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theetherealbloom · 1 year ago

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BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

Chapter One: I Know He's Crazy, But He's The One I Want

Summary: After harboring a crush on your dad's charming best friend, Joel Miller, you graduate college only to be confused by something he supposedly said to you, but then he and his daughter Sarah, reluctantly move away due to his work. Six months later, Joel returns to town, and you're desperate to confirm if his words were real. Both you and your dad eagerly await his arrival but for entirely different reasons. As feelings intensify, you realize that falling for him might not be temporary after all.

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AGE-GAP Romance, Reader is Early twenties and Joel is in his late 30s to early 40s, Secret Romance, Sneaking around, FLUFF, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, Heavy Make Out Session, Kissing, Barely any plot, Relationship, Swearing, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Flattery, Awkward, Virgin reader, inexperienced reader, slightly Self Deprecating, Suggestive Content,

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: Happy “The Tortured Poets Department” release! I couldn’t help but shriek with joy when I heard But Daddy I Love Him. Literally, dad best friend Joel Miller coded. I would like to thank @wheresarizona for dealing with my spam in her messages from me as I was yapping about the new album and gushing over her writing; she’s literally one of the best writers ever. That is a fact and I will die on that hill.

This fic is heavily inspired by all of the dad's best friend books and dbf!Joel Miller fics I have read over the years. It is with great honor (and a lot of fucking fear) to present to you this Frankenstein of all of my fav tropes!

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

Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

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As you walk past the neighboring house, you observe the real estate agent meticulously placing the 'SOLD' banner onto the weathered for sale sign. A strange sense of satisfaction washes over you, knowing that someone has finally purchased the property.

Entering your home, you release a sigh of relief as the familiar comfort washes over you. With a casual toss, your keys and bag find their place on the hallway table. The urge to call out to your dad bubbles up, but it freezes in your throat when you're met with an unexpected sound drifting from his home office.

Your heart quickens as you peek inside, only to find your dad's best friend, Joel Miller, lounging on the plush brown lazy boy. His deep, resonant voice fills the room, sending shivers down your spine even before you lay eyes on him.

Clutching the doorframe for support, you fight to steady your nerves. With trembling fingers, you manage to force a smile onto your lips, though it feels strained. "Hey, Dad. Hey… Joel," you manage to squeak, the mere sound of his name stirring a flurry of emotions within you.

The room feels stiflingly quiet as you wait for a response, the weight of Joel's gaze almost tangible. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as his intense eyes meet yours. His attention feels almost palpable, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sends a rush of warmth through your body. With a low, almost imperceptible grunt of acknowledgment, Joel's gaze finally breaks away, leaving you breathless in his wake.

You try to avert your gaze out of sheer habit, but it's futile, like trying not to be drawn to the most captivating, exquisite sight in existence.

God, it's as if he's been carved from pure perfection, each time you lay eyes on him.

That same intense, brooding look he wore the day of your college graduation, late last year, still grips you. And it seems Joel's gaze has the same effect on your dad, eliciting a familiar reaction. With a quick double-take, your dad shoots a glance at his best friend before swiveling in his seat.

"Hey there, sweetheart, just catching up with Joel. He dropped by for a surprise visit," your dad starts, but he halts mid-sentence, noticing your undeniable reaction. Concern etches his features as he addresses you. "Honey?" he prompts, his voice laced with worry, as you struggle to find your voice for the umpteenth time in mere seconds.

Joel's gaze narrows, his jaw clenching as his intense scrutiny roams over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

As you cling to the doorframe, you can't help but notice the subtle movement of Joel's prominent Adam's apple, betraying his own unease.

Breaking the tension, your dad's nervous chuckle pierces the silence, attributing my apparent moodiness to your usual banter. He turns back to Joel, commenting on his friend's expression.

"What's going on with you two?" he quips, his tone shifting from light-hearted to serious in an instant. "Feels like there's some dirty secret between you," your dad adds, the jest evaporating from his voice. Yet, Joel remains unfazed by your dad's observation, his gaze still locked onto you as a faint smile curves his lips.

His lips curl into a smirk, accentuating the charming dimple that appears in his slightly scruffy beard whenever he smiles—a sight that never fails to tug at your heartstrings.

But as your dad's suspicion lingers in the air, Joel's demeanor shifts, yet you still struggle to connect the dots regarding why he's been giving you that look since graduation.

