you,” you cry, “i’m the reason your home was attacked and you had to kill those men– and that dog.” the image of the dog’s dead body flashes in your mind and a horrible sob is ripped from your throat. joel immediately takes you in his arms pulling you close to his chest. he shakes his head, rubbing your back. 

when you calm you down, your sobs easing out to small sniffles, joel pulls back and writes again.

“you forgive me. i forgive you.” his eyes are soft, begging you to understand him. with a shaky breath, you nod. 

“we should go to jackson,” you say. joel frowns, tilting his head in confusion. “it sounds like they have a lot of resources. i need a new home, you deserve a new home, and you deserve help. maybe they could help us.”

“help me?” joel writes.

“yeah,” you smile weakly, “maybe someone could help you get your memories and your speech back. would you like that?” joel shrugs. he’s spent so long living like this, the idea of change is terrifying. especially the prospect of uncovering his memories. he fears that they’re locked away for good reason. he doesn’t want to know what made him this why. but when he looks at the hope in your eyes, the care you still have for him after everything you’ve seen him do, it gives him a reason, for the first time in decades, to try and get better. 

joel sighs before nodding. he crawls over to the blanket, trying not to put too much pressure on his sore arm. he takes you gently in his arms, holding you close as he covers you with his body again. 

you wrap your arms around joel’s neck, pulling his head into your neck as you run your fingers up his scalp. joel presses a kiss to your neck, nuzzling his nose under your chin. 

“joel,” you whimper, feeling his crotch press against your own, “joel– stop.” he freezes, pulling back with a hurt look in his eyes. “let’s just lay here, okay? i can’t… not now.” joel nods, snuggling back down on top of you, being careful of your arm. 

his mind is all over the place, as is yours. both of you are in over your heads in uncharted territory in the attempt to try and stay together. maybe jackson will be the bastion that reconciles the distance between you. or the place that shows you that loneliness is the only thing binding you two together.

[creedslove]

HIS ✨

Post outbreak QZ era!Joel Miller x f!reader

DRABBLE ✨

Warnings: mentions of sex, kind of explicit really, idk I am horny tbh

A/N: idk besties, not my best but not my worst either 🤷‍♀️

619 words

That apartment in the QZ was disgusting, just like the rest of the world was; everything was dark, filthy and hopeless, but none of that seemed to matter when you were being pounded by Joel in that thin, old, uncomfortable mattress. Nothing mattered, as long as he had his arms holding you by your sides, moving them up from your hips until they got to your neck, he never squeezed it, but he held you in place, while his free calloused rough hand traveled from your back to your hair, tangling itself between your strands, a caress almost sweet amongst the explicit and obscene private show you two had going on there. The way he thrusted hard against your hips, his cock reaching even further into your slippery muscles, how you welcomed his size, squeezing him in a way that would earn you some of his grunts and quiet moans.

You were able to ignore all the ugliness around the two of you, it didn't matter if you caught the flash of FEDRA’s light reflector through the window, or if you heard someone screaming in horror or begging for help, at that moment, there were only two people in the world: you and Joel.

And during those moments, the world wasn't such a bad place, it was quite good because of you had him, that beastly of a man, that untamed and bitter guy who wouldn't open up to you, who would always keep himself a mystery, threatening and kicking and punching his way through life, or whatever was left of it. You would probably never admit it out loud how much you like Joel, and how many times you'd close your eyes and pretend you two were meant to be. How many times you'd wish relationships were still something that could work, that being attached to someone wasn't the stupidest idea one could possibly have. But at that moment he was yours, his body belonged to yours and whenever you felt his hot load inside, you felt complete. Smiling at him, all you could do was reach for a kiss, and Joel knew damn well how dangerous that was. Your affair had lasted far too long, he always went after you, meaning to break things up, with the intention to remind you that the world was meant for survival and only that, he always wanted to make you see you were way too young for him, too pretty, too good. There was still something good inside of you, there was still hope. Not for Joel, he was a bad man, he didn't understand why you were so fixated on him, and yet, whenever he saw you, your lips, your body, he couldn't resist you. He ended up night after night with you all over his bed, your scent being the only good thing around that horrible place he lived in but refused to call home.

“Mm Joel… that was amazing” your voice was a sweet purr as he felt your curling up into his chest, the way your lips gently placed themselves over his heart made him feel shivers down his spine. It was wrong, he didn't want that, he didn't agree with it, he knew the right thing would be over it as soon as possible, but he just couldn't resist you. You belonged to him, you were the only pretty thing he had in his life, maybe, and just maybe you were worthy all of it.

