#joel miller x f!reader masterlist

[theetherealbloom]

It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces

Summary: There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ HEAVY ANGST, Fluff, Crying, Tears, Sadness, Apocalypse, Cordyceps, Infected, Major Character Death(s), Funerals, Grief, PTSD, Depression, Kissing, Blood, Morgue, Star-Crossed Lovers, TLOU 2 Spoilers,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Fml. I know that you know I don’t usually write angst, but fuck man, I need to mourn and maybe so do you… God I'm so sad. Like we knew the story and how it would end for Joel. Even if you think you're ready... But I know this from experience, even if you've braced yourself, brutality like this... will hurt a lot.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Still by Noah Kahan

Joel Miller Masterlist | MAIN MASTERLIST |

WYOMING, JACKSON — 2029

The mornings were slow in Jackson. Slow in a way that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t living in the end times anymore.

Joel had a habit of waking up before you. Not out of routine or discipline, but out of muscle memory. The kind that sticks even when the world’s long since changed.

Sometimes, he made coffee. Sometimes, he just sat at the table, plucking at his guitar in soft, incomplete chords while the sun started to push through the windows. The house you shared wasn’t big or fancy. But it was warm. It was quiet. It had his coat always draped over the same chair, his boots by the door, the scent of cedar and pine from the little woodworking studio in one of the rooms.

It had Joel.

You found yourself drifting toward him more often than not. Whether he was sanding a piece of maple or trying to shape a leg for a rocking chair he swore he’d finish someday, he let you linger. You’d sit on the bench next to him, fingers curled around a warm mug. He’d hand you scraps to practice carving, smiling softly when you accidentally broke off a corner.

“‘S alright,” he’d murmur, brushing sawdust off your cheek with a thumb. “Takes time.”

Everything with Joel took time.

Loving him. Learning him. Earning the space between his heart and the pain he never quite put into words.

But the quiet in Jackson gave you time. Time to laugh with him over burned dinners, to slow dance in the kitchen when he played a familiar tune, to lay on the couch with your head on his chest while he told you about old country songs and the guitar he lost in Austin.

And it gave him time, too.

Time to lower his walls. To see you not as a danger, but as something steady—something soft he could rest in. Time to share pieces of himself he rarely offered to anyone, fragile corners he'd kept locked away.

He would look at you and think, If I were braver. If I could just say it.

He’d imagine the words on his tongue, how they’d change everything the second they left his mouth. But he wasn’t ready—not brave enough, not honest enough.

So he just looked at you instead.

And maybe you knew. Maybe you always knew.

Because he did love you.

In quiet, consistent ways. In the way he made your coffee just how you liked it. In the way he memorized the sound of your laugh. In every glance, every softened breath, every moment where he didn’t walk away.

He didn’t love you because he was lonely—Joel had long since learned how to survive in the silence.

He loved you because your light made the dark seem less like a prison and more like a place he could leave behind.

It started small.

A found thing—half-buried in the snow behind the stables. You’d been looking for spare nails in a busted old toolbox when you saw it: a film camera. Dusty, scratched up, but the click still worked. You brought it back like a prize.

Joel looked up from the guitar he was restringing, brow furrowed. “You went diggin’ around in that old junkyard again?”

You grinned, breath fogging the air. “Found treasure.”

He squinted at the thing in your hand like it might bite him. “You sure that ain’t just some broken plastic?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched you tinker with it all afternoon, wiping the lens clean with your sleeve, warming the roll of film between your palms to bring it back to life. You caught him staring more than once—chin propped in his hand, fingers idle on the frets of a guitar he’d been meaning to finish tuning.

When it finally worked, you snapped a picture of the sunset from your porch. Then one of his back as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, calloused hands steady over the worn wood.

You took one of his profile too. He’d been humming low under his breath, unaware.

“Hey,” he said, catching the click. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re handsome when you’re focused.”

He huffed a laugh, but he didn’t stop you when you raised the camera again.

Later that week, you asked him for one together.

“C’mere,” you said, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Just one. You might like the memory someday.”

He looked reluctant, like the idea of being frozen in time made him itch. But he let you lead him into the light. You kissed him on the cheek just as the timer clicked. He smiled, wide and surprised and real.

The photo came out a little blurry. But your mouth was pressed to his skin, his eyes crinkled with something close to joy. You kept it in your coat pocket like it might keep you warm.

Sometimes, he came into the kitchen just to touch you.

No reason. No words. Just drawn to you like muscle memory.

You’d be standing at the counter, elbow-deep in something mundane—rinsing mugs, slicing vegetables, stirring whatever was bubbling in the pot—when suddenly there’d be a shift in the air behind you. A warmth. A quiet presence.

Then, Joel’s arms would wind around your waist, firm and steady, palms pressing low on your stomach, right through the thin fabric of your shirt. His chest would settle against your back like it belonged there, like you were meant to carry each other’s weight.

“You makin’ somethin’ good?” he’d mumble into your hair, voice rough with sleep or fresh air or maybe just the softness you always brought out of him.

You barely had time to answer before you’d feel it—his nose brushing just beneath your ear, his scruff scratching tender against your neck. The kind of touch that made the air feel thick with heat and memory.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he whispered one evening, lips grazing the spot where your jaw met your throat.

You stilled, blinking down at the spoon in your hand. “You been sniffin’ me, Miller?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, slow and sweet, like molasses in summer. “You’re intoxicatin’, darlin’. Makes a man forget what he came in here for.”

His mouth followed the curve of your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse. Slow. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

You laughed then, breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. Just a soft, breathless sound that filled the space between your bodies as you leaned back into him, hips settling against his.

The laughter didn’t last long. It never did when his hands started to move—one curling around your hip, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the sink, forgotten.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and whispered, “The stew’s gonna burn.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling just enough to be trouble.

“Let it.”

One night, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

It was late, storm tapping at the windows, fire burning low. You were tucked beneath his arm on the couch, legs over his lap, your hand tucked into the worn flannel of his shirt. He kissed you once, then again, then a hundred more times.

Short, sweet little things.

He kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. You giggled, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling.

“Joel,” you whispered, nose scrunched, lips twitching. “What are you doing?”

His palms cradled your face like you were something delicate. Like he’d break if he didn’t touch you just right.

“Memorizing you,” he said. Then he kissed the giggle right off your lips.

Your hands curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, lips sliding together like they belonged there.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice came out low and honest, barely above a breath:

“You’re everythin’ darlin’.”

He didn’t say he loved you.

Not with words.

But in every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every photo you took that he let you keep—he showed you.

And somehow, that meant more.

Love shows up in the quiet moments with Joel. Always has been.

Not in grand declarations or fireworks. Not in promises whispered beneath starlight or etched into stone. No, with Joel, love slips in softly—through the cracks of everyday life, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence he lets you share without needing to fill it. It’s there when the world is loud, and he chooses to be quiet with you. When everything aches and he doesn’t try to fix it—just stays.

It’s the way your hand always finds his, especially when he’s got that look about him—brows drawn low, eyes shadowed, body still as a storm about to break. You’ve come to know it well, that kind of tension that settles in his shoulders like he’s bracing against something only he can see. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace, but like he’s waiting to run or fight or fall apart.

So you reach for him.

You don’t announce it, don’t make a show of it. Just slide your hand into his, palm against his rough calloused skin, fingers curling between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. Because you’ve done this before, countless times. Every time the ghosts get too loud or the silence feels too sharp. You hold his hand and he lets you, and that’s how you know—how you always know—he’s letting you in again.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just breathes out slow, like your touch takes some of the weight off, even if it’s just a fraction. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop a little. You can feel it—the shift, the surrender, the trust.

“Y’okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it could be mistaken for wind slipping through the seams of the old house, rustling the curtains just enough to remind you that the world is still turning outside these walls.

Joel looks at you. Not a glance. A real look. The kind that lingers. The kind that says more than words ever could. His eyes are tired, but there’s something else there too—something quieter, gentler, something that only ever surfaces around you.

His thumb moves in a slow arc across your knuckles, and when he answers, it’s not just with words. It’s in the way his grip tightens slightly, not desperate, just present.

“I am now,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. Like maybe he’s been holding it in all day, maybe even longer. Like your hand in his unlocked something he didn’t know he needed to say.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You lean into him instead, resting your head on his shoulder, letting the weight of you press gently against him like a tether. Like a promise. His arm slips around you, steady and sure, palm settling at your hip. He presses a kiss into your hair—right at the crown of your head, like a seal, like a prayer, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.

The room around you is quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire. Outside, snow falls soundlessly, blanketing the world in soft white. And inside, it’s warm. Not just from the fire—but from him. From this.

From the way he holds you like you’re something he never thought he’d have again. Like the simple act of your hand in his might keep the darkness at bay for one more night.

With Joel, love doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

It just stays.

And that’s always been more than enough.

The mornings are always slow.

Time feels syrup-thick when the sun hasn’t fully crested the horizon yet, and sleep still clings to your limbs like molasses. Your body is heavy, cocooned in the tangle of sheets still warm from the man who slept beside you. The air is cool beyond the bed, but the mattress holds the echo of his heat, and it makes you reluctant to move, even as your senses start to stretch awake.

You shift lazily, one arm reaching across the bed to where Joel had been moments ago. It’s empty now, his absence a soft dip in the mattress, but the scent of him lingers—cedarwood, a trace of leather, the faint hint of salt and earth from yesterday’s long walk back into Jackson. Comforting. Familiar.

You pry one eye open, squinting into the low light. Joel’s already sitting at the edge of the bed, the muscles of his back broad and bare, catching a gentle glint from the early morning haze seeping in through the window. He’s halfway through pulling on his shirt, slow and steady, the way he always is in the mornings. A quiet man doing quiet things.

Without thinking, without even fully waking, your hand slips out from beneath the covers and finds him.

Your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist—barely a tug, just enough to let him know you’re there, still tethered to him. And then you shift closer, burying your face against the small of his back, pressing a soft, languid kiss to the warm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Mmm... good mornin’, Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, muffled by the skin beneath your lips.

He pauses. Still for a moment, like the warmth of your kiss stopped time. Then he breathes out, slow and fond, and turns slightly—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, soft with affection, and that familiar crooked smile curves beneath the rough scruff of his jaw.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey, warm enough to melt straight through your bones.

You hum in response, already halfway to sleep again, forehead resting against his back. The bed creaks softly as he shifts, brushing his hand over your tangled hair in a slow, affectionate stroke. His thumb lingers at your temple, then trails down to the curve of your cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Go on,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss into your hair. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

You don’t answer, not really. Just let out a sigh that sounds like peace and contentment all wrapped into one. He stands slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the blankets more than necessary, and as he moves toward the hearth, you stay curled in the warmth he left behind—your hand resting in the space where his had been, eyes slipping closed again.

You listen to the familiar rhythm of him moving through the room—boots being tugged on, the scrape of kindling, the gentle snap of a match. The softest clink of metal on stone. And through it all, the quiet knowledge that this is what love is.

Not always words. Not always fire and thunder.

But this.

These mornings. These moments. Him.

Sometimes, when the world gets too loud—even in Jackson—you find yourself gravitating toward him without a thought.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the bustle of the market, the chatter of passing patrols, or just the quiet hum of a too-long day catching up with your bones. Something in your chest tightens, overwhelmed and aching for something quieter, something still. And so you find Joel.

He’s usually somewhere close—he always is. Maybe talking with Tommy, maybe checking the perimeter, maybe just standing there with his arms crossed like he’s holding up the whole damn sky on his back again. But the moment your arms circle around his middle, everything else seems to fall away.

You press yourself into him, chest to his back, arms around his waist, and your face buries instinctively in the crook of his neck. That space between shoulder and jaw where you swear the whole world could stop and you wouldn’t mind. The smell of him hits you instantly—faint cedarwood, worn leather, a trace of smoke from the fire pit, and something else too. Something warm and steady and Joel.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away or ask what’s wrong. He just lets out a quiet hum, low in his chest, and leans back into your touch. His hands find yours where they’re linked around his stomach, thumbs brushing idly over your knuckles. You feel the weight of his chin as he rests it gently on top of your head, and then the press of a kiss into your hair—soft, unthinking, like muscle memory.

It’s the kind of affection that doesn’t ask for attention. Doesn’t need an occasion. It just is.

You breathe him in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. Let your eyes flutter shut. Let the rest of the world blur into background noise.

“I missed this,” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, the words barely more than a sigh. You don’t even mean the moment, exactly—you mean the peace of it. The quiet. The him of it all.