That day was meant to mark a pivotal moment in your life, celebrating the culmination of years of hard work in college. Yet, Joel's presence, the way he gazed at you, and the unexpected intensity of his hug during the congratulations... It's forever etched in your memory for reasons beyond the academic achievement.

And at the center of it all is one word: Joel.

He's a towering figure, a mix of solid muscle and the comforting softness of his belly. In the moment, you brushed off his tight embrace after receiving your diploma as merely the enthusiasm of the occasion.

But as you felt his whole body pressing right into yours during that hug, you knew it wasn’t your regular type of embrace.

“I’m so proud of you, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear. And though you didn’t catch his next words as clearly, you're certain he said something else that day. “…You feel so fuckin’ good….”

At least, that's what you've been convincing yourself he said. You recall gazing up into those big brown eyes, the same intense look he's giving you now, and wondering the same thing. How could an older, dangerously attractive man like Joel be even remotely interested in someone like you? Apart from being your dad’s best friend, he's more than twice your age and lives on the other side of the country with his daughter, Sarah.

You can almost picture the scandalized gasps of the single older women and ex-wives in your town, clutching their pearls and whispering, "What a mess," if you and Joel ever got together; if he was even remotely interested in you like that.

But you've replayed that scene in your mind every day since, and no matter how hard you try, there's just no denying your secret crush on him.

It all started long before college, your feelings for Joel simmering beneath the surface. Back then, you couldn't quite grasp what it was you felt for him. All you knew was that it felt right, and that feeling remains unchanged. Despite the nerves and shyness that being around him brings, there's another undeniable effect he has on you.

Like the overwhelming desire to sink back and beg him to indulge in things that his best friend's daughter probably shouldn't be fantasizing about. It's been a while since you last saw Joel, but he still exudes the same charm and looks even more handsome and fit than before, thanks to his job in construction as a contractor.

And when you receive that same look from him today, when your dad even jokes about his suspicions, you know Joel remembers that day too. The intensity in his eyes mirrors the moment he pulled you close, a memory etched as your most cherished moment so far.

"Well, I reckon’ my presence here might come as a bit of a surprise," Joel rasps, his gaze locked with yours as he emits a low chuckle for your dad's benefit. Unnoticed by your dad, Joel shoots you a sly wink, and you watch as your dad's tension melts away. He's relieved to know he wasn't imagining things, and undoubtedly thrilled once he hears Joel's news. "I'm moving here, right next door with Sarah. Tommy should be dropping her off here tomorrow," he announces with enthusiasm, but you feel the pit of your stomach drop.

Joel... here? For good? Oh, fuck.

Your dad erupts into loud whoops, raising both hands in the air. "It's about time, buddy! I knew you were keeping something from me," he adds, turning to you once again. "You were aware of this?" he asks, furrowing his brow with a hint of confusion.

"You knew Joel and Sarah were coming to town, didn’t you?" Dad repeats, finally grinning like a child at the news. Smiling like a dad who's pushed aside any notion of his best friend showing interest in his only daughter. And you catch a sly grin on Joel’s face as he comes to your rescue. "Oh, I mentioned I might pay a visit. Buttercup here wasn't aware of the specifics or that Sarah and I would be relocatin’ back here," he explains to your dad.

But when Joel smoothly fibs to your dad, insinuating that you were aware of his impending move back to town, even though it caught you completely off guard, he seals an instant and secret pact between the two of you with a single glance. His deep brown eyes wink at you, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. You realize you're in deeper trouble than you initially thought. And strangely enough, it's the kind of trouble you welcome with open arms.

In that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passes between you and Joel. With just a wink from him, your chest flutters with excitement, and a wave of anticipation rushes through you, leaving you feeling unexpectedly aroused at the prospect of having him nearby all the time. You're fully committed now, Joel's lie to his best friend serving as a shield for both of you, deflecting attention away from the undeniable tension between you.

"Sarah called last week," you fabricate, deciding to play along with Joel's deception. "As we were chatting, Joel mentioned something about visiting. It must've slipped my mind to mention it to you," you explain to your dad, hoping he'll buy into the white lie. Joel's low growl of contentment as he leans back, causing the leather chair to creak, reassures you that he approves of your little ruse.

Your dad's elation at the news of his best friend's return to their quaint little town is palpable, enough to overshadow any scolding he might have had for your omission about Sarah and Joel's supposed call.