“Sleep baby girl, just sleep” he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around your body, pulling you closer and enjoying the calmness he found in you. You were the only thing that actually resembled happiness in that shitty apartment.

____

[reminaofthedust]

We meet again. (p1)

Joel miller x reader

Rating: sfw

word count: 1.8k

Summary: You meet Joel for the first time in Boston under unfortunate circumstances. And then you meet him again 6 years later in the last place you wanted him to be.

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Out of all the people in this bizzare world, Joel Miller was the last person you thought you'd see again.

You wiped and rewiped the glasses in a near-empty Tipsy Bison; they didn't need cleaning in the first place, but you had to see it to believe it. 

Sitting on a table across with Tommy, a little girl by his side—

Joel Miller.

In flesh and blood once again.

Last time you saw him, the only time you saw him was back in the QZ. That seemed like lifetimes ago.

You had moved to Jackson 2 years ago. Moved... well, not really the word you should use in your case, but that's how you preferred to begin your story.

You had heard of Joel Miller back in Boston. He and his partner Tess ran most of the illegal business in that zone. You had heard of him because you were familiar with the people he dealt with, people who had excess to things most people in the qz didn't. There you had decided you needed to find a way out of boston. To a place you had only heard being talked in vague terms. A place too good to be true The place you now know as Jackson.

The only encounter you had with Joel was when he caught you and your friend Samuel trying to escape. Grabbed you two by the collars and dragged you back; apparently the day of your jailbreak coincided with one of his shipment days. He didn't want any complications, so with a threat of violence, he sent the two of you your way. Apparently he was in his better moods; as your friend said, he was not shy of getting his hands bloody to get what he wanted and thankfully you two had came out of that encounter unscathed. Although that incident did set you back 5 years to get enough resources to attempt your escape again. With only a few things to your name and a pocket full of naive hope young people often possess, you and your friend Samuel set off to find El Dorado. and you struck gold.

Anyways, you made a third round of drying off all the mugs as you tried to listen in. You chided yourself for being snoopy but somepart of you had to know what he was doing here. You didn't get much, all of them leaning in the table made it hard to even read their lips. But you tried anyways. Joel's back to you, you scanned Tommy's face to gauge his reaction, the movement of his lips. 

As though suddenly aware that he was being watched, Tommy looked up from his brother and you two locked eyes. With a smile he called out your name, he was familiar with you, as most of the townsfolk were. You worked at the bar, you worked at the stable, anything to make yourself useful. So people knew you. 

You returned the smile and set to grab them coffee as he requested from the table. As you approached the table, you suddenly felt nervous. Setting the coffee down you turned to get back to your station but Tommy stopped you. 

"My brother Joel."

You felt four pair of eyes on you. 

"And this is Ellie."

You set your eyes on the girl, suddenly scared to meet the other one's. Because as soon as you did—you were 19 again, running away in the rain, a large hand on your back, a towering man before you with his jeans tucked in his rainboots—you stared at them the whole time he barked, threatening to hand you two over to FEDRA. 

You felt as though even now, if you looked at him in the eye, he would yell at you and send you back to Boston. It was silly.

Your nervousness must have translated on your face as Tommy began to speak in a reassuring tone, "They are good people." Joel scoffed at that, setting his eyes back on Tommy. You let go of your breath. Unconciously, you wiped the sweat off your forehead and tried to pass it off as heat that was bothering you. With a smile, you welcomed the two of them to Jackson.

"I work here Tuesdays and Fridays." You addressed mainly the girl named Ellie. "Come by; I usually have fresh seasonal extras left at the end of my shift."

Ellie instantly warmed up to that, "Cool." She turned to Joel like one would to her father, asking for permission. He gave an exasperated sigh and looked up at you. You froze, it felt as though your offer had caused him great discomfort and was now accusing you with his eyes. But he just shrugged after a moment and said, "Sure." The back of your ears started to itch again, as it often did when you were in an uncomfortable situation. You made a motion to get back to your work, and Tommy nodded.

As you went back to your work, you heard Tommy and Ellie discuss the mechanics of seasonal juicemaking, but the feeling of a set of eyes on you never left.

-

That evening you met Ellie again through Maria and learned quickly that the older women didn't quite like the man who accompanied the child. You didn't pry, nor did you say anything about having known Joel. You were already pretty terrified of him; even back in Boston before he caught you and Samuel, he had a real bad reputation, and you didn't think it would calm Maria down at all.