Joel turns his head just a little, enough for the edge of his beard to scratch gently against your forehead. His voice is soft when he replies, but there’s something thick in it, something full.

“You’re right here,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gotta miss a thing.”

You shift your face closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sometimes I still do,” you admit.

He nods once, like he gets it without needing you to explain. “Yeah,” he says, his hand trailing up to cup the back of your head. “Me too.”

And for a long moment, neither of you say anything more. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, while the world spins noisily on around you—too loud, too fast, too much.

But here, in the shelter of his arms, in the crook of his neck, everything is quiet. Everything is enough.

Crowds were never your thing.

Too many people pressed in too close, too many voices overlapping, footsteps echoing off wood and brick. Even in a place like Jackson—safe, familiar—it could still feel like too much. You were used to being on alert, always aware of exits and shadows, always bracing for what could go wrong. Old habits from the world outside didn’t die easily.

Joel wasn’t much better with crowds. Maybe a little quieter about it, a little more practiced at hiding the way his shoulders stiffened when someone brushed past too close. But you’d seen it. The way his jaw would flex when he was trying to be polite but already had one foot out the door in his head. The way his hand sometimes hovered near his belt like he was missing the feel of his rifle.

And yet, here you were.

The town hall was full to bursting, the whole place humming with life. It was some kind of celebration—maybe a harvest, maybe a birthday, maybe people just needed a reason to dance and drink and pretend that the world hadn’t ended outside those walls. Whatever it was, it was loud. Laughter spilled from every corner. Music vibrated through the floorboards. Glasses clinked together and boots stomped in time with the beat.

You stood near the far end of the room, half-heartedly nursing a cup of water, swaying just a little in time with the song playing—more to keep your nerves from buzzing than for enjoyment. You scanned the room like you always did. Faces. Movements. That unconscious search for something familiar, something grounding.

And then your eyes found Joel.

He was on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning against a wooden support beam, arms folded loosely across his chest. He hadn’t joined the dance, hadn’t made a plate from the food table. Just stood there, scanning the crowd—and you knew in your bones he’d been looking for you.

When your eyes met, the noise dulled. Not all at once. It didn’t go silent or freeze like in the movies. But it faded. As if the current of the room moved around the two of you instead of through.

You were mid-sip when it happened, your fingers curled around the cool tin cup, lips barely brushing the rim. But as soon as you caught his gaze, you paused.

It wasn’t a grand thing. No sweeping declarations. Just a glance. A quiet, steady look that said you’re here, and I see you, and that’s all I need.

You tilted your head a fraction, the corner of your mouth twitching upward into the kind of smile you only saved for him—small, but true. Your chest softened. Your breath eased.

Across the room, Joel’s lips quirked into that familiar little half-smile, the one that never quite reached both corners of his mouth, but you knew what it meant. He gave a subtle nod. Nothing flashy. Nothing for show.

Just,  I see you too.

You held that look for a second longer, your body still surrounded by the warmth and noise and movement of the room, but none of it really touched you. Not in that moment. Not with his gaze wrapped around you like a thread pulled taut across the distance.

And even though no one said a word, something passed between you.

You smile again, this one a little wider, a little softer. A silent message of your own: I’m not going anywhere.

And Joel’s eyes softened like he heard it loud and clear.

You hum sometimes, without even knowing you’re doing it. It just slips out—soft and low, the way wind moves through tall grass. A half-remembered tune from before the world went sideways. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe from your childhood, maybe your mother’s voice singing over the hiss of boiling water. It’s not the melody that matters. It’s the feeling that comes with it—warmth, familiarity, something that once meant home.

Sometimes, when your mind is far away, you whistle it instead. Just a few notes, carried on your breath.

Joel never interrupts. Never tells you to stop or asks you to hush. He just listens—quietly, carefully, like the sound of your humming settles something in him too. Like maybe the song is stitching him back together in places neither of you can quite name.

He’s usually out on the porch when it happens, sitting on the old wooden steps with one of the guitars he’s been fixing up. Strings stretched taut, frets worn smooth by time and hands that once knew chords. His fingers—rough and weathered—move slow and steady as he tunes it. Every so often, he plucks a string, listens, adjusts. The sun casts a soft amber glow across his forearms, painting the scars in gold.

You’re nearby. Always. Curled up with your legs folded beneath you, back resting against one of the porch posts. A blanket draped over your shoulders. You hum like peace lives in your chest and is trying to find its way out.

Joel glances up when he hears it—mid-strum, his brow relaxed, lips parted just slightly like he’s about to say something but doesn’t. He just looks at you for a moment, and everything about him softens. His shoulders drop. The line between his brows disappears. Like the sound of you is the first deep breath he’s taken all day.

“What’s that song?” he asks after a while, his voice breaking the silence like it belongs there. Low and warm, barely above the hush of wind.

You pause, the melody tapering off in your throat. Your eyes flick toward the sky, as if the answer might be waiting somewhere in the clouds.

“Not sure,” you murmur, a smile tugging lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Mama used to sing it when she was cooking. I think it used to be on the radio, too. One of those songs that just… stuck.”

Joel nods, the kind of slow, thoughtful nod that doesn’t need words to follow. He strums another chord, something soft and sweet, and leans back on his elbows.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Keep goin’. I like it.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something that makes your chest ache in that soft, full kind of way. The kind of ache that’s not about pain at all, but about being known. About being seen and loved for the quiet parts of yourself you didn’t think anyone else noticed.

So you hum again, picking up where you left off. Joel doesn’t look away. He keeps strumming, matching your rhythm now. Not quite harmonizing. Just being there with you, in it.

And for a little while, the world feels like it’s made of nothing but warm wood, old songs, and two people learning how to feel safe again.

You’re curled up together in bed one night, everything quiet except the low pop and crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The room glows in soft amber and gold, the shadows on the walls swaying like they’re dancing to the rhythm of your breathing. Outside, wind brushes against the windows, but inside, it’s warm. Safe. Still.

Joel lies flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely around your waist. You’re pressed into his side, head resting just below his collarbone, your hand lazily combing through his hair—fingertips tracing gentle, aimless patterns. His hair’s soft tonight, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of cedar soap and woodsmoke.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need. Just the hush between heartbeats and the sound of Joel’s steady breathing, slow and even beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whisper eventually, your voice thick with sleep. Each word melts into the warmth of his skin. Your eyes are already slipping closed, lashes brushing his chest. You don’t even know if he hears you.

But then you feel it—Joel’s arm tightening around your waist, his hand sliding up under your shirt just enough to rest against your spine, warm and grounding.

“Then don’t move,” he murmurs, voice rough with tiredness and something gentler, deeper. The kind of softness he only ever shows in moments like this, when the world is quiet and his guard is down. “Ain’t no one tellin’ us to go anywhere.”

You smile into the dark, into the skin of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thumps slow and steady, and you swear you could fall asleep to that sound alone.

Joel shifts slightly, just enough to press a kiss into the top of your head. His lips linger there—like a promise more than anything spoken.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you say, voice feather-light.

A comfortable silence settles in again. Your fingers slow in his hair, curling around a soft wave near his temple. His hand stays at your back, thumb drawing idle shapes you’re too sleepy to name.

The fire crackles. The wind hums. And you drift off like that—wrapped up in him, hand still in his hair, the weight of his love wrapped around you like a second blanket. Nothing else matters. Not out there. Not tomorrow. Just this.

Just him.

The temperature dips before the sun even brushes the horizon. The last of the daylight clings to the sky in hazy streaks of orange and violet, but the wind has already turned sharp, biting through the seams of your jacket. You and Joel walk side by side down the path back toward Jackson, boots crunching over patches of frost-laced grass and half-frozen dirt.

You don’t say much—patrols tend to leave a certain kind of quiet between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling. But you can feel the chill starting to settle deep in your bones, your fingers stiff and cheeks raw from the cold. You try to rub your hands together for warmth, but it’s useless. The wind is relentless.

Joel notices, of course. His eyes flick over to you, worried in that subtle way he is—more tension in the jaw, more silence than usual. You know he’s about to offer you his coat or tell you he should’ve brought that extra scarf.

So before he can open his mouth, you reach out and grab a fistful of his jacket.

Without a word, you tug him in. Joel stumbles the smallest step forward, surprised but not resisting. You pull until you're chest to chest, until the warmth of his body bleeds into yours. Your frozen hands slip under the back hem of his coat and find the soft flannel of his shirt underneath, palms pressing flat against the heat of his spine.

“Jesus,” Joel mutters, letting out a breath that puffs white between you, his arms automatically sliding around your waist. “You could’ve just asked for my coat, y’know.”

“But then I wouldn’t be this close,” you reply, chin tilting up, a smile tugging at your lips despite your chattering teeth. “You’re warmer than any jacket.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, the kind that melts around the edges. He leans in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re a damn menace,” he says—but his voice is warm and low, thick with affection.

You can feel his fingers pressing into your back, holding you tighter. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, and then—soft as snowfall—he kisses you. Once. Then again. And a third time, his lips barely touching yours, quick little pecks that make you laugh and shiver all at once.

“Joel,” you whisper, still grinning, your breath fogging between you both.

“I like the taste of your lips on mine,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your mouth like silk. He says it like a secret. Like it’s always been true.

Then he kisses you again—this time slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pours warmth into you one soft press at a time. The world falls quiet. No wind. No cold. No patrols or gates or the threat of anything waiting in the dark.

Just Joel.

Just this.

When you finally pull apart, you don’t go far. He keeps you close, your fingers still tucked against his back, his breath brushing your temple.

You smile into his collar. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

He kisses your hair, voice barely above a whisper. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay like this forever.” 

And in that moment, time slows. Your heartbeat settles into the rhythm of his, safe and steady. Warm, despite everything. Because love—real love—isn’t just in the grand gestures. It’s in this. A quiet winter dusk. A jacket shared. The taste of his kiss. The way he holds you like you’re something worth braving the cold for.

Then there’s Ellie.

She was nineteen now. Strong. Sharp-tongued and guarded in the way Joel used to be. You weren’t her mother, and she never treated you like one—but she was curious about you. Distant at first. Then, little by little, she started asking questions. Sitting with you on the porch. Bringing you a book she found and thought you might like.

She and Joel… there were things left unsaid between them. You could feel it like a splinter under the skin. Something tender and unresolved.

He finally told you one night, long after you’d both settled into the quiet comfort of shared sheets and a life you thought might last.

It was after dinner. After the guitar and the laughter. After you’d kissed the corners of his mouth and pulled him into bed.

“I lied to her,” he said, voice hollow.

You blinked in the dark, still half-tangled in sleep. “What?”

Joel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. Still. Tense. “I lied to Ellie. About the Fireflies. About the hospital.”

The room chilled. Your fingers reached for his without hesitation.

“I killed them,” he continued. “Every last one that stood between me and her. ‘Cause they were gonna cut her open. To find a cure.”

He didn’t cry right away. He spoke through gritted teeth, like the guilt was a weight he carried every damn day and had never quite set down.

“She would’ve died. She didn’t know—still doesn’t really. I told her there were others. That she wasn’t the only one. But it was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

You didn’t speak. Just curled into him. Held his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“She hates me for it,” he whispered.

“No,” you said. “She loves you. She’s angry, but she loves you.”

He shook his head. Silent tears rolled into his hairline. You kissed his shoulder. You stayed up all night, fingers running through his graying hair until his breathing steadied again.

That was the last night he told you something he’d never said out loud.

The screams had long gone silent. All that was left now was smoke. Gunpowder. Blood soaking into snow.

Your boots crunch through it—through the aftermath. Bodies, both friend and foe, lie crumpled like broken marionettes. The streets of Jackson, once humming with quiet life, are now a graveyard.

Tommy had held the line at the south gate. You saw him, blackened with ash and soot, flames dancing in the reflection of his eyes as he lit up a bloater with the last fuel of the flamethrower. His scream—raw, furious—cut through the chaos like a knife. You’d joined the others in the streets, turning bullets on the infected… and eventually, on the bitten.

Some of them you knew by name.

You don’t remember pulling the trigger. You only remember the stillness afterward.

The quiet after the roar.

By the time the last runner was put down, your hands were slick with blood—some of it not your own. And when they called for the dead to be gathered, you helped. You counted.

You lost count.

They winched open the gates sometime after. You were still standing by the old greenhouse-turned-morgue, watching Tommy collapse into Maria’s arms, his body shaking with the weight of what he’d survived.

And then—

The hoofbeats. The shuffle of footsteps. The drag of something heavy behind them.

You turned.