But the truth remains: Sarah never called, and Joel's mysterious behavior is raising more questions than answers.

A surprise visit is one thing, but the intensity of Joel's gaze? The way he makes you feel? It's enough to give your long-standing crush on him a serious run for its money.

"But damn, Sarah will be here tomorrow?" your dad groans before chuckling. "A bit more notice would've been nice, but hell, it'll be good to see you, buddy."

"Listen, I've got something I can't postpone tomorrow. Maybe my daughter here could accompany you to pick up Sarah from the airport?" your dad suggests, turning his attention towards you.

Somewhere behind you, a strange sound escapes—it's you, emitting a sort of mewling noise that you know Joel catches, his smile widening in response.

"Sounds perfect," he agrees before you even have a chance to process it.

"Sweetie?" your dad asks, his tone sheepish now that he's volunteered you without asking if you were available.

You can only watch as the room seems to spin around you, nodding in agreement. "Yeah... sure, I don't have any tutoring sessions tomorrow."

"Perfect!" your dad sighs with relief, promising Joel they'll catch up later. "But I really need to get back to the shop. Are you alright here with her to help you settle into your new house with whatever you brought? The rest of your stuff hasn't arrived yet."

"Yeah, we'll be just fine," Joel assures in his trademark baritone, locking eyes with you.

You were so fixated on Joel's presence that you hadn't noticed the bags by the side of the home office.

"Sweetie? You sure you're okay to help? You look kind of..." your dad starts, but you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before replying, "Yeah, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I can help."

"Alright then," your dad grabs his car keys, ready to leave the home office. He gives you both a final glance, kissing the top of your head. "I'll be back for dinner. Have fun, you two!"

You and Joel remain frozen in place, him on one side of the room and you by the doorway, both listening to your dad's fading footsteps and the rumble of his truck as he drives away.

You’re so fucked.

It's been six long months since you last saw each other, and for Joel, it's felt like an eternity. The day of your graduation marked the first time he laid eyes on you in over three years, and it was as if he was seeing you for the very first time.

You've grown into a remarkable adult, and Joel couldn't help but feel the overwhelming need to be there, not only for his buddy, your dad, but also for his sweet Buttercup. Witnessing his little girl all grown up and ready to embark on her journey into the world with her diploma was a moment he'll never forget. He'd never seen his best friend prouder, yet his gaze lingered on you for entirely different reasons.

Reasons and desires that had never crossed Joel's mind until that day. He couldn't resist pulling you close, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his.

What was he thinking? Surely, everyone could see the effect you had on him.

But Joel wasn't thinking, he was acting on instinct. He was claiming what he knew belonged to him. Telling you he was proud of you was one thing, but he's still unsure if you heard what else he said about how good you felt in his arms.

Yet, he doesn't regret it. Because it was true then, and it remains true now. He just wishes he knew if you felt the same way. If you felt it in the same way he did. But how could you possibly feel the same way about him as he has about you these past six months?

Joel couldn't deny that there were many reasons why the relationship between you was complicated. For one, there was the age difference - you were more than half his age. Apart from having the kind of body he could grip, suck and fuck for a lifetime, additionally, you were his best friend's daughter, a bond that ran deep and could not be ignored.

That day, Joel took a risk, blurring the lines and potentially jeopardizing not just his friendship with your dad, but also the bond he shared with you by being so affectionate.

Surprisingly, you didn't seem to mind his gestures, and Joel was convinced that your dad hadn't even noticed. Despite the undeniable attraction he felt towards you, a feeling that lingered and intensified with every thought of you, Joel couldn't shake the worry that his actions might have caused a rift.

As days turned into weeks without any word from your dad, Joel's mind raced with doubts. He couldn't help but question if you had confided in your father about his behavior. Perhaps your dad had sensed Joel's infatuation with you, leading to a silence that spoke volumes.

Intrusive thoughts plagued Joel, wondering if you had been uncomfortable with his displays of affection. The fear that you might have someone else in your life to hold onto gnawed at him, leaving him restless and anxious about the potential consequences of his actions.

Joel and your dad used to share conversations daily, a bond that time and life's demands have gradually weakened, particularly with Sarah still navigating middle school. They both acknowledge the need to reconnect more often, yet something always seems to intervene.