You gave Ellie freshly made orange juice and gauged her reaction as she drank quickly with both her hands on the glass, as if someone would steal it. Almost exactly how you also had reacted when you first took a sip. It endeared her to you.

"So?" you grinned.

"Pretty fucking fantastic!" she smiled, although her swearing did catch you off guard.

Maria looked over your shoulder. "Here they are..." she sighed. "You know what, I think I'll stay here with Ellie, help her with the way around here, you tend to the bar and the new arrival." she said the last two words with annoyance. You guessed who she was talking about.

The Miller brothers had a lot to catch up on, apparently. After the 4th round, even the older brother began to contribute to the conversation. You silently refilled their drinks, eyes scanning Joel whenever you could afford a glimpse. Which you didn't much, out of fear. childish fear, you scolded yourself. You are a grown woman acting this way, you're not that kid anymore. You repeated it whenever you felt Joel's gaze land on you, which happened more frequently now under the influence of alcohol. 

It felt strange. You were someone who liked to categorize things neatly, even in your head. Your life in the Boston QZ and life here in Jackson were two completely different phases, one you didn't like to mix up. Matter of fact, you hadn't thought about Boston at all since arriving here. It was as though for the first time you felt the borders of your neatly shelved life blur. You didn't like the feeling. You didn't want anyone to know of your life before.

You were so much in your head that you didn't even realize that the conversation had suddenly shifted to you. Your head jerked up as you heard your name—"...and with her friend Sam... two years ago... from, well, I think from the qz up north... hard worker, both of 'em." 

You pretended to be busy again when you realised Joel's eyes were on you as Tommy talked about you and Samuel, and gradually shifted to other close people in Jackson. Still his gaze persisted and you felt that familiar itch in the back of your ear.

Soon the bar emptied out. Maria did not return to the bar instead went to the kitchen via the backdoors. Your eyes scanned the room for Ellie. Gone, you noted. 

The two men finally made the move to settle in for the night, you felt your chest lighten insantly as they both made their way to the door, not before Tommy giving you a polite nod goodnight. Joel however moved straight ahead to the door much to your relief. 

Before closing up you went back to check in on Maria. She was untying her apron when she noticed your presence "I'll close up don't worry. Sorry for giving you the heavier work today. I still don't know how to feel about that guy." You nodded understandingly but still offered to close up with her and walk back home together. She protested but soon gave up when she realised you wouldn't budge. 

You returned to the bar to grab your stuff but as soon as your eyes lifted off the floor you gasped— "GOD-" you clutched your heart, now beating like a drum at the sight of the man standing across the counter. Your reaction was mainly of being caught off guard but upon registering who the man was it did not help your case and you hoped it did not show on your face.

If Joel took offense at your reaction he didn't show it. Instead he grabbed the jacket on the barstool he sat on earlier with his brother. "Forgot it." He said before turning to the door.

You blinked a few times, unsure if you should move now. 

He stopped mid-track. He shook his head before he turned around again, as though the action disappointed him greatly. He marched back to the counter and looked at you straight in the eye. You felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to look away. 

"I know you," he said, low. Like a secret shared between the two of you. 

Your jaw tightened as you gulped, mouth suddenly dry. 

"'least, I think I do." He said now, looking away, as if ashamed of the surety he claimed earlier.

It didn't take him too long to connect the dots. He was old, but he was not stupid. 

"Boston." That's all he said, and you felt the ground shake beneath you. You managed a nod; no point hiding it now.

His frown deepened as he looked you up and down. Your hands grabbed the edges of your shirt, twisting it nervously as you saw him, actually saw him. 

Joel Miller. Oh how scared you were of his name. How scared everyone was of him. You wished samuel was here to share your fears with, but he was out on daylong patrol.

"You told Tommy you're from up north." He recalled his brother's words.

"Yes, me and sam—"

"So you lied." He cut you off, and you felt your heart rate spike.

"I didn't- we were vague yes but—" you tried to defend yourself despite every part of your brain telling you to shut the fuck up. The backdoor behind you slammed open as Maria came into view.

"What's going on?" She asked, looking back and forth between you and Joel.

"Forgot my jacket." Joel grumbled, suddenly remembering what he was here for in the first place. Giving you a quick glance, he turned back and went out into the night.

Maria shook her head as his figure disappeared. "He bothers you, you come straight to me."

 You wished for morning to come. You had to see Sam now.

[covetyou]

something wretched about this

Welcome to SWAT! The Kinktober inspired mini-series that grew legs and ran away from me. Each fic in the main series follows a specific kink, as listed below, plus a finale chapter to put the cherry on top.