Jesse and Ellie rode in first. Dina followed, all their faces hollowed out by exhaustion and something far worse. Behind their horse trailed a shape wrapped in canvas, dark with frozen blood, limp in the snow.

Ellie’s eyes met yours.

Red-rimmed. Wide. Empty.

And you knew.

You knew.

Your legs gave out beneath you before the thought could fully form. The cold didn’t register. Only the scream that tore out of your throat—animal, guttural. You clawed at the snow, sobbing into the dirt and ice, your lungs heaving like they were trying to break through your ribs.

“No—no—no—!” It came out broken. Like you could undo it just by denying it hard enough.

Tommy grabbed you. Held you back. His own face soaked with tears.

You screamed again. You didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care that you were on your knees in the blood and the snow with your heart ripped open.

Maria stood nearby. Hands pressed to her mouth. Silent.

The bag didn’t move.

He was in there.

Joel.

You want to tear the canvas open. You want it to be a mistake. You want to see his face, alive. Cranky. Loving. Whole.

But you already know.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. How long your sobs echo off the ruined walls of Jackson. You only know this: he felt like home.

And now home is just… gone.

They carry him to the chapel. Ellie disappears inside, Dina trailing her silently. Jesse catches your eye and looks away.

You follow the corpse. Your legs move on their own. There’s nothing left to protect now, no fight to win. You’ve survived—but at what cost?

The snow keeps falling.

And somehow, the world keeps turning.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. No birdsong, no wind. Just the thick, suffocating kind of silence that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until it feels like you might shatter from the inside out. The kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for breath, or hope.

The makeshift morgue is colder than outside, colder than anything should ever be. Too sterile. Too still. Too many bodies of people you once smiled at in passing. A metal table stands at the corner of the room, and he’s there—Joel—lying beneath a white sheet that feels far too thin. Like if you peeled it back, he’d stir. Grumble about the draft. Ask where his jacket went.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t fucking move.

You sink to your knees beside the table. Wood floor biting into your bones, your hands trembling as they hover just above the edge of the sheet. Your throat burns like it’s been scraped raw from the inside out, but you haven’t said anything. Not really. Not yet.

Tommy sits down beside you, legs bent awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest like if he doesn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart right here with you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you choke out, voice so broken it barely sounds like yours. Your hands finally touch the edge of the table, and you grip it like a lifeline.

“I know,” Tommy murmurs. He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t try to fix it. Maybe because he knows there’s no fixing this.

You press your forehead against the cold edge of the metal, like maybe if you’re close enough, you’ll feel his warmth again. But there’s nothing. Only the chill of a world that kept turning without him in it.

“I needed him,” you whisper. The words break on your tongue like glass. “I still do. I need his voice—I need his arms. I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay.”

A sob claws its way out of your chest, jagged and ugly. “He was supposed to be here.”

You think about the way he used to hold you—how his hands fit so easily around your waist, how he’d tug you close like the world outside didn’t exist. You think about his voice, low and rough, whispering “I got you, baby,” when the nightmares got bad. About the way he looked at you, like you were something worth protecting. Like you were home.

He was home.

And now he’s gone. And you’re nothing but a house with the roof torn off, standing in the rain.

“I don’t know how to be in a world that doesn’t have him in it,” you admit, tears falling freely now, soaking into your sleeves. “I was never scared of tomorrow when he was with me.”

Your head turns toward Tommy, eyes rimmed red. “How do I do this?”

He doesn’t answer. He just puts a hand over yours, squeezes it tight. It’s all he can give you, and you take it, even though it’s not the hand you want.

You close your eyes, breathing in like maybe you’ll catch some trace of him. Leather. Cedar. That soap he used when he tried to be fancy. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the dull antiseptic of this godforsaken room.

“I thought I knew grief,” you whisper. “But this… this is a whole new kind of broken.”

And it is. It’s grief with no bottom. No edges. No map. Like walking into a fog and never coming back out.

You reach up, finally, trembling fingers lifting the edge of the sheet.

You don’t pull it back.

You just press your palm over where you know his heart used to beat.

And you stay there, frozen in time, whispering his name like a prayer. Like if you say it enough, he might come back.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t.

And you know—no matter how many tomorrows come—you’ll miss him in every single one.

Because he wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your life.

And now, all that’s left is the silence.

It’s three days later when Tommy finds you.

You haven’t spoken much since that day. Just shadows under your eyes and silence on your lips. People leave flowers near the mailbox. You go through the motions—eating when someone puts food in front of you, lying down when your legs give out—but you’re not really here.

You’re sitting on Joel’s porch when he approaches. Your knees are drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped in the sleeves of a jacket that still smells like him. It’s too big, and it doesn’t make you feel any less hollow.

Tommy stands in front of you for a moment, quiet.

Then he lowers himself to sit on the step beside you.

“I ain’t sure if now’s the right time,” he says, voice low. Rough. “But he… he asked me to give you somethin’. If…”

You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. You both know how it ends.

Your heart stops. And then starts again, slower. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small envelope—folded and worn soft at the edges like it had been carried for a long time.

Your name is on it.

Your handwriting. Joel’s writing. It’s him. It's him.

Your fingers are shaking as you take it.

“I didn’t read it,” Tommy says, eyes on the horizon. “Didn’t wanna. Figured that was for you.”

Inside the envelope is a single piece of paper, folded once.

And a gold band.

Simple. Plain. No diamonds or carvings. Just a ring. One he probably bartered for quietly. One he probably kept in his pocket, maybe touched it when he thought about you. One he never got to give you.

Your vision blurs instantly.

The paper trembles in your hands as you unfold it. The ink is smudged in one corner—Joel had probably written it with those big hands, careful and slow. Trying to say something final in a way that didn’t feel like goodbye.

Your eyes find the first words.

Hey, baby.

If you’re reading this… then I’m not where I should be. I’m sorry.

God, I didn’t wanna write this. Been puttin’ it off for weeks. But the way this world is… well, you and I both know it don’t always give you time to say things out loud.

So I’m writin’ ‘em now.

First thing—I love you. You probably know that already. Hell, I’ve said it in a hundred different ways without ever sayin’ the words. In the way I hold you. The way I listen to you hum that song. The way I breathe easier when you’re near.

You gave me something I thought I didn’t deserve. Peace. A second chance. A home.

I hope I gave you the same.

Second thing—you’ll find a ring with this letter. Nothin’ fancy. I wanted to give it to you proper. Maybe on the porch. Maybe by the fire. Just… you and me. I had all these words planned. But none of ‘em matter now.

Just know this—I would’ve asked you to be mine. Not ‘cause I needed to prove anything. But because you already were. In every way that counts.

And I wanted the world to know.

I wanted to grow old with you. Wanted to find out what your hair looks like when it’s all grey. Wanted to kiss you goodnight a thousand more times.

I wanted all of it.

But if I didn’t make it—if you’re readin’ this now—I need you to do something for me.

Live.

Please. Don’t let this break you.

You got too much light in you to burn out now.

So wear the ring, if it helps. Or don’t. Keep it in your pocket. Toss it in the river. It’s yours, either way.

You’ll always be mine.

Forever and then some,  

Joel

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until Tommy places a hand on your back, steadying you as the weight of the words crushes you from the inside out.

The ring glints in your palm, catching the dying light of the day.

You bring it to your lips, kiss it once, then curl it into your fist and press it against your heart.

“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper into the air, broken and breathless. “I would’ve said yes a thousand times.”

And the wind moves through the trees like it’s carrying the words to him—wherever he is.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

It just waits.

It lingers in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that aren’t his. In the smell of cedar and leather that still clings to the collar of his coat. It stays tucked in the corners of every room he touched, every breath he took beside you.

You will mourn him forever. You will miss him every minute.

Your hands will grow old holding a photograph of the two of you—sunlight on your faces, his arm around your shoulders like he always meant to keep you safe. Your bones will ache with the shape of him, your soul carved hollow where he used to be.

And when your time comes, when the world fades soft and slow at the edges, you’ll go with his name dancing on your lips. A whisper. A promise.

Because some loves aren’t meant to end.

Only to be found again.

[millers-girl]

things worth saving

chapter 3 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you and Joel come together, and fall apart, all within the confines of Bill's town.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, death

word count: 4.8k

series masterlist

The next morning, the sun pulled you from sleep, though it did little to fight the exhaustion weighing on your body. You’d gotten little sleep last night – waking every so often to check on Ellie to make sure she was okay… and maybe every once in a while, your eyes drifted to where Joel sat on watch. Your empathic heart couldn’t help but bleed for his.

While Joel didn’t give anything away, Ellie was quieter than usual, and you could tell she was lost in her thoughts. Instead of pressing her to talk, you simply laid beside her, staring up at the sky. You pointed out constellations, whispering their stories, letting the sound of your voice fill the silence between you. You saved Orion––her favorite––for last.

Eventually, her breathing evened out, body relaxing against the makeshift pillow of her pack. You stayed up, watching the stars blink in and out of focus. What you didn’t notice was Joel, sitting a few yards away, listening. Watching. 

His weary gaze settled on you, ears tuned in to every word you spoke. He’d caught the way you shifted restlessly in your spot, rolling onto your side and then back, your body shivering against the cold. You had draped your jacket over Ellie without hesitation, leaving you to suffer the chill now.

When you woke, Joel's jacket was over you.

The warmth of it, the smell of earthy leather, lingered as you pulled it tighter around you. For a moment, a flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in your chest. This small gesture could’ve been softness, kindness. But, in the short amount of time you’d known Joel, you could whatever compelled him to do it was more complicated. Guilt, maybe. Responsibility. 

Your eyes moved across the dirt, to where he sat when you saw him last before drifting off to sleep. The spot was empty. 

You sat up, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and found him by the stream a few yards away. He was flexing his injured hand under the cool rush of water, knuckles cracked and raw from his fight with the guard.

You moved quietly, grabbing the small first aid kit from your pack and walking over. He didn’t react as you sat beside him, the early morning air still and thick between you two. Silently, you held a hand out.

Joel hesitated, gaze flickering between your face and outstretched palm. Then, slowly, he placed his hand in yours.

The contrast struck him immediately. His skin was rough, calloused, lined with age and hardship – completely different from the softness of your own fingers.

He didn’t flinch when you brushed over the bruising, but you felt the tension in his muscles, the way his fingers curled involuntarily at your touch.

"Does it hurt?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the fragile quiet of the dawn.

He shook his head, dismissive. But when you applied a bit of pressure, his jaw tightened, a slight flinch betraying him. 

Without reacting—he was sure you were doing it for his sake—you applied some ointment on his wounds before wrapping them in gauze, gently trying to avoid the sensitive area.

When you were done, you pulled out a small bottle of anti-inflammatories, shaking two pills into your palm. He stared at them, then took only one, swallowing it dry. 

You let him have that without argument. If this was his way of keeping control over something, you’d let him have it.

By the time you both returned to camp, Ellie was awake, sitting up against a tree. The moment you saw her, you made a beeline, kneeling to wrap your arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Hey, you sleep okay?" you asked, brushing the hair out of her face.

She nodded, but when she turned to Joel, her expression was tense. "Look, I've been thinking about – "

Joel cut her off. "I don't want your sorries."

"I wasn't gonna say sorry," Ellie snapped back, her voice unwavering. "I was gonna say I've been thinking about what happened. Nobody made you or Tess take us. Nobody made you go along with this plan – "

"Ellie," you warned softly, shaking your head. Now wasn't the time for this.

"No,” she insisted, “he made a choice. He doesn't get to blame us for something that isn't our fault." 

Joel waited, looking to see if you would talk her down. But, you didn't. Instead, you turned to him then, waiting. Would he deny it? Confirm? If you were him, you’d surely blame yourself – if you and Ellie hadn’t shown up, Tess would still be alive.

And even though Ellie was right—he did this of his own free will—you still felt guilty about it. Guilty about being the reason she was in the State House in the first place, guilty about ending whatever it was between them, guilty for playing a part in her death.

You looked up just in time to see Joel nod once at Ellie, quiet and sharp, coming to an agreement. 

And that was that. 

The five hour trek to Bill and Frank's was spent mostly with Ellie peppering you with questions to pass the time and fill the silence.

“What’s the first thing you’d do if the world wasn’t all fucked?” 

You thought for a second. “Disneyworld. I’d go to Disneyworld.” 

Ellie scrunched her nose. “What’s Disneyworld?” Even Joel’s head turned slightly at that. “What?”

You shook your head, feigning a sigh. “I’ve failed at raising you.” 

Ellie waved it off, moving on to her next question.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a weapon?” Once, you’d killed an Infected with a broken spatula handle; that was something.