But Joel's decision to visit your father in person wasn't impulsive; it was a deliberate choice, driven by a desire to stay for good this time.

No more fleeting visits. This time, it's permanent.

And it's all because of you.

Since your graduation day, you've occupied Joel's thoughts relentlessly. It's more than just an obsession; you're the sole focus of his mind, consuming his every waking moment.

You are the only thing he can fucking think about.

Joel would never dare voice his thoughts to your dad, not just because of his feelings, but also because your father had a history of using his fists to settle matters. If he even suspected a fraction of what Joel's mind was consumed with regarding his daughter... Well, Joel would never be allowed in your home, with your dad likely ensuring Joel carried a permanent reminder of his displeasure.

Despite his reluctance to keep secrets from his lifelong friend, Joel's motivation to act stems from a burning need that is beyond his mere desire to reunite with you.

He doesn't just want to see you again; he craves it with a fervor that borders on desperation. And the only way to satisfy this yearning is to summon the courage to ask for more.

Reconnecting with your dad was pleasant, but the sight of you, standing in the doorway of the home office, unleashes a torrent of emotions within Joel. It's as though he's been trapped in a deep freeze for the past six months, and your mere presence ignites a firestorm within him.

Every curve of your silhouette, every strand of hair framing your face, fuels Joel's desire until it simmers beyond control, all for you.

As you watched him, his gaze never wavered from your presence, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He was grateful for the chair that supported him, as he felt the insanely hard erection you gave him.

Your natural grace and beauty had left him breathless, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

All from just being yourself. All without you even trying to do anything.

You really are just fucking perfect in every way.

You're now an adult, poised to embrace all the challenges and pleasures that adulthood entails. The mere thought sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you once more, evoking memories of his touch on that unforgettable graduation day.

The intoxicating blend of his woodsy cologne, the creak of his well-worn leather jacket, and the soft fabric of his grey tee shirt against your skin linger in your mind, igniting a longing for more.

The sensation that floods Joel as he lays eyes on you in person after so long defies description.

It takes all his willpower to resist the impulse to stride over and scoop you up, succumbing to the overwhelming desire to claim you as his own and to drag you into your bedroom. But he restrains himself, clinging to the last shreds of his resolve, waiting for any sign from you that you're ready for his embrace.

When your gaze meets his, he witnesses the hitch in your breath, and he can't help but murmur, "Come here, sweetheart." Your response is like a magnetic pull, drawing you into his strong, steadfast arms. As you melt into his embrace, he's struck by the sense of finally being home. You are his home now.

Joel inhales the sweet fragrance of your hair, longing to whisper countless sentiments into your perfect little ear nestled so close to his mouth.

But all he can muster, without risking scaring you away, is a simple declaration in his southern drawl, "I missed you, my little buttercup."

You bury your face into his checkered flannel, your words muffled against his shirt as you confess, "I missed you too, Joel."

Your body instinctively gravitates towards his, fueled by both necessity and reflex. The memory of his last embrace has haunted your thoughts for the past six months, and as his massive, comforting arms envelop you once more, it feels as though you're picking up right where you left off. He feels even better than you remembered, and the mingling scents of his cologne and freshly laundered clothes stir a desire within you to cling to him forever.

Reluctantly, he releases you from the hug, clearing his throat as you take a small step back, managing to squeak out, “Do you want a cup of coffee before you get settled in your new house? You look kinda tired.”

“Sure,” Joel nods, and you sense him hovering behind you as you descend the staircase and enter the kitchen. You can feel his eyes tracing your movements from behind.

You busy yourself preparing the coffee as Joel sets his things down, knowing it'll provide the perfect opportunity to sit down and have a proper conversation.

As Joel takes a seat at the table, his gaze remains fixed on your curves as you move around the kitchen. In that moment, he realizes there's no way he can stay in this house for more than an hour, without confessing his feelings to you.

“You got a boyfriend?”

The sudden question nearly causes you to spill hot water all over your hand, and you freeze, feeling a slight tremble coursing through you.

“Well?” Joel's deep voice sends shivers down your spine, as if you're caught in the midst of the most exhilarating earthquake imaginable. Your mouth hangs open, unsure of how to respond.

“Boyfriend or not?” he repeats, his tone commanding. “Not,” you answer instantly, not minding the question one bit, especially when you see its effect on Joel.