Full list of warnings and themes can be found in each part, so please heed those before diving in.

If you prefer, you can also read along on ao3.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) series warnings: no use of y/n, dubious consent due to power imbalance and paying off a debt, post-outbreak in Boston QZ. series summary: Your father has been sick since before the world went to shit, but being sick now just made things even harder. Ration cards were few and far between, and the pills to keep him comfortable were even scarcer. When he can't pay up, what lengths will you go to to protect your entire world? Featuring Joel Miller; self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer and total, utter slut.

✨ = new

kinktober 2023 series

the best of the world in the palm of our hands - pussy spanking

my bright future's behind me - anal sex

the dark caress of someone else - threesome - Joel/Reader/Tess

open hand or closed fist would be fine - vaginal fisting

the best of you, honey, belongs to me

oneshots and drabbles

honey, you're familiar - Tess x reader - prequel

when we begin again - oral, come marking

no shortage of sordid - degredation - Joel x m!OC, Joel x reader

sweet as cherry wine - period sex

you all the way down - face sitting

✨nothing left to prove - voyerism, cucking

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

check out the something wretched rec list for more fics exploring these kinks

[penvisions]

dev's navigation {hello and welcome!}

dev / pen || 30's || she / they || cat mom || mobility impaired || undergrad student || pastry goddess || pedro lover

i am an adult, writing about adult things even if there is no smut content (there is, don't worry) so my blog and little corner of the internet is strictly 18+ || angst royalty

current wips:

gone to the dogs {qz! joel miller x reader}

services requested {older! joel miller x sugar momma! reader}

black hole sun {joel miller through the ages x f! reader}

on hiatus / now complete:

of beskar and kyber {din djarin x force sensitive! reader}

stages of devotion {younger! joel miller x baker! reader}

recent one shots / drabbles:

can't, won't {joel miller x f! reader}

one morning {joel miller fix it}

one trail or another {din djarin x reader}

bear my weight {qz! joel miller x disabled! reader}

upcoming fics:

buckles and barley {rancher! jack daniels x ranch hand! reader}

in search of honor {hunter! din djarin x sacrifice! reader}

manners are important {clint flood x reader}

work conduct {dave york x coworker! reader}

-> main masterlist || joel miller masterlist || drabble masterlist || frankie morales masterlist || ao3 link || ko-fi

hopefully you find something that you enjoy and thank you for being here! hope the days are good to you and feel free to reach out to chat, my dms and inbox are always open for anything, loves ♡

dividers by the lovely @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[arcanefox207]

My name is Ally (She/her) and I am 30 something living in New England. Welcome to my corner of the internet where I write smut, make gifs and thirst over Pedro Pascal. My inbox is always open, and please feel free to message me on here or discord anytime. I am a shy introvert that is usually just scared to make the first move.

A03 | BlueSky | Discord Arcane.Fox 💟 @arcanefoxfics (Fic Notifs) 💟 @arcanefoxgifs (Gif Notifs)

Coming Soon -- Legion (Dark!Acacius & Fallout Series) Coming Soon -- The Wolf You Feed Chapter 7 3/24/25 -- Don't Make Me Ask Again (DBF!Joel) 3/13/25 -- The Wolf You Feed Chapter 6 1/3/25 -- The Warden (GameWarden!Joel)

The Wolf You Feed (series) UPDATED 3/13/25 Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Don't Make Me Ask Again (2.2k) NEW 3/24/25 Teasing your dad’s friend has its consequences. (A filthy PWP for your merriment)

The Warden (3.8k) Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

See How She Rides (4.4k) BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun.

Relax, Miller. (1k) QZ!Joel Miller In the Boston Quarantine Zone, you and Joel both find a way to get what you want.

The Golden Hour (2.1k) On a crisp, autumn morning in the Boston QZ, you wake up in Joel Miller's bed and indulge each other during the golden hour.

Legion (mini-series) COMING SOON! Caesar’s Legion is invading the Mojave Wasteland in the year 2281. After your unfortunate run in with their horrific atrocities, a high ranking legionary (Acacius) spares you for one sole purpose. Your lives are forever changed once your destinies intertwine and Acacius loses his way. Dark!Acacius & Fallout Crossover

If you are here for the gifs, you can follow my gif update blog @arcanefoxgifs and turn on notifications for updates on the latest sets only.

Gif requests are OPEN (drop me a message) 🩶

All my gifs are free to use and enjoy as you please. Credit is appreciated always but not required 🩶