"Would you rather kiss an Infected or eat rat jerky?” 

To that, you truly had no answer.

When she ran out of questions for you, she turned to Joel.

“Have you gone this way a lot?” To which he’d shrugged and said sometimes.

“Are there any Infected we should be looking out for?” No.

“Are Bill and Frank nice?” Frank was.

"How'd you get that scar on your head?"

That caught your attention. You glanced at Joel as he sighed.

Ellie continued. "What? Is it something lame, like you fell down the stairs or something?" 

"Someone shot at me and missed." 

"See, that's cool. You shoot back?" 

"Yeah." 

"You get him?" 

"No, I missed, too." Ellie scoffed. "It happens more often than you think."

"Cause you suck at shooting, or like, in general?" 

You snorted a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Joel shot a look your way.

His expression remained flat as he answered, "In general."

Before she could think up another question, the three of you happened upon a gas station where Joel had mentioned he stashed some supplies for when he ran low.

Inside, you watched Joel look around for a minute, eyes unsure.

“You forgot where you put your stuff,” you teased, watching his eyes scan the floor.

“No,” Joel argued. “I’m just zeroing in on it.” 

You nudged Ellie, mimicking his tone. “Zeroing in on it.”

When Joel finally unearthed his stash––and Ellie had wandered into the back to see if she could find anything good––you hopped atop the counter where the cash register sat and swung your feet.

As he dug through the dusty green duffel, you took a nosy glimpse inside and suddenly screeched in joy.“Are those tampons?!” You asked, hopping off the counter and reaching your greedy fingers out. Joel handed the blue box over, giving you a look. “What?” 

“Nothin’. Just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get so excited about feminine hygiene.” 

“Yeah, you try living on pads as long as I have. It fucking sucks.” 

Joel cleared his throat. “Didn’t need to know that.”  

You quirked a brow. “Joel, when you bleed from your vagina for four days every month––get cramps, cravings for chocolate, and have to use the sandpaper they call ‘pads’ in the QZ––then you’ll get an opinion on this.” 

“Wonderful,” he huffed under his breath, going back to rummaging through the duffle. 

You stuffed the box of tampons in your pack before hopping back onto the countertop, eyes wandering around the store which was mostly picked over. As your brain wandered through different thoughts, you let out a scoff, the sound of your own amusement surprising you.

Joel glanced up at you. “Sorry,” you apologized, “It’s just – before everything, did you ever just go to the store just for one dumb thing? Like, you realize you’re out of milk, so you drive to the store, hand over a couple bucks, and that was it. No ration cards, no guards, no ‘hope no one stabs me on the way home.’ Just… milk.” 

Joel didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed slightly as if he was sorting through distant memories. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Used to do it all the time.” 

Something about the way he said it––low, almost reluctant––made your chest tighten. The normalcy of that past life was such a foreign thing now.

You hesitated before speaking again, fingers tracing the dust on the counter. “One of the only memories I have from before the outbreak happened in a gas station. My mom and I were going on a road trip. She stopped somewhere to fill up the gas, and I – ” You let out a soft laugh. “I had been in the car for so long, I just took off running up and down the aisles of this convenience store on the side of the road with my mom chasing me. It made the attendant laugh so hard, he let me pick out a lollipop for free.” 

You glanced at Joel, his gaze heavy on you. It made your stomach twist – he wasn’t just listening, he was seeing you, maybe for the first time. 

You cleared your throat, shifting under the weight of his gaze. “You ever take a kid shopping?” 

It was meant to be a throwaway question, something to deflect from the sudden intimacy of the moment. But Joel immediately stiffened at it. His jaw ticked as he turned back to his pack, shoving supplies into it with a little too much force.

Oh.

The realization settled uncomfortably in your chest. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but now… Maybe Joel hadn’t always been alone. Maybe there had been someone else, before the outbreak – a kid.

The air felt heavier between you.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you finally said, softly. “I just – I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve had a real conversation with someone who isn’t Ellie.” 

After a pause, Joel asked, “And… verdict?”

Half-smiling, you answered, “I’ve had worse conversation and worse company.”

Joel didn’t respond, but something in his expression shifted just slightly, like he understood the sentiment. He didn’t mind your company either. And when it came to conversation – Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he and Tess had even had a real one, one that wasn’t about survival.

You could feel the moment lingering between the two of you until Ellie returned to the front room. 

When Joel was done restocking, you three were on the move again. The road to central Massachusetts stretched empty ahead, nothing but cracked asphalt and the occasional rusted car. Woods and fields flanked both sides. Then, up ahead, the landscape changed.

A plane crash. 

The wreckage was half-buried in the dirt, its charred remains a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded in those first days. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath.

Ellie turned to Joel, eyes wide, seemingly unaffected by the gore of it. You didn’t know how she did that, or who she got it from – it certainly wasn’t you. “You ever fly in one of those?” 

“A few times.” 

“Lucky,” she grumbled. 

You looked at him, trying to distract yourself from the sight before you. “What was it like?”

“Sure as hell didn’t feel lucky. Got shoved into a middle seat, paid twelve bucks for a sandwich.” 

Ellie scoffed. “Dude, you got to go up in the sky!”

He just shrugged, glancing back at the wreckage. “Yeah, well, so did they.” Grim.

Silence fell as you kept walking. Ellie wandered ahead, kicking at a stray rock, leaving you and Joel a few paces behind. After a moment, he glanced over. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You ever go on a plane?” You shook your head. “Shame.”

You huffed a small laugh. “What happened to ‘shoved into a middle seat and overpaid for a sandwich’?” 

He shrugged. “Still… think you would’a liked it.”

Something about that––him saying that––made your chest warm.

“When you went – did you see stars? Was it at night?” 

Joel shook his head. “Didn’t get a chance to look out the window.” 

You whistled lowly. “I would’ve saved the twelve bucks you spent on that sandwich and upgraded to a window seat.” 

That actually made him breathe out a single laugh. A real one. And you… you liked the sound of it. It was rare, something buried beneath all that gruffness and exhaustion. He looked like he could use more of them.

But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the frown was back. Joel scanned the surroundings, posture tightening. He called Ellie back. “We’ll cut across the woods here.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t we just keep going straight? Didn’t you say this road would basically take us most of the way there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just – there’s stuff up there neither of you should see.” 

Something about the way he said it made your skin prickle. The weight in his voice, the way his shoulders tensed.

Ellie, of course, saw it as a challenge. “Well, now I have to see.” 

“I don’t want you to,” Joel replied, voice firm.

“Ellie, you heard him,” you supported, watching the girl begin to make her way down the road. “Seriously, Ellie!” 

She turned, walking backwards. “Can it hurt me?” She asked Joel.

The moment “No” slipped past his lips, you whipped a hand up to cover his mouth, trying to stop it. He should’ve lied – it would’ve at least been more convincing at getting Ellie to follow him through the woods. You sighed, having heard his answer before turning to Ellie.

Ellie smirked. “You’re too honest, man.” She nudged her head toward you. “Gotta learn from the best.”

“It’s okay,” you tried reassuring him. “She’s a tricky one. There’s a learning curve to parenting her.” 

“I wasn’t trying to – ”

He stopped himself when he saw Ellie sharply stop at the edge of the road, eyes staring down into the valley ahead.

Your stomach dropped at the look on her face.

“What is it?” You asked, brows furrowed in worry as you rushed up to her. You gasped at what she was staring at – a mass grave. Hundreds of skeletons lay tangled together, bones bleached by the sun, scattered across the valley like discarded remains of remnants past. The sight made your breath hitch, nausea curling deep in your gut.

You turned to Joel, needing an explanation.

With a soft sigh, he said, “About a week after Outbreak Day, soldiers went through the countryside evacuating the smalltowns. Told you you were goin’ to a QZ, and you were… if there was room. If there wasn’t…” 

Your stomach twisted violently. The world blurred for a moment as you stepped back, to the other side of the road, before doubling over and emptying the meager contents of your stomach onto the grass.

A warm, calloused hand smoothed over your back, steadying you. Joel.

He didn’t say anything, just kept rubbing slow, grounding circles up and down your back.

For a man who rarely offered comfort, who kept his distance from anything too close, too raw… it meant something.

Only, you were a bit preoccupied to realize it at the time.

Bill’s town was like something out of a doomsday prepper’s handbook – a high voltage fence surrounding the entire thing, surveillance cameras everywhere, and an eerie silence blanketed over the desolate town.

Joel punched a code into the keypad beside the fence, and the click of the lock sounded before he pushed the gate open and let you and Ellie inside the town.

The houses were vacant, but they felt occupied, as if the people who lived here had just stepped out. Bill’s place, though, stood out. It was a fortress, marked by a slightly overgrown lawn and potted flowers lining the walk up to the porch.

Looking back, you think you knew it before you ever even entered the house. The flowers on the porch had wilted – the first sign.

Inside the foyer, the silence was thick. You tucked Ellie near your side as you stayed behind Joel, eyes gazing over the house. 

“Bill,” Joel’s voice broke the silence, waiting to hear a reply. “Frank?” 

No response.

Stepping further in the house, Ellie found an envelope and a key sat by the piano in the dining room. Addressed ‘To whomever, but probably Joel.’

She opened up the note inside, stating, “It’s from Bill.” She quickly read it to herself in silence.

Joel sighed, probably knowing what was coming, and shrugged his backpack off, grasping the key.

He glanced down the hall, at the bedroom on the far right.

“So they’re dead?” he asked.

Ellie nodded, gently humming in affirmation. 

Joel paced slowly around the room, the weight of the loss pressing down on him. Another friend––another two friends––lost in the span of a few days.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. What could you say that would make this any better? 

“What does the note say?” you softly asked Ellie.

“August 29, 2023. If you find this, please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn’t smell. But it will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this, Joel, because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehe. Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code, but in reverse. 

“Anyway, I never liked you, but still, it’s like we’re friends… almost. And I respect you. So, I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand.

“I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving…”

Without meaning to, your gaze drifted toward Joel. His eyes had found Ellie, then slowly turned to you. That soft, warm brown met yours, something flickering in it. It was the same look he’d given you back at the gas station – but now, you were giving it back.

You were finally seeing him, too.

You were starting to understand exactly what kind of person Joel Miller was, and you weren’t shying away from it. Instead, you held his gaze, trying to offer him what comfort you could as Ellie continued to read in her oblivious innocence. 

“That’s what I did. I saved him, then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way.”

The corners of your lips quirked up into a small, almost imperceptible smile. Yeah, you were beginning to understand Joel more than you would admit aloud.

“I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep – “

The moment her voice caught, both you and Joel turned to look at her. The tension in the room shifted. And, just like that, Joel was moving, snatching the letter from Ellie’s hand in a single, swift motion. He finished the sentence.

“Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low and hard. Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the house.

You looked at Ellie, who explained, “It said ‘use them to keep Tess safe.’”

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh before following him out the door. You found him in the garage, making a car battery. 

The noise of the tools around him was the only sound in the room, filling the space with a mechanical rhythm that felt out of place amidst the tension. You stepped closer, but he barely spared you a glance.

Softly, you began, “You know, I had someone once too.” 

Without looking up from the wire he was tightening, he coldly replied, “That so?”

Every cell in your body told you to leave him alone, but the look he’d given you back in the dining room while Ellie was reading the letter – you couldn’t let it go.

“Yeah. We were in the QZ together. Didn’t have much, but we made it work. Looked out for each other, kept each other safe – he kept Ellie safe.” A lump lodged itself into your throat and you forced it down before continuing, “He used to say it was enough… that even in a world like this, it was enough.” 

Joel finally looked up, his expression unreadable. He didn’t ask but there was something in his eyes that told you he understood exactly what you meant.

“I wish it had been,” you said, voice barely above a whisper before you cleared your throat.

Joel’s jaw tightened and he turned back to the battery, working faster now, as if trying to outrun the conversation. “What’s your point?” He asked gruffly, clearly irritated now.

“That you’re not the only one who had someone worth saving… that you’re not the only one who knows what it’s like to lose them.” 

You’d meant it as a comfort – that he didn’t have to do this alone. Instead, he took it as a criticism – you’re not the only one who's lost someone so get over it.

“At least I’m doing something with my loss,” he snapped, hands gripping the worktable.

Your head dropped, understanding what he was saying between the lines. He’d lost Tess and he was shifting that energy to do something about it – to build this car battery and finally get to his brother. 

You, on the other hand, were wallowing in your misery. Letting it be a part of you but never harnessing it for anything. Your grief was useless.

