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shirks-all-responsibilities · 2 years ago

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Oh MY, OH MYYYYYYYY...this is one of those fics that imprints on your mind long after you finish reading it. Ever since I read it earlier this week I have been trying to figure out how to express how PERFECT it is. It's written so damn flawlessly, drawing me in instantly and never letting me go, the little moments of explanation or introspection spaced so well and just right, the melancholy saturating everything and sticking with me for so long after...

How you make it so clear in so many ways how much they are a respite, a refuge, a solace for each other. The way the misery and unrelenting bleakness of their world permeates everything, how damaged they are from their pasts, the way that the little you reveal about their nightmares is enough to imply in shorthand the sheer hell these two have each been through in this world, how they just can't quite acknowledge what they are to each other, can't let something be good, can't risk heartbreak or loss again. My heart just breaks for them, and you wrote it so beautifully, so true to life.

And then we get to SOFT DOM JOEL. OK listen, the tenor and tone and EVERYTHING about your Joel here is WHAT I DREAM OF. IT IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR with him. It is absofuckinlutely PERFECT and I don't even know how to fully explain it. It's what I am always ravenously looking for in fic, and anytime I see it I am immediately BESOTTED for the writer, forever grateful to have another tonally-spot-on piece featuring power dynamics with such maturity and trust and care at their base. And everything is further deepened, the edges further tattered, by the ANGST surrounding everything, my heart!

Joel's gentle dominance is just PART of him, it's effortless, innate, and paired with his whole needing to lead and protect vibe and the little details you include that suffuse everything with care, tenderness, awe, and trust, it all coalesces into something so hot I was completely MELTING into the vibes of it. The way that he unintentionally positions himself on her, how quickly it shifts and they each fall into place so naturally???? That paragraph about how it feels to relax into that profound trust for this man was some exquisitely subby goodness???? The way you write about the female gaze all over this man, how that feels?? Everything that is wrapped up into that simple "I KNOW"??????? Knowing how much everything means to them but it's all shaded in denial? Every sentence was as perfect as the one before, every little choice you made, I just can't get over it. Mmmmm I want nothing more than to live in this fic, angst and all, GIMME ITTTTT.

One of my favorite things was that fresh twist on praise kink talk...how while Joel is verbally praising her, she's so blissed out that the only remnant of his words and intent floating into her conscious awareness is the deep, tonal, sensory rumble of his VOICE, how her imagination runs with it? Godddd I love that!!

Anyways, you shoulda seen me reading this fic, I was so completely absorbed and freaking the f out that I finally landed on the tone I've been looking for! I could just keep going on and on and on and on but would end up quoting the entire fic back to you verbatim, so I shall leave it there but hope I conveyed a tiny morsel of the delicious meal this fic is and thank youuuuuuu so much for writing and sharing it! 💖💖💖

— renegade

joel miller x f!reader

rated E - 3k words

tags - light angst, established situationship, nightmares, mutual yearning, lots of pretending, soft!dom Joel, restraints, face fucking, fingering, PiV

a/n - inspired by ‘renegade’ by big red machine

“Is this why you’re here?” Joel asks you, shifting his hips, pushing himself deeper into your fist. His voice rough with sleep, the sound making you squirm behind him.

It was easy to pretend it was.

That it was just physical. Fucking the nightmares from your head - that it could be anyone else burying themselves inside you, and the outcome would be the same.

You sleep better here. Anything is better than a night spent alone in the room that isn’t yours, and never will be. Nightmares find you there - seeking out your sorrow, draining you dry.

When it becomes too much, as it often does, you go to him. Going out into the night, slipping like a ghost into the shadows.

Finding the familiar way to inside - finally able to breathe again when the window slides shut with a click. When you’re curled in his bed, the blankets pulled over you like a shield.

It will get you shot, one day. Sneaking in like this. With anyone else you might have been already - but not with Joel.

You think he doesn’t really mind your nightly visits. The way he keeps the crates stacked just so, beneath the fire escape.

How he only locks one side of the window after you leave - the other just out of the reach of your knife, when you wiggle the latch open from the outside.

It smells like him - these faded, patterned sheets. Ones he’d never pick out for himself, in another life.

Before.

Ones that you can’t imagine him not having, because this is the only way you know him.

The familiarity soothes you, even though he’s not here. Exhaustion starting to weigh you down, starting at the tips of your limbs and curling around you like vines.

Eyelids growing heavy, listening to the rain that’s just begun to sprinkle down. Drowning out the stomping rows of boots outside - a white noise that lulls you to sleep.

This time - you don’t dream.