“Good. Perfect,” he rumbles in a low tone.

Turning back to the kitchen counter, the clinking of ceramic cups fills the room, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as the heat spreads throughout your body and to the tips of your ears.

“Cream and sugar?” you ask, turning your head just long enough to inquire.

The sight of your body shifting under your clothes already ignites fantasies in Joel's mind, imagining all the ways he could pleasure you, even right there on your dad's kitchen floor if you desired.

“Joel?” you prompt, breaking him out of his daydream.

“Uh… Sure. Cream and sugar,” he echoes, noticing your continued blush and slight trembling as you prepare the cups. As you approach him with the coffee, the sudden sound of your dad's voice startles you, causing you to drop one cup, which shatters on the floor.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face as he rushes to the sink to run cold water over the affected area.

"I'm fine, Dad. Really," you reply, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"I thought you were gone," you add, unable to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

"I just forgot something. I came back to get it," your father explains, his eyes darting nervously between you and Joel.

Your father's gaze is fixed on Joel, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Joel's obvious concern for you. Anyone could see the way Joel feels about you, and your father's disapproval is palpable.

But you're not a child anymore, and you're tired of your father's disapproval. "Dad, I'm fine. You just startled me, that's all. Why do you always have to sneak up on me like that?" you ask, trying to keep the anger out of your voice.

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but the words don't come. He sighs and shakes his head, gathering the pieces of the broken cup and tossing them in the trash on his way out. The sound of his car speeding away speaks volumes.

"Maybe I should go," Joel suggests, but you wave off his concern.

"Don't worry about my dad. He's been weird ever since I graduated from college," you say, dismissing his concerns.

But Joel knows that your father's suspicions go back further than just this morning. He moves to help you clean up the mess on the floor, ignoring the broken glass and coffee spill. Gently, he takes your hand in his, wincing at the stinging and burn.

"Let's get this under some cold water," he says, leading you to the sink. You lean back against him as he guides your hand under the icy flow, your body yielding to his touch.

"Feel better?" he asks, his voice low and soothing. You nod, leaning into him as the cold water soothes your burn.

Joel's heart races as he holds you, feeling your warmth against him. He knows that your father doesn't approve of him, but he can't help how he feels. He's fallen for you, hard, and he's not going to let your father's disapproval get in the way.

"It feels better now," you whisper, your breath sending shivers down Joel's spine. He moves closer to you, feeling the pressure of your back against his aching cock.

"I can't help but notice how your body is responding to mine," Joel says, his voice low and husky.

"Should we start over?" he asks, leaning down so his mouth is close to your ear.

"You mean with the coffee?" you ask, playing coy. But your body is telling a different story.

"I mean starting over without your dad around," Joel clarifies, moving his hand to stroke the back of your neck.

You turn to face him, looking up into his deep brown eyes. "Just stay," you say, biting your lip.

Joel nods, his hands resting on your hips. "I'm not going anywhere, darlin'," he promises. "I'll be right next door, whenever you need me."

You stand there, close enough to kiss, but Joel holds back. He wants to savor this moment, to make it last.

"I meant what I said that day you graduated," Joel whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "You feel so fucking good."

His words send a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel his arousal pressing against your back, and he grips your hips, pulling you closer.

You plead with Joel to stay, not just because of how the morning has unfolded but because deep down, you need him by your side.

The words you long to say to Joel linger on the tip of your tongue, but the rush of emotions leaves you speechless. Your heart races as you grapple with the intensity of your feelings, unsure of how to express them.

As you run your hand under the cold water, trying to steady your nerves, you suggest preparing the spare room as a distraction. Anything to divert your thoughts and feelings that are swirling inside you.

The tension between you and Joel crackles in the air, the unspoken desire palpable. His longing mirrors your own, creating a charged atmosphere that leaves you both on edge.

"Is your hand goin' to be okay?" Joel's voice is laced with concern as he looks at you, and you nod in response.

"It's just a minor burn from the coffee," you murmur, trying to focus on the task.

"Shall I make us more coffee?" Joel offers, already cleaning up the mess on the floor. But your attention is drawn to the undeniable presence pressing against your back, sending a rush of sensations through you.

Your heart races as you realize the extent of Joel's desire, his arousal evident in every inch of his being.

"I'm not tired," Joel says, his voice low and intimate as he picks up the broken pieces of the mug.