“Right,” you said finally, accepting his chastisement. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the garage, back into the house. You sat with Ellie, who could tell something was wrong, until Joel came back inside – he made a point to look mainly at Ellie.

“I just finished making a truck battery. It’s charging right now.” 

“Okay,” Ellie said.

“I have a brother, out in Wyoming. He’s in some kinda trouble and I’m heading out there to find him. He used to be a Firefly. And my guess is, he knows where some of ‘em are out there. Maybe they can get you to wherever this lab is.”

“Alright… uh – listen… about Tess – “ 

Joel held a hand up, cutting her off. His voice was hard, distant. “If I’m takin’ you with me, there’s some rules you gotta follow. Rule one: you don’t bring up Tess. Ever.” He glanced back at you before continuing, “Matter of fact, we can just keep our histories to ourselves.” 

You bit your lip, trying to process what he was saying. The distance between you stretched, maybe further than it ever had before, and it made your stomach twist.

“Rule two: you don’t tell anyone about your… condition. They see that bite mark, they won’t think it through. They’ll just shoot you.” Ellie nodded. “Rule three: you do what I say when I say it. We clear?” 

“Yes.” 

“Repeat it.” 

“She gets it,” you growled, stepping up to Ellie and crossing your arms over your chest, clearly not able to let the moment go. “What you say goes.” 

Joel let out a deep sigh, accepting it. “Okay. Let’s go grab what we can. Anything useful.” 

The house was full of supplies you three stuffed into your packs – food, clothes, even toilet paper.

After you were done, and had found the wonderful shock that the house had hot water, you raced Ellie to the bathroom, eventually letting her win and shower first.

When it was your turn, you stood under the warm spray, letting it soothe your muscles, your mind. Here, in the confines of the bathtub, you didn’t have to worry about Ellie, didn’t have to think ten moves ahead or keep an eye out for danger. 

Here, you could just be. 

Thirty minutes later, the water had washed away the exhaustion and you felt lighter, refreshed.

You stepped out of the bathroom––the soft warmth of the towel wrapped around you, wet hair dripping onto the wooden floor––and froze when you saw Joel standing there.

You met his gaze, not wanting to let him see how much he had rattled you. “What?”

He hesitated then shook his head. “Nothin’. You done with the shower?”

You nodded and slipped past him without another word, your pulse quickening.

After you dressed, you found yourself wandering through the house, until you ended up in what you guessed was Frank’s art studio. There was a half-finished portrait of Bill on the easel. In fact, there were pictures of Bill everywhere – it was clear Frank had poured everything into those canvases. You could tell how much he loved him.

You felt a lump form in your throat as you traced your fingers over the easels, the paints, the brushes. You knew it sounded silly but you could feel Frank in the room.

A person you’d never met but you immediately knew you’d like, based on this room alone. You stepped in front of a pot of lilies you assumed he was going to use for the painting of Bill, and plucked one by the stem, staring at it. 

You rummaged through your pack until you opened up your journal, softly pressing the flower between the pages. 

It was small but it would remind you of this place. Of the people who lived here and the love they shared. Of the love you once shared, in the confines of your cramped apartment in the QZ, with your blonde-haired sweet boy.

The creak of a floorboard behind you had you snapping your head back, caught off guard. Joel stood in the doorway, freshly showered, eyes locked on the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. 

“They’re not for you,” you said, your voice tight, though you wiped them away quickly, embarrassed.

Joel said nothing for a long beat. Then, he motioned to the flower you’d pressed. “Ain’t much use in keepin’ dead things.” 

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest growing. You looked at the flower, the petals delicate on the page. “Not everything has to have a use. You can just appreciate things because they’re beautiful.” 

The silence between you thickened, and Joel didn’t take the moment to apologize for earlier. You hadn’t expected him to. Still, for some reason, it stung more than it should’ve.

Finally, he said, “The battery’s charged. You ready to go?” 

You nodded, your words caught in your throat, and walked past him, out the door, into the cold, open world once again.

Ellie was already sitting in the back, mesmerized by the newness of being inside a car. 

“It’s like a spaceship,” she dreamily said.

You turned to look at her as Joel settled into the driver’s seat. “Put your seatbelt on, love.” She turned to look at you, clueless.

It made you smile, reaching back to buckle her seatbelt for her before pressing a loving kiss to her cheek and returning to your seat.

As Joel began driving out of the neighborhood, your eyes caught sight of a blue tote bag by your feet. 

“Packed it for you,” Joel merely said, watching you open the bag from his periphery.

Inside were a stack of books, with the second installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy neatly placed on top. You couldn’t believe that he’d remembered you telling him you were reading the first book back at his apartment, before you’d ever left for the State House.

You placed the second book onto your lap, fingers grazing the spine.

“It’s a long drive,” he added. I got you something so you wouldn’t get bored, was what was left unsaid. But it didn’t need to be said aloud. You heard it loud and clear, in the silence.

It wasn’t a big gesture but it did enough. You found the sting in your heart lessening.

This wasn’t an apology, and you opening it up to page one to begin reading, wasn’t an acceptance. But it was a middle ground, and that was something.

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil@littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz

[meet-me-backstage]

𓃗

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꥟ Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝑆𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛！

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ꥟ It had been years since you ran away from Joel Miller, a hunter, frightened for your life and of who he had become. Before the infected roamed he was the grumpy single father of a chirpy little girl who lived across the street from you and kept himself to himself… until he didn’t, not with you at least when you began watching over Sarah while he couldn’t. He became someone who you could talk to, a friend dare you say, a silly little crush and your lifeline at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Now you are residing in Jackson, a slice of heaven in a cruel world, the perfect distraction from your past and the hell you went through to get away from it. However, you realize that the past really does always come back to haunt you when all too familiar faces arrive at Jackson and you have no other choice but to face Joel again, who makes it his mission to fix your broken friendship.

Unable to fight your heart, feelings resurface and lines blur when it becomes clear that you are just as much Joel’s lifeline as he is yours.

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ꥟ Horror themes, not strictly following the first game/season + not at all following the second season/game so kinda au, reader can sing and play guitar, weapons, bad language, death, parental neglect, angst, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, blood, violence, nightmares, PTSD, a lil smidge of dark!Joel, Jackson!Joel, soft & protective with a bit of a dad bod!Joel, unrequited love until it isn’t, jealousy, mutual pining, age gap (reader is 36 and Joel is 56) and smUUUUT (‼️) so you must be 18+ to read❗️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!) ↯

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 <3

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 🫶

𓃗

[andy-15-07]

It's SNL night tonight!! How 'bout reader sitting in the audience with his family supporting Pedro on SNL

His Biggest Fan

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 628 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The energy in the SNL studio was electric, the kind of buzz that only came with a live show night. Y/N sat in the audience, surrounded by Pedro’s family, his sister and cousins chatting animatedly while they waited for the show to begin. The excitement was palpable, and Y/N couldn’t help but grin as she took it all in. Pedro had been nervous all week, rehearsing skits and perfecting his monologue, but she knew he would be incredible.

His sister nudged her playfully. "You ready to see your man kill it tonight?"

Y/N laughed, feeling warmth spread through her chest. "Absolutely. He’s been practicing his lines in the mirror like a lunatic. I caught him doing different voices at breakfast."

They all chuckled, knowing exactly how seriously Pedro took his work. The lights dimmed slightly, signaling the show was about to start, and the iconic opening music filled the studio. The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer boomed, "Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!"

When Pedro finally walked onto the stage for his monologue, looking effortlessly charming in a perfectly tailored suit, Y/N felt a swell of pride. He smiled at the audience, a mixture of excitement and nerves in his eyes.

"Wow," he started, looking around the studio. "This is insane. I can’t believe I’m here… hosting SNL!"

The audience roared with applause, and Pedro chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Y/N could tell he was settling into his rhythm. He glanced toward where they were seated, his eyes locking with hers for the briefest moment, a small, almost imperceptible wink sent in her direction.

His monologue was a perfect mix of humor and sincerity, poking fun at himself, his roles, and even his newfound internet heartthrob status. The crowd ate it up, laughing and cheering at every punchline. Y/N found herself laughing the loudest, feeling a surge of affection for him.

As the show progressed, Pedro nailed every skit, seamlessly blending into the absurd world of SNL. Whether he was playing a medieval warrior in an over-the-top soap opera parody or an exhausted dad in a grocery store meltdown skit, his comedic timing was flawless. Between takes, Y/N would glance at his family, all of them beaming with pride.

During a quick break, Pedro’s sister leaned in. "He’s having the time of his life. You can see it."

Y/N nodded, watching him from afar as he laughed with the cast members, the stress of the week melting away. "He really is."

The highlight of the night came during the last skit—a surprise cameo that had the audience screaming. As the final applause rang through the studio, Pedro bowed dramatically, his wide smile visible even from where Y/N sat.

When the show wrapped, the cast and crew took their bows, and Pedro made his way over to them, still buzzing with adrenaline.

"You were amazing!" Y/N said as she wrapped her arms around him, feeling his chest rise and fall with exhilaration.

Pedro squeezed her tightly. "Did you see me almost break in that last skit? I swear, I was seconds away from losing it."

His sister laughed. "We saw, and we loved it. You killed it tonight."

Pedro let out a breath of relief, his smile softening as he looked at Y/N. "You think so?"

She cupped his face gently. "I know so."

He leaned in, pressing a quick, grateful kiss to her lips before pulling back with a grin. "Alright, let’s go celebrate. I need food, drinks, and at least five hours of sleep."

As they left the studio together, Y/N tucked herself under his arm, the warmth of the night’s success surrounding them. There was no better feeling than seeing someone she loved shine, and tonight, Pedro had done just that.

[aurorawritestoescape]

A STEP INTO HELL MASTERLIST

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series summary: after you move into his house, Joel finds himself possessed by the idea of having you. Trying to quench his lustful thirst he decides to get his hands on your nudes. To his surprise he finds something even better.

Series warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel's pov, dub con but reader's into it, legal age gap (reader is in college), dark!Joel, perv!Joel, obsessed! joel, darkish!reader, unprotected piv/dvp, sex toy usage, blackmail, sex audio recording, creampie, premature ejaculation, rough sex, anal, object insertion, degradation, slutshaming, praise kink, daddy kink, f/m masturbation/oral, mention of food play/anal, slapping, cum eating, swearing.

🔥A STEP INTO HELL || pt 1 || 3k

🔥A HELL OF A MORNING || pt 2 || 4,2k

🔥ALL THE GOOD GIRLS GO TO HELL || pt 3 || 4,7k

🔥 GIVE ME HELL || pt 4 || 1,9k

🔥HALLOWEEN NIGHT || 500 words

🔥MOVIE NIGHT || 650 words

This is more of a smutty collection of stories rather than a series. If you have any thots about these two, send an ask and I might get inspired to write more<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[ladybirdswritings]

SWEET THING, DBF — joel miller x reader.

DESCRIPTION: your life is a storm—an overbearing father, a shitty boyfriend, and the ache of growing up. everything becomes more tangled when you find yourself drawn to your father’s best friend, joel. NOTES - finally, part two. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

two;

“Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

His voice was gruff—tired from overuse, nearly ready to silence entirely. A rich, southern rasp that sent chills down anyone’s spine, yours included. You obeyed without hesitation.

“Thank you for this…” was all you managed in a whisper while locking the metal into place—trapped.

You didn’t know your daddy’s friend too well, but you knew enough. Most people avoided him, whether it was the constant scowl etched on his face or those dark eyes that seemed to scream threats his quiet mouth never voiced. Everything about him made people stiffen, their bodies rigid as old boards.

He only hummed, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw ticking as he navigated toward the party nearby.

“A left here,” you offered, leaning forward and pointing just past his line of sight.

When he breathed, the scent of honey and jasmine flowers on your skin clung to the air between you. His jaw locked tighter.

You knew you looked every bit the spoiled, overprotected little princess your daddy raised you to be. Skipping Jackson’s town dance to attend some trashy house party hosted by your boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle rebellion, but you didn’t care.

Where your father insisted on preserving the innocence of your youth, you argued you’d only get to be young once. Only get to date questionable men, drink questionable drinks, and laugh about it later one time in your whole life.

Naive? Sure. But you didn’t know that.

Joel didn’t wait for you to notice he’d parked before snaking a firm arm across the console. His calloused fingers brushed the hem of your denim-clad thigh. Your heart stuttered, your eyes widening as his glare burned into you.

So close.

And then, the seatbelt clicked.

You exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached for the door. But before you could escape, his rough fingers caught your chin, tugging your face back until you were forced to meet his eyes.

Dark, chocolate eyes.