———

He almost missed that you’re here. The sound of your breathing, the little hitches of breath while you sleep, engulfed by the downpour.

Only seeing the lump in the blankets as he sheds his rain-stained coat, the canvas soaked-though at the shoulders.

A mark deepening between his brows as he glances at your form - the jacket and pants thrown over the broken radiator. Moving to the window, flipping the latch on the left side back into place.

You’re slippery. Squeezing through cracks. Worming your way into his room and under the hardened armor of his skin.

For anyone else, this layer you’ve peeled back and crawled beneath would be no more than surface-level. An acquaintance, perhaps.

But with Joel, it’s so much more. It makes his skin itch, as if it was flayed back - exposed and raw.

Uncomfortable. But not unwelcome.

He hadn’t seen you today - the silent check he does. Just needing a glance of your hair, your shape in the crowd. It’s enough, a second in the long minutes and hours that make up his day.

It’s a small relief, a fresh breath of air he didn’t know he needed.

Silently, he strips down. Clothes folded on a chair with chipped paint - someone old DIY gone wrong. Looking like The End had already hit, years before it did.

A hand running through his hair, pushing the damp strands back, padding over to the edge of the bed.

“Come on, honey.” His words hold a softness that doesn’t exist when the sun is shining - a moment he knows you won’t remember.

Gently easing you over, so he can fit himself in behind you. Curling into your warmth, the blankets tucked back around you both.

The frown easing from his face when you murmur - face burrowing into the pillow, fingers brushing against the arm that wraps around your ribs. The hand that flattens against your stomach.

His name, no more than sleepy murmur, as you get comfortable again.

“Joel.”

He wonders if you’re dreaming about him.

He wonders if he’ll dream about you.

———

He’s solid, strong back and broad-shouldered. Shifting in the night to face away from you, as he often did. For comfort or another attempt to keep others out - a literal barrier - you’ll never know. Your chest presses against his spine, an arm curling around his waist.

Your eyes crack open. It’s still dark out, the sky just starting to streak with grey. You hadn’t slept long but you had slept soundly - the best you’ve had in days.

The tip of your nose brushes against the cotton of his shirt. Shifting so you can move higher, so it can skim against the base of his neck, instead. Press into the soft hair that curls - smelling like rain and sweat and him.

Your fingers trace the cotton at his hip, skim across the elastic waistline of his boxers. It had been over two weeks since you had last caved - had last come here.

It had been a good run. But the nightmares had come back - flashes of your past that you can’t bear to relive.

He shields you from them. Waking easily at the first sound of your muttering - his hand curling around your shoulder, low voice pulling you back out.

You know he understands. How he talks in his sleep as well, how you do the same for him. An unspoken agreement.

He shifts, against you. Only the slightest change in his breathing - he can wake from a dead sleep in an instant.

A hand, warm and calloused, finding yours as it brushes the strip of bare skin where his shirt has ridden up.

Dragging your hand down, to where he strains against the fabric. The pressure of his fingers curling yours around his length as he groans.

His hand leaves yours to tug down the waistband, removing the barrier between your palm and his hot, bare skin. Pushing them down his thighs, kicking them off to twist in the blankets.

The tip of your thumb brushes over the head, smearing precum over the tip. Air hisses between clenched teeth as he inhales, as you press yourself closer, crushing yourself against him as your arm pumps.

“Is this why you’re here?” Joel asks you, shifting his hips, pushing himself deeper into your fist. His voice rough with sleep, the sound making you squirm behind him.

It was easy to pretend it was.

That he didn’t go to bed hard, like this - the only thing keeping him from waking you up was knowing how much you needed the sleep.

That it was just physical. Fucking the nightmares from your head - that it could be anyone else burying themselves inside you, and the outcome would be the same.

It’s a lie, though. You both know it.

He’s the only one you go to. You’re the only one he’s let in.

You hum your response, trying to peek over the bulk of his shoulder. To watch him fucking your hand, skin sliding against skin.

Lips press against his neck again and he shudders. Moving your hand from him, twisting in your grip until you’re trapped beneath the spread of thick thighs.

The heavy jut of his flushed cock swaying, as he adjusts himself on top of you. Leaving a damp patch smeared across your breast, as he takes himself in his hand again.

He hasn’t meant to end up quite like this.

Had just wanted you warm and soft beneath him. Moving up too high on your waist on accident - still hazy with sleep - ending up with your arms pinned against your sides.

Making to move, until he sees the way you’re focused on his hand, your lips parting. Showing off a pink flash of tongue. Fingers gripping on to his ankles - the only part of him you can reach - nails digging in.

“You want this?” He asks, stroking himself - his fist fitting in the valley between your breasts. His other hand cupping his sack, squeezing.