"And I meant what I said earlier," he adds, his tone dropping to a husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

The intensity of the moment overwhelms you, making it hard to focus on anything else. You should feel embarrassed, and remind him of boundaries, but the magnetic pull between you is undeniable.

"What did you mean?" you ask, a hint of defiance in your voice, craving his words like a drug.

His lips curl into a knowing smile as he repeats his earlier statement, his gaze lingering on you suggestively.

"You feel so good," Joel says, his words sending a surge of heat through you, your cheeks flushing with desire.

"Is that why you came back?" you inquire, emboldened by the charged atmosphere between you.

"What do you think?" Joel replies, closing the distance between you, the space crackling with unspoken promises and desires.

You feel trapped, torn between your desires and the weight of your past.

Your hands tremble as you press them against Joel's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You slide your fingers down, curling around a button on his flannel shirt.

"My dad, for Sarah," you croak, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your touch.

"I didn't come back to town just to see your dad," he says, his voice low and steady. "But I don't want to make you uncomfortable either."

He pauses, taking another deep breath before he continues. "What I mean is, what I'm tryin’ to ask you, is could you have feelings for an older man? A man like me, maybe?"

His eyes bore into yours, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. You know what he's asking, and your heart races at the thought of giving in to your desires.

"I want to hear it from your lips," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "I like you a lot, Joel," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. "But?" he prompts, giving you an out if you need it.

You look up at Joel, your eyes pleading with him to make the decision for you. But there's no hesitation in his gaze. He leans in, pressing his warm lips against your hand, and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body.

"Does it feel like this?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the heat that's building inside you.

"Do you really want me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You moan, unable to contain your desire any longer.

"Yes," you gasp, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I want you."

Joel growls, a low, primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. He presses your hand against his stiff erection, and you can feel the heat and hardness of him through his jeans.

You trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, forgetting all about the burn on your hand, the hot coffee, and even your dad and his house. All that matters is the feel of Joel's body against yours, the heat and hardness of him that you've longed for since graduation day.

"Then come here," he growls, leaning down further and taking your face in his palm. You shudder one last breath of uncertainty before the warmth of his mouth over yours means neither of you will ever have to ask that question again.

Joel's lips are soft and tender, but his kiss is urgent and demanding. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding to his touch with a hunger you've never felt before.

His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour, as if he's been waiting for this moment for years. You respond in kind, your hands tugging at his flannel shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

The heat between you builds, until you're both panting and gasping for breath. Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you dizzy with desire.

Joel can't help himself as he lifts you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around him as he devours your mouth with his own. His hands roam your body, feeling the curves and contours of your figure as if for the first time.

You respond eagerly, your hands tangled in his hair as you deepen the kiss. Joel's touch sends waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself growing wet with desire.

Joel's hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you gasp with pleasure. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him as you feel his hardness against your thigh.

He makes you purr and moan, fulfilling every fantasy you've ever had. Your hands move down to his throbbing cock, gripping and squeezing him through his denim, but you both know this is just the beginning.

Joel has already crossed the line he set for himself, unable to resist the pull between you. He wants more than just a physical connection; he wants all of you, your heart, your soul, your everything.

He envisions a future with you, a life where you're by his side, where you're free to be yourself, to indulge in every desire and dream. He wants to give you a home, a place where you can be truly happy, where the two of you can explore each other endlessly.

As you catch your breath, Joel eases his hold on you, sensing the need for a moment of clarity. Your smile and the flush in your cheeks speak volumes, reassuring him that you're on the same page.

"Holy shit," you exclaim, breathless and exhilarated. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the strength and warmth of him beneath your touch.

Joel exhales slowly, realizing he may have moved too quickly for you. "Too much, darlin'?" he asks with a chuckle, relieved when you giggle and nod in agreement.

But he sees the worry in your eyes, the need for understanding and space. You grip his flannel, pulling him close for a quick kiss, your words a mix of desire and uncertainty.

"I want this... I want you, Joel. I do," you confess, your voice filled with longing and hesitation.

"Just... not right now, not like this," you trail off, and Joel finishes your sentence, understanding the need for time and space to process everything.

He lifts you off the counter, noting how light you feel in his arms. He watches you pace the kitchen, a mix of emotions playing across your face. He settles on a stool, giving you the space you need to sort through your thoughts.