“You’re real lucky tonight, sweetpea. Now don’t go in there and make me look like a fool to yer’ daddy. You drink responsibly, and you don’t touch a blunt in sight—understand?”

You gulped, cheeks burning tomato red. Wide-eyed and frozen, you nodded. You were nothing more than a fish caught in the hands of a cold fisherman, your pretty face cradled between his calloused palms.

“What, you think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know what’s gonna go on the second you walk that purtie lil’ ass inside?”

His voice was sharp, and you stammered, blinking up at him as your breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was young once, too.

“I’ll be responsible, Mr. Miller—sir,” you lied through your teeth, the sweetness in your voice a thin disguise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.

“Oh, sure you will, sweetpea.”

Satisfied he’d issued a proper warning, he released you. But before you could scramble away, he added, “Go on and behave, and I might just convince your daddy to let you live a little more often.”

Hope bloomed in your chest like wisteria tangling with your rapid heart. If Joel vouched for you, maybe daddy would ease up.

A plan solidified in your head. All you had to do was be good.

You could do that! Easy, just be good.

Step one? Sweeten him up.

“You’re a peach, Mr. Miller,” you chirped, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

You lingered a moment longer than you should have.

Where Jesse smelled of beer, snow, and fresh spices, Joel smelled of whiskey, cedar, and leather. Of hard work and blood-stained hands.

Joel noticed the pause, and slowly, his head turned. Just an inch closer, and his lips could press right against yours.

The thought made your eyes widen.

What was wrong with you? He was doing you a favor, and here you were imagining how his scowling lips might feel against yours. How his tongue—experienced, confident—might tease the roof of your mouth, trail down your neck…

He peered at you through bourbon lashes.

“That business doesn’t work on me, sweetpea…” he started, freeing a hand so to tuck a stray ringlet of your untamed waves behind your ear. You inhaled sharply.

“You gon’ be good?” His voice was low, a tickling whisper that sent warmth flooding through your body.

“I am,” you promised, your teeth betraying the truth behind your pretty smile.

He nodded once. “Go on, then. I’ll be parked out front. Holler if you need me.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as you slipped out, your heart racing with every intrusive thought lingering in your head.

Maybe you were ovulating. Or maybe you were a basket case.

You shook your head. Jesse. Jesse. Jesse. Your boyfriend—Jesse.

With that, you slammed the Chevy door and hurried toward the party.

•••

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as the scent of weed and tequila hit your senses, you grinned. A tiny buzz wouldn’t be too hard to hide from Joel.

One shot here. Another there. You inched closer to Jesse, ready to surprise him.

And you did.

“Y/N!”

There he was, wide-eyed and guilty, his lips swollen from Abby’s kiss.

Tight, toned Abby.

They were tucked in a corner, her lips lazily trailing his throat. The sight made your knees wobble. When Jesse saw you, he jerked away, but the damage was done.

Abby’s hands shot up as though she were innocent, and it took all your strength not to lunge for the bitch.

“Baby—” Jesse started, but your throat tightened, hot tears threatening to spill.

You remembered how he admired your strength back in high school. When you were nerdy and unimportant — only glanced at after the tragic death of your mother. Everyone else pitied you. Jesse was different. He’d whispered sweet words to you after your mother passed, he’d made you less… stuck-up; convinced you that tequila could numb the pain. God, it did.

“Y’know, you’re a real tough girl to show up every day with your head high after everything that’s happened…”

“Sip this— baby. all those thoughts about your mom will go away…” he’d whispered once, tipping vodka onto your tongue. He had lost his mom, too. He knew how to stop the agony.

And now? He was the one causing it.

“Fuck you, Jesse. We’re done,” you snapped, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound strong.

You turned to leave, but Abby’s smug voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t know why you’re so pressed, princess. I dig chicks too. You could’ve joined us.”

You saw red.

Before you knew it, your ringed fist collided with her chiseled jaw.

Gasps echoed as she stumbled back into the crowd, her wide eyes meeting yours. Jesse grabbed your wrists, but you yanked them free.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

And just like that, you stormed out, leaving the crowd and your dignity behind.

This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.

But instead of sulking to Joel’s truck, you vowed to drown your sorrows in tequila until the world stopped spinning.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what you intended to do.

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers masterlist

pairing: dark!serial killer!joel x f!reader

summary: after you run away from home, you meet a handsome stranger who offers you a ride, a meal, and a bed. but you know what they say—don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love. and this particular stranger has a very dark secret, one you might not be able to escape the consequences of discovering.

overall warnings (please also see individual chapter warnings): 18+, smut, DDDNE, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, graphic talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, f-receiving non-con groping/breathplay/fingering/sex, being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, development of stockholm syndrome, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "preacher's daughter" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s

read it on ao3

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

EXTRAS

babydoll's letter

[joelsdagger]

masterlist

my blog is 18+. minors–please do not interact. 

do not copy or translate my writing. i do not consent that my writing be used to create ai chat bots or fed to ai in any capacity.

game joel til the day i die. not running a tag list but follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs on when i post fic!

note: any moodboards/visuals that depict specific features are purely for aesthetic purposes only. all reader inserts are yours to conjure up. please heed the warnings on each fic and be mindful of the content you consume.

ao3 if that's your preferred poison.

joel miller – the last of us 

- one shots -

➳ all the things i would do [jackson!joel] - joel finds an article of clothing that belongs to you and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them.

➳ talking body [jackson!joel x curvy reader] - joel doesn’t hesitate to show you just how crazy he is about you.

➳ walk the line [boston qz!joel] - you and joel have a deal: sex in exchange for supplies. no questions asked. so what happens when you do? or, joel fucks you while you're in a headlock. [tw dark!joel] [tw dubcon/possible noncon]

➳ only then, i am good [daddy jackson!joel] - you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. [tw ddlg] [tw dubcon]

➳ 'tis the season [dbf!joel] - you’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together. or, joel fucks you after taking viagra.

➳ a love so fine [husband jackson!joel] - an evening in with your husband helps to quiet the brain noise. 

➳ homeland [jackson!joel] - joel gets you ready for a day of horseback riding.

- series -

➳ that’s the way road dogs do it [ex bf’s dad!joel, no outbreak/modern au] - on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past. part one || part two [tw dubcon]

➳ daddy dom!joel collection [no-outbreak au] - a collection of smutty snapshots of your life with daddy joel.

- specials -

➳ a love so fine moodboard by @here-briefly

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[lieutenantsluvr]

Death Trapped, Clad Happily | Masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

synopsis:

Meeting Joel was an accident—though one that kept you alive. It was a whirlwind of events: one moment, Tess ushers you into a room, and the next, you're escorting a fourteen-year-old immune girl across the country.

With a man that won't look at you—let alone ask for your name or history.

Is surviving this trek worth it? Whose hands do you move to console at night? And why is it his?

series warnings / tags: description of infected. gore. mentions of violence. description of mental health (anxiety, depression). small age gap. mature language. grumpy x sunshine. no use of y/n. canon divergence. slow burn. eventual smut. occasional joel perspective. lacking established relationship.

Chapter 1 - ❝ know that I would gladly be, the Icarus to your certainty ❞

Chapter 2 - ❝ lately of my wasteland, baby. Be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking❞

Chapter 3 - ❝ though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame long as amber of ember glows, all the 'would that I'd loved' is long ago ❞

Chapter 4 -

Chapter 5 -

Chapter 6 -

Chapter 7 -

tag list 0/50 : comment below or on any chapter to be tagged for updates

[joeloverture]

✪ vetty's masterlist ✪

hi, welcome in !

my blog is 18+ — mdni. warnings & tags can be found on each work of mine. do not copy, translate, repost, or put my writing into ai in any capacity.

i don't have a taglist, but you can find my updates blog @joelovertureupdates. turn on notifications to learn when i post new fics.

JOEL MILLER : THE LAST OF US

✪ comeuppance: when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. [post outbreak]

✪ daredevil: after a chance encounter when your dad's best friend catches you sneaking home from a hookup, he has an interesting way of making sure it doesn't happen again. [no outbreak]

✪ deadfall: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak]

✪ fair’s fair: dbf!joel shoves you in his sweaty pits as a ‘joke’. [no outbreak]

✪ hook 'em [series] : trying to get back at your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you right into the arms of his coach. you plan on staying there for a little while. [no outbreak]

✪ a lesson in condom sense : the last customer you expect to be waltzing into your secret day job is your dad's best friend. you can only fight the tension between you two for so long before giving in. [no outbreak]

✪ sea-cret obsession : your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad — he also becomes your newest obsession. [no outbreak]

✪ snowbound : joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. [no outbreak]

[theetherealbloom]

PEDRO PASCAL MAIN MASTERLIST

PEDRO PASCAL

JOEL MILLER

DIN DJARIN

OBERYN MARTELL

MARCUS ACACIUS

REED RICHARDS/ "MR FANTASTIC"

CLINT (FREAKY TALES) (coming soon!)

TIM ROCKFORD (coming soon!)

© etherealbloom - all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, or translate any of my original work. none of my work is permitted to be reposted on any other platform.

[millers-girl]

who we carry

chapter 6 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You, Joel, and Ellie slowly make your way toward Jackson, and each mile slowly begins to heal your heart little by little.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 4.5k

series masterlist

Somewhere outside Lincoln, Nebraska – 2 weeks after the events of Kansas City

Henry and Sam’s deaths haunted you long after you buried them in Missouri. Every time you shut your eyes, you saw Sam’s lifeless body on the floor of the motel room, blood pooling by his head. You saw Henry, his wide, desperate eyes locked onto yours as he muttered a broken apology – then the sharp crack of the gunshot that followed.

That moment never faded; it had carved itself into the marrow of your bones, settling deep in your chest like an ache that refused to heal.

You tried your best to push through it, for Ellie’s sake. She wasn’t handling it well either – wasn’t eating much, wasn’t as chatty. Every day, as you inched closer to Jackson, her small hand clutched yours, gripping tight for hours on end. At night, she shuffled closer to you as she ate dinner; stuffed herself in your sleeping bag, head curled deep into your chest as if the steady rhythm of your heartbeat could somehow protect her from the weight of grief.

You were thankful she slept.

You weren’t so lucky.

Rest came only when exhaustion finally forced your body to surrender. On the rare nights you managed to drift off, it never lasted long. You’d jolt up in a panic, heart pounding, disoriented and breathless.

Joel noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t get much sleep either. He spent many nights sitting near the fire, keeping watch – for intruders, sure, but mostly for you. He saw how your hands trembled when you drank water to calm yourself, saw the way your eyes began to dart toward him before quickly abandoning their endeavor. He knew that look on your face. He’d worn it himself for years.

You pretended not to notice his gaze – pretended not to see the way his brow furrowed, and his grip on his rifle tightened like he wanted to physically fight off what haunted you. 

You thought ignoring it would spare him the worrying, but in reality, it only made him more restless. He wished you’d just look up at him once, with those big, warm eyes of yours. Wished you’d let him help.

After two weeks of this, he decided he was done wishing.

One night, the three of you camped on an open hilltop just outside Lincoln, overlooking the plains. On any other night, in any other world, the view of the vast emptiness could’ve been beautiful – in fact, in this one, it was, but it was also unsettling. 

Joel, as always, took “first watch” – which, realistically, meant he’d take watch for the entire night, wanting you two to get some sleep. 

As you shuffled around in your shared sleeping bag with Ellie, you could feel the air starting to get colder – autumn was on the way; you wouldn’t be able to sleep outside for much longer. 

So, you tried to enjoy the night sky for as long as you could tonight. With no city lights, the stars were incredibly bright, creating a rare peaceful moment for you as you traced constellations with your tired eyes.

At some point, your body betrayed you, pulling you into an uneasy sleep.

It didn’t last long.

You gasped awake, heart slamming against your ribs.

Immediately, you could tell this time felt different from the others. The usual tricks––deep breaths, drinking water, staring into the fire––did nothing. Your skin felt too tight, your lungs too small. Even Ellie stirred beside you, as if she could sense your distress.

Helpless, you turned to the one person who you knew would be watching.

When your gaze moved over Joel’s face, his eyes were already locked on you. You quickly shuffled out of the sleeping bag and made your way over to where he sat, and climbed into his lap. You burrowed into him, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with worry in a way that made a lump form in your throat. He wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His hand ran slowly and steady along your spine, grounding you, pulling you back to the present. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, pulling his jacket tighter around you. The scent of leather and pine filled your senses and you clung to it like an anchor.

Your breathing eventually evened out. The night settled around you again.