Leaving you to watch the flex of his forearm, the flushed tip appearing between thumb and forefinger. Nodding, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips.

“Ask me for it.” It’s not a request, his head tilting as your hands tighten around him.

As he angles his cock down, shifting until it’s hovering, just out of reach. Your chin lifts, mouth opening as your eyes fix on his.

Joel’s jaw grits. You can see the heave of his chest, the hand cupping himself dropping to the curve of your breast. Thumb rolling over the tight bud - the sensation dulled by your thin top, but it’s him and your body still sings.

You crack first.

“Wanna taste you.” Your eyes are still on him, can see the way he swallows hard, how he shifts over you.

“Fuck, baby.” He growls. The hand around his cock drops to curl around the back of your neck, twisting in your hair to angle you.

All while he moves forward, pressing himself against the flat of your tongue. Where you’re open and waiting for the weight of his cock, to taste the salt of his skin and the drop that still clings to the tip.

Wet and aching for him already - a dull thudding between your thighs, where they press and rub together.

You groan, as he inches inside. Lips wrapping around and sucking, causing him to hiss out a breath, his hips hitching.

Nudging him a little too deep, as you cough - tears springing to your eyes. He shifts back with soothing words, the hand on your breast moving to cup your jaw - thumb rubbing against your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” There’s a pinch to his brow, your head shaking minutely to tell him it’s fine. A second, as he thinks, “Tap my leg if it’s too much. You got that?”

He waits for you to listen, giving an experimental tap. Before he tries again - hips rocking, a slow and shallow press into your mouth.

You take him, relaxing into the cup of his hand. Eyes wandering across his stomach, chest - whatever you can see when he draws back. Closing, so you can listen to the groans that reverberate in his chest. Letting him use you, to fuck your mouth - trusting him, putting yourself in his hands.

A hand that flexes and twists in your hair. His thumb of the other sweeping against your cheekbone, the hollow under your eye - brushing away the tear that glistens against your skin.

So tender it makes your chest ache. Fingers curling against his leg, squeezing. He’s pulling himself from you, then - out of the warmth of your mouth, as you swallow.

Trying to protest that it wasn’t the signal, your lips glossy and shining. He’s shifting back, nudging your thighs wide to fit between them. Lowering himself down, his cock wet and thick and digging into your hip.

“I know.” He murmurs. Before his mouth presses to yours, the kiss sloppy. Tongue brushing where his cock had been, as he tugs at the waistband of your underwear.

Dragging them down to join his, fingers dipping between your thighs. Groaning into your mouth when he feels how wet you are from sucking him off, the tips pressing and circling against your clit.

You whine his name, the stubble on his cheek scraping against your skin. Breath hot in your ear as his weight pins you down. Thumb smearing your slick across your clit, so he can fit a finger inside.

You’re tight, molten hot. Gripping him already as you arch into him, as he slips in another. Curling them until they drag against a spot that makes you moan - strung tight beneath him.

He need to calm down, make you come, before he fucks you. A pressure swiftly building in his belly when he watched you, the trust in the way you took him.

The sound of his fingers is loud, the wet suck as he fits in a third. Stretching you out, each of your breaths harsh, your nails biting into his skin.

Already so needy, already near the edge. Each of your breaths coming shorter as his hips press against yours. Letting your fingers drift to feel the hard curve of his cock, hearing his grunt in your ear when you tug on him.

“Don’t worry about me.” He groans, voice rough before his lips press against the column of your neck.

As if you ever weren’t.

As if you didn’t always want him.

His words were unneeded, because you’re losing concentration quickly. Only focused on the tension in your belly - the pressure like a finger squeezing down the trigger, about to fire.

He’s relentless, fingers pounding, the wet flick of his thumb. Feeling your racing pulse beneath his lips, the sharp gasp of each breath, your muscles flexing.

Tightening around him until that tension snaps. Pleasure thrumming through you as you buck into his hand, your mind going blissfully blank and fuzzy - your moan strung out and pitched high.

Missing his words, feeling the brush of his other hand over your legs, smoothing over your hips. You can just make out the timbre, leaving you to imagine the rest.

Christ, just like that.

Good fucking girl.

Fingers slow as he pushes himself up, only removing them to tug at your shirt - pulling his own from his shoulders.

Folding himself between your limp, spread thighs, before hooking his elbows under your knees. Opening you up, where you’re soaked and the fluttering is still ebbing.

The twist of his wrist as he lines himself up - smearing his tip across your slit. The briefest tease, indulgence, before he slides in. Sinking inside of your tight heat in a long, fluid motion.