"I didn't think you were leading me on, and I didn't mean to be so forward," Joel says, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time, process everythin’ darlin’.”

Joel's phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he knows it's your father. He takes a deep breath and answers the call, trying to sound casual. You've stopped pacing but still look dazed, as if you're trying to process what just happened between us.

"Hey, man," Joel greets, hearing your father's voice from his car, still on his way to the office.

"Joel, I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. I guess I'm the one who needs a nap, but I can't afford the time right now," he says, sounding sincere.

Your father has always been honest and upfront, and Joel feels a mix of pride and guilt as he listens to his apology. He knows that your dad will be upset once he finds out about the two of you, but until then, Joel thinks it's best to keep your secret a little longer.

"You don't have to apologize, buddy," Joel says, trying to reassure him. "When do you finish work today?" he asks, already thinking about the time they have left alone together.

More time to take things slow? Joel isn't sure. He wants to savor every moment with you, but he also can't wait to explore every inch of your body.

As your father continues to talk, Joel watches you, his mind filled with thoughts of the two of you together. He knows that things will get complicated soon, but for now, he's happy to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and energy.

"Yeah, I'll see you then," Joel says, ending the call and turning to you. "Are you okay?" he asks, taking a step closer to you.

You nod, still looking dazed, and Joel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He knows that the two of you have a lot to talk about, but for now, he's content to hold you, to feel your heart beating against his chest.

The future may be uncertain, but Joel knows one thing for sure - he's never felt this way about anyone before, and he's not about to let you go.

As Joel holds you close, your head resting on his chest, you finally voice the question that's been lingering between you.

"I guess we can't do this sort of thing around my Dad, huh?" you ask, your voice soft against his skin.

Joel strokes your hair gently, his heart full of emotions he never thought he'd feel again. He marvels at how easily and perfectly this moment has unfolded, how right it feels to have you in his arms.

"We probably shouldn't, not yet," Joel replies, his voice tinged with longing. He feels you nod in agreement, and he knows that keeping this secret will be a challenge.

Joel had left town to escape the past, to build a new future for himself and his daughter Sarah. But now, as he returns to the place where it all began, he realizes that his future is intertwined with yours.

He sees a future with you, a life filled with love and possibility. He dreams of a family with you, of building something lasting and meaningful together.

As he holds you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his, Joel knows that this is just the beginning.

As you and Joel waste no time getting settled in the new house, the air crackles with anticipation. Joel turns the key in the door, and as you step inside, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of desire.

Without a word, you set down his bag, and Joel takes your hand, pulling you close. He lifts you effortlessly, spinning you around in a dizzying whirl of passion and need.

The lock clicks shut, sealing you both in a world of raw desire and longing. The house feels like a sanctuary, a place where only you and Joel exist, at least for the next hour or so.

"Aren't you gonna show me around first? I had no idea the inside was so nice," you giggle, your head spinning from the intensity of his touch and the day's events.

"I thought you might like to show me around... your sweet fuckin’ body," Joel rasps in your ear before claiming your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss. Each touch, each kiss, ignites a fire within you, driving you to the edge of reason.

"You tell me if it gets too much, alright darlin'?" Joel murmurs between kisses, his strong arms wrapped around you. You nod eagerly, your body craving his touch, his presence.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you gravitate towards the nearest soft surface, a luxurious leather sofa in the living room. Joel stops in front of it, but you're consumed by the need for him, the hunger for his touch.

You try to nod, talk, and kiss him all at once, but the overwhelming desire he stirs in you leaves you breathless and unable to form coherent words. "Yeah... fuck... yes, I will," you pant, your body arching into his touch as he explores every inch of you.

Joel lowers you onto the couch, his eyes fixed on you with a hunger that matches your own. He drops to his knees in front of you, parting your legs with a firm grip, his gaze locked on your body with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna eat your little pussy, make you come until you beg me to stop,” he says in a firm tone.

His hands move with purpose, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you. You gasp and groan as he explores every inch of you, his fingers and tongue setting your body ablaze with pleasure.

As he delves deeper, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, you feel a wave of pleasure building within you, each touch pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You writhe and moan under his touch, your body responding to his every move with a hunger that matches his own. The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, the air thick with desire and need.

His elbows prop your knees wide, and half-reclined on the worn leather, you can't help but feel a thrill at the sensations coursing through your body.