After a moment, you lifted your chin, gaze drifting back up to the starry sky, now finding your favorite constellation – bright and unwavering.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Joel softly asked.

“Andromeda,” you pointed out. “She was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster. On his way back from slaying Medusa, Perseus––of all people––rescued her, just in time.”

You snorted humorlessly to yourself. “It’s funny. She was trapped, bound to something she couldn’t escape from, waiting for someone to save her…”

Like you. 

Chained to your grief, to your guilt, to the memories that wouldn’t let you go.

And in some ways, Joel was Perseus. Scarred and weary, a man who had lived through unspeakable horrors and yet continued to move forward.

“Guess it’s a good story,” you said softly, leaning against his shoulder. “At least some people get saved.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy with the things you didn’t say.

Joel's voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.

 “Yeah, and some people fight their way out.” 

His lips pressed against your temple, gentle and lingering. A silent reassurance. A reminder that he saw your strength even when you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, fingers absentmindedly twiddling with the rough hem of his jacket.

“I had a dream about Henry,” you whispered, barely audible, before correcting, “I had a nightmare about Henry.” 

Joel didn’t press. Didn’t make you meet his gaze. He just waited.

“I hesitated,” you coked out, “ – and I – I could’ve saved him, I could’ve saved them both if – ” 

The words felt like glass in your throat, each one sharper than the last.

Joel’s hand tightened on your back, warm and steady. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Your voice cracked. “Then, why do I keep replaying that moment over and over? It’s all I can think about…” 

A long pause. Then, his voice, low and certain, said, “You did all you could… Ain’t ever gonna feel like enough.”

Something in his tone made you lift your head slightly. He wasn't just talking about you.

Your breath hitched, but you nevertheless nodded. The weight in your chest shifted, just slightly.

You exhaled, long and slow. “Then, how am I supposed to stop feeling this way?” 

Joel’s arms tightened around you. “You will,” he promised. “Time heals all wounds.”

You almost scoffed, almost told him that felt like bullshit – but then he added, “And, you have me and Ellie. We’ll get through this… That’s what families do.” 

Your breath caught in your throat.

Family.

The word settled in your chest, filling the hollow space where the grief had made its home.

For the first time in two weeks, you felt something other than sorrow. Something lighter, something safer.

You didn’t answer, just let yourself sink into Joel’s warmth, let the stars blur above you as sleep finally started to take hold.

This time, it felt different.

This time, you didn’t fight it.

Near the Rocky Mountains – 5 weeks after the events of Kansas City

The unforgiving torrential downpour slammed against the asphalt as you, Joel, and Ellie sprinted toward the only building in sight – a rundown farmhouse crouched in the a valley, surrounded by mountains on either side. 

You didn’t know how long the storm had been building behind you until it was suddenly everywhere, soaking your clothes and whipping your hair into your face as thunder angrily cracked above.

By the time you stumbled into the foyer and Joel hurriedly shoved the door shut behind you, you were drenched. Rain dripped from your clothes onto the worn hardwood floor, but your senses were focused on the sudden stillness inside.

The storm had blanketed the house in a dark, gloomy gray tone. Only the occasional flicker of lightning brightened the house, illuminating old, broken furniture, worn wallpaper, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.

By the time you and Joel had cleared the house and secured the doors, Ellie was yawning and dropping her pack with a thud, murmuring something about a real bed before vanishing up the stairs and passing out on the dusty mattress.

You couldn’t even blame her. After weeks of sleeping on forest floors and cracked linoleum, even the sagging, moth-bitten mattress probably felt like a cloud. You lingered near the front window, peering through the glass at the storm that trapped you here. You should’ve felt unsettled, seeing as you couldn’t make anything out further than five feet in front of you. Instead, you somehow felt still, in a good way.

You weren’t even that tired tonight. Lately, miraculously, you’d been sleeping decently – well “decently” meaning not waking up every single night from nightmares. And you knew the reason for it.

It wasn’t time. It wasn’t healing.

It was Joel.

Now, across the room, he moved quietly, methodically checking the window locks. He hadn’t said much since coming inside, but he didn’t need to. 

What happened in Lincoln had changed things. He’d become quietly protective over you. In ways that weren’t obvious unless you were looking.

When he handed you dinner, you noticed he always made sure to give you the warmest portion, or the piece with the most meat. When you hiked, his hand was a constant – guiding you up tricky inclines, steadying you with a brush of fingers at your elbow. At night, when you shifted in your sleep, it was his jacket that was draped over your shoulders. 

Now, as you sank onto the couch near the fireplace, the change felt noticeable. Heavier, harder to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Joel knelt in front of you, undoing the laces on your boots with slow, sure hands. 

You arched a brow, teasing, “Are you obsessed with me?”

Joel turned to you, brows furrowed in curiosity, not confusion. No, he wasn’t confused because this wasn’t coming out of nowhere. He was intentional with his touches lately, and even he couldn’t ignore the way Ellie had snickered, “You guys are like an old married couple,” when he had leaned forward during the hike to adjust the strap of your pack on your shoulders. You’d nudged him with your shoulder when you continued walking, expecting him to push back, but he just let the touch linger.

The fire before you now cracked low in the hearth, Joel having brought it back to life. It cast a soft light over the ruined living room, and you hesitantly grabbed a blanket before pulling it over your lap, finally relaxing for the first time all day.

Joel settled in beside you, arms folded, gaze glued to the flames.

For a while, there was only silence. Then, he spoke, voice low. “You been sleeping better,” he noted. You hummed, nodding. “What changed?”

You chewed your lip, then finally admitted, “You did.” Joel didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “It’s easier… when you’re around. Like I’m not carrying it all on my own.” 

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, it was soft. “S’cause you’re not.” 

The words buried themselves deep in your chest, forcing you to realize how much you needed to hear someone say it – how badly you needed to hear him say it.

You exhaled deeply, leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. Just let you rest there, warm and quiet and safe.

“Feels weird,” you murmured. “Letting someone else help. I’m used to taking care of Ellie myself. Doing everything myself.” 

Joel’s hand settled over yours on your lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling that same change in his own life. “It does.” 

You glanced at him, eventually feeling your body catch up to your mind. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the combination of the fire, warmth, and Joel’s steady presence made it impossible. 

You drifted off with your head on his shoulder, the sound of rain tapping on the window like a lullaby.

When you blinked awake hours later, morning light flickered through the warped glass, soft and golden. The storm had passed.

Joel was still beside you, arm loosely draped around your back, breath slow and even.

You looked up at him. He cracked an eye open and gave you a sleepy grunt. You gave him a questioning look and revelled in the fact that, though he shrugged, his ears turned pink. Yes, it was a big deal.

You smiled, resting your head against him again, letting the silence say everything.

Outside, the mountains loomed in the distance – tall and vast and daunting. But you didn't feel scared. Not anymore.

You had help now.

Somewhere in Central Wyoming - 2 months after the events of Kansas City

It was officially too cold to sleep outside comfortably. 

Your breath fogged in the morning air, fingers stiff around the straps of your pack as you trudged along the frostbitten road. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the wind had a bite to it now – sharp and unforgiving. Still, despite the numbness creeping into your toes, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Not quite back to happy as usual, but something close enough to it that you didn’t question the lift in your chest.

Winter had always been your favorite season. Something about the way the world seemed to soften under fresh snowfall, how quiet and peaceful it all became. Like even the apocalypse had to slow down and take a breath. 

And then, of course, there was Christmas.

You knew it must’ve seemed silly to others––maybe even naive of you––but the thought of it still stirred warmth in your chest. Not the mediocre gifts you and Ellie exchanged, necessarily, nor the poor attempt at festive decorations. Just the idea of it. Joy for the sake of joy. An excuse to show people they mattered.

So when you asked Joel what he wanted for Christmas, it wasn’t a joke, but he seemed to take it as one.

He gave you a look like he hadn’t even heard of the holiday. “What are you talkin’ about?” 

“Christmas,” you repeated, keeping your tone light. “You remember Christmas, right? Presents under the tree, string lights, big fat jolly fella?” 

Joel scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching with reluctant amusement. “’Course I remember Christmas. I was celebratin’ it before you were born.” He winced slightly, and you could tell he was doing the math. “Why’re you askin’?” 

“Because it’s almost time to celebrate,” you said simply, letting your fingers brush through the brittle tall grass as you three followed signs for the town of Casper. 

He glanced between you and Ellie, who was skipping a few paces head, before shaking his head. “Let me get this right – you two still celebrate Christmas?” 

“Why would we stop?” Ellie asked, furrowing her brow like he was the one not making sense.

Joel huffed. “Cause the world ended?”

“So?” you shot back. “Did the idea of presents end, too? Or showing people how much they mean to you?”

Joel didn’t respond. Just pressed his lips together like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Like maybe it had, once, and he’d burned his mind of the thought.

“What’d you get each other last year?” he asked after a pause.

“I got Ellie a guitar.” 

That seemed to jolt him a little. His eyebrows rose. “Y’know how to play?” he asked Ellie. 

“I tried,” Ellie muttered, eyes meeting yours. “But the person teaching me – I mean… I didn’t really have anyone to teach me. Not many books, either. I had to leave it behind at the apartment.” 

Joel was quiet for a long second. Then, he said, “When we’re done with all this Firefly business, we’ll find another guitar. I’ll teach you.” 

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“You know how to play guitar?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Joel shrugged, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “Keep surprising me, Miller,” you muttered under your breath.

Joel looked over at Ellie, then gave her a small nudge and nodded towards you. “What’d you get her?” 

Though you only hesitated and misstepped for a single second, Joel caught it. Your smile dropped. The breath in your lungs froze somewhere in your chest. You looked at Ellie, and for a moment, she looked like she might answer honestly. But you shook your head – just barely.

“Nothing important,” you said quietly, clearing your throat. “Now, are we planning on making it to Casper today or you two need another break?” 

Ellie groaned. Joel muttered something about his back. But they followed you, and you kept your face forward so they couldn’t see the sudden tightness behind your eyes. 

Casper wasn’t what you expected. It was one of the bigger towns you’d come across since Kansas City, for one. A once-bustling downtown now laid half-ruined, skeletal buildings casting long shadows across the abandoned streets. But the bones of the city were still there – road signs, cracked pavement, a few intact storefronts. It felt like stumbling into a shell of a world that had only just slipped away.

The three of you scavenged in mostly silence. Joel found clean clothes for all three of you, Ellie found canned peaches and made a war cry over it like she’d just slain an enemy, and by sheer luck, you had miraculously found a motel where the hot water was still running.

The sign was barely legible, half-hanging from its frame, but the doors to the rooms were unlocked.

“This is amazing!” Ellie yelled from the bathroom, voice echoing over the sound of the shower. “I’m never leaving!” 

“Leave some hot water for the rest of us!” you begged, sitting on the bed and peeling off your jacket.

Joel came to sit beside you, legs stretched out, head tipped back against the wall. For a moment, the only sound was the running water and the occasional creak of the old buildings settling all around you. 

You turned to look at him, watching the lines on his face. 

“You seriously haven’t celebrated Christmas in twenty years?” 

“Haven’t celebrated my birthday, either,” he admitted, glancing down at his wrist for a millisecond. 

“Do you miss it? Normal life?” 

He took a moment to answer. “Yeah. Sometimes.” 

You nodded. “Me too.” A quiet blanketed over the two of you for a moment, and it ate at you until you were saying, “Look, back on the road earlier… when you asked Ellie what she got me for Christmas – ”

Joel was already shaking his head, staring at you with those big, warm, understanding brown eyes of his. “You don’t have to explain.” 

He was giving you space, in that quiet, steady way of his. And as much as you appreciated it, you found yourself wanting to share, for the first time since it happened.

You exhaled slowly, reaching into your shirt to pull a necklace out. 

“This is what she got me,” you said after a beat, clutching at the pendant hanging. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a gold chain that probably cost her way too many ration cards, sold by someone at one of those market stalls…” 

Joel’s gaze flickered to your chest, and you slowly uncurled your fingers, letting the little star pendant show. 

“I never take it off,” you added, softer still. A faint smile tugged at your lips, but it faded just as quick. “She was so proud to give it to me. Said Nate helped her pick it out.”  

Joel shifted slightly. Oh.

“And his Christmas present to Ellie was to teach her how to play that guitar,” you revealed, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place for Joel. Why both you and Ellie acted put-off by the topic. 

You gulped, before finishing, in a whisper, “He, uh – he didn’t get a chance to… And, when we were talking about it – it just hit me all at once. The necklace, the guitar, the fact that he should been here… teaching her. I didn’t want to say it out loud, I guess. Didn’t want to make it real.”