“Fuck, I missed you.” You breathe, brow pinched as he fills a chasm you didn’t realize you had.

His breath comes out ragged.

It’s not in the script. The words you both know. No, this had come from the soft pulp of your heart, a late night confession.

He doesn’t know how to take it. Mouth crushing against yours as he sinks deeper, swallowing your words to keep them safe.

Trying not to think about how his own answer had sprung to his lips, unbidden. It’s dangerous. To think like that, to have any sort of claim on anything, now.

It’s easier to pretend you just miss his cock.

That you just came here to forget.

That’s something he can do - drawing his hips back, snapping back in. Watching the way your tits bounce, everything softened and hazy with the thin grey light that creeps in.

Shifting, lifting a leg to brace on his shoulder, pushing him deeper as you gasp. The other pressing against his ribs, curling around his waist.

Freeing up his arms so he can taste your release on his fingertips. Licking you from him before he presses the calloused pads against your own mouth.

You take him, tongue curling around spit-slicked fingers. Tasting yourself on them, your sighs muffled when he presses down on your tongue.

Thumb dragging against your lower lip, before he pulls himself from the heat of your pretty mouth. Finding his way to where you take him, tracing slick fingers up your slit. Feeling where you’re stretched wide around him, puffy and slick.

Teasing at your clit - as your hands clench in the sheets, twisted up near your ears.

In a world where the right protection can mean life or death - where a bite can end everything - it’s a wonder how you bare yourself to him. His hand ghosting across soft skin, from breasts to hip. Fingertips indenting flesh, gripping, pulling, tugging.

Watching with greedy eyes how you gaze up at him, an ankle digging into his shoulder - trying to force him deeper. He leans forward, putting more force behind his thrusts, watching the way your lips part with a soft “ah!” with every breath.

Fingers pressing and swiping against the tight bud of your clit, the way he knows you like it.

He needed this too - to bury himself in you. Feel the way you wrap tight and warm around him. His own tongue loosened like this, his own release building again.

“Christ, look at you.” He grits out.

Admiring. It makes you preen, lips stretched wide in a grin, a bright flash of teeth in the dark. Eyes half-lidded and heavy, doing your own slow sweep.

Over a tight waist that your leg hooks around. Bare stomach and broad chest, dusted with dark hair, only the slightest hint of grey. Not like the strands at his temples, the ones that streak throughout the curls. Peppering his facial hair.

Ruining you again. It had been a long time since you wanted something, and you can’t get him out of your head. Always coming back, even though you’re sure it won’t end well.

Because nothing does, any more.

You won’t let your soft heart ruin tonight. Not when his thumb sweeps across your hip. His eyes dark and glittering as he watches your face, as he works you up again.

The sharp rut of his cock and swirl of his fingers so perfect, that the tears start to well up, again.

“Joel,” You say his name again, “F-fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You felt like heaven on his fingers - tight and hot and sopping wet for him. It doesn’t hold a candle to now, how you squirm beneath him, the slap of his skin against yours.

The snug fit of your cunt, as you clench around him.

“Want you to.” He rasps out, resisting the urge to fuck you harder, faster. Keeping the same pace, the same circle of his fingers, “Let me feel you, baby.”

Need you to.

You come with a cry. Back bowing against the mattress, limb wrapping around him. Turning his thrusts into a sloppy grind, your hands coming to grip at his forearms. The waves crashing over you stronger and longer than before, your vision turning dark and hazy.

“Fuck. Fuck-” He growls - as the tight pulse pulls him to the edge.

It’s too much.

It’s all he can think about, as he pulls himself from you. Fisting his cock, jerking himself until he spills across your mound, your slick pussy.

How he wishes he could have stay buried, throbbing inside you, coating your walls with his release. Marking you, only pulling out so he can watch it leak from you later.

The word echos in his ears, layered with the thudding of his heart.

Dangerous.

———

You’re gone, when he wakes up.

The hazy morning sun is just barely casting warm rays of light onto the worn wooden floorboards as he drags himself from bed - a hand passing over his face, pressing into his eyes.

Pushing himself up, making his way over to the window.

But there’s nothing - just puddles collecting in the broken ridges of the roads. The streets washed clean from the rain.

Fingers drift, tracing up the cool frame of the window, until it’s touching the chipped white paint of the latch. Lost in thought for a long moment - before his hand drops back down to the sill.

He leaves the right side unlocked.

thank you so much for reading! 💕

#god tier soft!dom joel #with achingly beautiful angst #perfection #i can't get over #this characterization #p-e-r-f-e-c-t #would do literally anything for this man #this SMUT tho #this WRITING tho #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #ficrec #my heart

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