Joel exhaled quietly, deep frown matching yours. “I get it.” 

“I’m… I’m glad for the pain, in a way, you know? It’s a reminder. I think I’m just scared of when it won’t hurt anymore.” 

Joel just nodded slowly, like he understood that, too. He didn’t answer right away, letting what you said sink in. Then, he held his wrist out to show you his broken watch.

“Sarah got me this,” he revealed. “It broke on Outbreak Day. But I never took it off. Never tried to fix it, either.” 

Your eyes were glued to the broken watch, throat thick. 

“I don’t think it’s about forgettin’,” he continued. “It’s about carryin’. What we carry – who we carry – and who we let go… It’s okay if you’re not ready to let go. I’m not, either.” 

You swallowed hard, nodding and brushing away your tears before they had a chance to fall. “What if I want to carry him with me forever?” you asked quietly.

His hand came to rest reassuringly on your shoulder. Steady. Grounding.

“That’s okay, too.” 

50 miles outside of Jackson, Wyoming - 3 months after the events of Kansas City

It was almost Christmas.

The snow outside blanketed the woods in a thick silence, flakes drifting lazily from the gray sky as you watched from the window of a small hunting cabin you’d stumbled upon two days ago. 

There was a stillness here, a kind of peace you hadn’t really felt since Kansas City. Maybe it was because you were getting close to Jackson. Less than a hundred miles away now. Your adventure would be over in a few days and whatever was in Jackson would be awaiting your group.

The fire crackled softly behind you, warming the cabin’s single room. Pine-scented air drifted through the poorly-sealed window panes, mixing with the sharp bite of winter. You pulled your coat tighter, getting comfortable.

Behind you, Ellie snored in her own sleeping bag, the corner of her mouth slack and blissfully drooling. Joel laid beside you in your shared sleeping bag, already awake but clearly pretending not to be. His eyes flickered open the second you sat up.

“Sleeping in, old man?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep but light with affection.

He cracked one eye open. “Didn’t realize sunrise was considered sleeping in.”

You smirked and turned around, nuzzlign deep into the crook of his neck as you mumbled, “It’s your turn to make coffee.”

Joel grumbled something about “It’s somehow my turn every damn day,” but he sat up anyway, slowly stretching with a groan before getting up to prepare the brew with the last of the grounds Ellie had scavenged in the last town.

You turned in the sleeping bag to watch him, head still resting on your pillow. The snow outside reflected a cool light across his face, outlining the soft gray in his beard and the soft cut of his jaw. 

You’d gotten used to watching him like this. It was easier now – no longer full of longing or guilt, but something quieter. Steadier.

He glanced back. “You’re starin’ again.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m admiring? There’s a difference,” you shot back.

His lips tugged at the corner, and a smile ghosted over his face. “Liar.”

He came back over, squatting to hand you a tin mug with practiced ease. You took it, fingers brushing his.

Ellie stirred then, grunting, “It’s like seven in the morning. Are you really going to torment me with the flirting this early?” 

You grinned, and Joel was quick to point out, “S’one-sided.” 

You snorted at that, and Ellie rolled her eyes, not believing him either. She tugged her sleeping back over her head.

You took a sip of the coffee, wincing slightly at the bitterness. You really would never get over the taste. Still, it kept you awake, so you couldn’t have asked for much more.

After a quiet breakfast and a short trek to check the perimeter, Joel returned to the cabin, fiddling with something behind his back. When he caught your eye, he paused awkwardly, clearly caught in the act.

Your brow quirked. “What’re you hiding, Miller?”

He grumbled, “Ain’t hiding anything. Sit down.”

You did as asked, and Joel stood in front of you, reaching into his jacket pocket. He held something in his hands, face unreadable.

“I know it’s not exactly Christmas yet,” he muttered. “But… I got you somethin’.”

He pulled his hand out, revealing his palm. Inside, a small bundle, wrapped in what looked like torn flannel and tied with a shoelace. Carefully, you unfolded the cloth and gasped.

It was a small fox, carefully carved out of wood.

“Foxes remind me of you – clever, quick-witted, protective. Playful.”

Your eyes softened as you carefully picked the tiny fox up, observing it. You’d seen Joel carving little things for a while – while you were meant to be asleep or on watch. He’d been practicing on scrape, but this is the first one that felt good enough to give.

“It looked like you, too, ’cept the ears were smaller.” 

You rolled your eyes, smile widening as you brought the fox, wrapped in your hands, to your heart, cherishing it. You looked back up at him, eyes wide and full. “Joel.” 

He shrugged, like it was nothing, but there was a flicker of nerves beneath his calm. “Y’like it?” 

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes. “I can’t believe you made this… for me.”

“Who else would it be for?” 

Your chest ached. Not in the way it used to––with grief and regret––but with something blooming. Something real. 

You clutched the fox in your hand and rose to your feet, wrapping your arms around Joel and pressing your forehead against his shoulder. His hand came up to your back without hesitation.

Behind you, Ellie groaned dramatically from her sleeping bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Joel snorted. “Can’t be worse than you, waking up this late.”

“Can’t wait till we get to Jackson and I can bunk with literally anyone else,” she grumbled, though a smile found itself on her face.

You matched it, grinning into Joel’s chest, feeling the way his laugh rumbled beneath your cheek. 

Tightening your hold on the fox, you came to the realization that whatever lay in Jackson––whatever about it that had your stomach grumbling––you’d survive, as a family.

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco @keileighr @buckyandlokirunmylife @deesparticus

[meet-me-backstage]

༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☼ Rancher!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠！

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ☼ You, a headstrong—bubbly ranch-hand, form a close bond with the reserved ranch-owner, Joel Miller, through two seasons of hard work, warmth, and unspoken longing. You leave to chase your dream, but circumstance brings Joel back into your life. A storm rolls over your land, something between you stirs—unresolved and waiting to burst.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ☼ a no outbreak au loosely inspired by Far From The Madding Crowd but it’s set in modern day/Texas, rancher!Joel (🥵), protective!Joel, grumpy x sunshine, bad language, light angst, mention of vomit & there’s blood after an incident with a hammer, age gap (reader is in her 20s & Joel is in his 50s), kinda slowburny, unresolved feelings (until they aren’t hehe), yearrrrrning and SMUUUUT so you must be 18+ to read this story‼️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!) ↯

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 (???)

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦!

𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 & 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭! 🫶

༺ 🐑 ༻

[andy-15-07]

Under the Mexican Sun

request sent by @lloydmustache:Pedro x reader, dating for almost a year. They're spending their first Christmas in Mexico with their friends, keeping their relationship as private as possible; yet they get spotted by a few fans once one of their friends posted on Instagram how cheesey Pedro is around her.

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 964 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N:Hi, I know this fic is a bit late and I apologize but the request was sent recently, I hope you like it

The warm, salty breeze of the Mexican coastline greeted you as you stepped off the plane, your hand instinctively finding Pedro’s. Almost a year of dating, and this was your first Christmas together—a milestone you both cherished, even if you were trying to keep it under wraps.

“You sure they won’t post anything?” you teased, glancing at Pedro as he pulled his cap lower over his eyes, trying to stay incognito.

“I’ll bribe them with tequila if I have to,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But seriously, they know the drill.”

Your friends had been sworn to secrecy. The plan was simple: a low-key holiday with close friends, no paparazzi, no public declarations. But you both knew that secrecy and Pedro didn’t always mix well.

The rented beach house was everything you could have hoped for—spacious, with large windows that let in the golden light of the setting sun. The sound of waves crashing nearby became the perfect soundtrack to your holiday escape.

“This place is perfect,” you sighed, dropping your bags and stretching out on the couch.

Pedro flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Almost as perfect as you,” he murmured against your hair, making you laugh.

The days blended into a beautiful, sun-soaked rhythm. Mornings were spent lounging in hammocks, afternoons exploring local markets, and evenings filled with laughter, music, and just the right amount of tequila. Pedro was effortlessly charming, his usual wit and warmth amplified by the relaxed atmosphere.

But it was the little things that gave him away. The way his eyes followed you when you weren’t looking, the soft touches that lingered longer than they should have if you were "just friends." Your friends noticed, of course—how could they not?

One evening, as you sat around a bonfire on the beach, your friend Maria snapped a candid photo. You were leaning into Pedro, both of you laughing at something he’d whispered in your ear. It was innocent enough, or so you thought.

“Don’t post that,” Pedro warned, pointing a playful finger at Maria.

“Relax, it’s just for us,” she grinned, but the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing incessantly. Groggy, you reached over Pedro to grab it, your heart sinking as you saw the flood of notifications.

“Babe,” you whispered, nudging him awake. “I think we’ve been outed.”

Pedro groaned, rolling over to squint at your screen. There it was—Maria’s Instagram story. A quick, blurry video of Pedro wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck as you laughed. The caption read: When Pedro Pascal turns into a total cheeseball around her.

“Maria,” Pedro muttered, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “She’s buying all the drinks tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as the anxiety bubbled in your chest. “It’s kind of cute, though. Look at all these comments… they love us.”

“They love you,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess there’s no hiding now.”

Later that day, as you strolled through a local market, you felt the first pair of eyes on you. Then another. Whispers followed, and soon enough, a brave fan approached.

“Pedro? Oh my God, can we get a picture?”

Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening. “Only if she’s in it too,” he said, pulling you closer.

The floodgates opened after that. Photos, autographs, and well-wishes from fans who were more excited about your relationship than you could have imagined. And while it wasn’t the private holiday you’d planned, it was perfect in its own way.

That night, back at the beach house, Pedro pulled you onto the balcony, the ocean shimmering under the moonlight.

“I know this isn’t how we planned it,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, “but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, your heart full.

And as he kissed you, the world faded away—just you, Pedro, and the love that no amount of secrecy could hide.

The next morning, you and Pedro decided to embrace the newfound attention with humor. Over breakfast, Maria sheepishly slid into her seat, avoiding Pedro’s mock stern gaze.

“So,” he began, dramatically clearing his throat, “about that Instagram story...”

Maria raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll admit it—I couldn’t resist. You two were just too cute.”

“You’re lucky we love you,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” she promised, grinning. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

That evening, your group ventured out to a local beachfront bar. The atmosphere was lively, filled with music, laughter, and the rhythmic crashing of waves. Pedro kept his arm around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, a silent declaration of his affection.

As the night wore on, more fans approached—each interaction was met with Pedro’s signature charm and warmth. He introduced you with pride, never shying away from showing how much you meant to him.

“You know,” he whispered in your ear as you danced under the stars, “I think I like being your public boyfriend.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

The final night of your trip arrived too quickly. As you packed, Pedro pulled you aside, his eyes serious but filled with love.

“This year with you has been the best of my life,” he said softly, cupping your face in his hands. “I can’t wait to see what’s next for us.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you boarded the plane back home, hand in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you—whether in the spotlight or in quiet, stolen moments—you and Pedro were in it together, for all the Christmases to come.

[worlds-we-write]

Started 03/28/25

Updated 04/17/25

❤️‍🔥-smut 💖-fluff ❤️‍🩹angst MDNI, 18+ only

ao3

The Last of Us

Joel Miller

Shelter in the Storm (series) ❤️‍🩹💖

Beneath the Ashen Sky (series)❤️‍🩹

Sweet on You (series) ❤️‍🔥💖❤️‍🩹

The Dead Don’t Sing (series) ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🔥

Limits ❤️‍🔥

Make Me Obey❤️‍🔥

Something to Hold Onto❤️‍🔥

Figured You Out ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The Librarian's Secret ❤️‍🔥

Pedro Pascal

Let Me Hear You ❤️‍🔥

[tightjeansjavi]

⋆˚✿˖°❀ Sarah’s Treasures⋆˚✿˖°❀

Summary: Joel Miller single father to Sarah and Ellie, (his adopted daughter) Joel lives a simple life with his family. Outside of being a carpenter, he opened up a thrift store in town named, Sarah’s Treasures. Sarah, Ellie, and Tommy all encourage Joel to get out in the world and make new friends. You’re new to Austin, a fresh pretty face. You find yourself inside Joel’s thrift store when an online date bails on you.

Pairing | thrift store owner! Joel Miller x f!reader

Fic Warnings: angst, fluff, eventual established relationship, eventual smut, relationship baggage, soft! Joel, relationship trauma, sunshine reader, single dad! Joel, Joel is a sweetheart, Ellie and Sarah exist in this universe, no outbreak/AU, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, Tommy owns a coffee shop, +18 minors dni!

Chapters |

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5