The scent of old leather and his cologne mingles with the musk of your arousal, creating a heady mix that only heightens your desire. You're ready for Joel, and you know it won't take long for him to bring you to the edge.

With a rough yank, he tears your panties aside, the sound of fabric rending adding to your arousal. You never knew you could feel this horny, and every moment with Joel only intensifies your desire.

He takes a moment to admire your slick folds, his thick fingers gently parting your lips. You grip his silver-flecked curls tighter as he moves down to taste you, your body trembling with anticipation.

Your moans fill the room, mingling with Joel's deep groans of pleasure. His tongue finds its mark, and you can't help but cry out, your body writhing under his touch.

Joel's mouth covers you completely, his tongue replacing his fingers as he explores every inch of your sex. You're on the brink of climax, your body trembling with need.

"Be patient, darlin'," Joel whispers hoarsely, his voice filled with desire. He grips your thighs, pushing them wider apart until his massive head is pressed between them.

You shift your grip to his broad shoulders, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Joel... Joel," you moan, trying to tell him how close you are, how much you want him. But all that comes out are animalistic sounds of pleasure.

Joel's body quakes with silent laughter, his voice deep and reassuring as he promises you can come all night. You trace the outline of his jaw, your body trembling with need as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

If heaven exists, you're sure you've found it in Joel's arms.

AN: I'm such a fool to think that this would be a one-shot... ya'll this is now a mini-series. Don't worry... this will be a two to three-chapter kinda series. 🤍

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader series #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader tlou #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro pascal character fanfic

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joelsrose · 3 days ago

Text

Feels Right (Part 3)

part 1, part 2

warnings: stepdad!joel, public groping??, small injury, fingering, oral, major daddy kink (duh), dirty-talk, lowkey baby-talk??, basically filth so pls read with caution!!! just to clarify reader is in her mid 20's!!

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Beach day, as your mother so wisely declared at the dinner table the night before, came wrapped in wine-hazy excitement and that saccharine domestic enthusiasm she always mustered after two glasses of pinot, her voice laced with forced cheer as she reached across the table and placed her hand delicately on Joel’s forearm—his forearm, the same one you’d clung to hours earlier while he had his face buried between your thighs, moaning into your pussy like it was his goddamn religion.

“Oh, won’t it be nice, Joel?” she said, her voice all flutter and warmth, fingers trailing up toward his elbow in a way that made your stomach twist. “The sun’ll be shining. I’ll make those sandwiches—the ones you like, with the mustard and the little pickles.” She laughed, soft and dreamy, like it was a memory she was already holding, like this was something normal, something sweet. “How’s that sound, honey?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His beer bottle was resting in his hand, his thumb slowly dragging condensation down the side as his eyes shifted, casually, toward you. Not her. Not the lasagna. You.

Your gaze was fixed on your plate—on the half-eaten mess of dinner you could barely force down.

“Sweetheart?” Joel said, the word rolling off his tongue with that easy, Southern lilt that always managed to destroy you. “What d’ya say?”

You looked up slowly, lashes heavy, eyes glassy, heat blooming behind your cheeks as your gaze met his—those old, kind, tired eyes that had watched you break apart in his lap, that had looked through you when he said, "You were made to ride this face, baby."

“The beach?” you echoed, voice low, dazed, barely holding onto the thread of the conversation as the edges of the room seemed to blur, your fingers absently tracing the condensation on your glass while your mind remained hopelessly tangled in the afternoon—in the weight of his hands pinning you down, the grind of his tongue, the growl he made when you sobbed his name, the way he licked you like he was starving and you were his final, favorite meal.

You still felt the ache between your thighs, the ghost of his stubble scraping your skin, and now he wanted to talk about the beach?

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, not looking at your mother, not even pretending anymore, his gaze resting steady on you as he leaned back in his chair, his voice wrapped in quiet suggestion, laced with amusement, “sounds nice. Get ya outta the house for a bit.”

“Yeah, she needs that,” your mother added quickly, too quickly, her tone light but laced with that quiet edge she always carried when she was trying not to sound critical—which only made it worse. She didn’t mean anything by it, not really, but it still landed sharp and familiar, that gentle, backhanded concern. “You’ve been moping around here all week, sweetheart.”

You blinked once, twice, lashes fluttering slow as you sat straighter in your seat, forcing a breath in through your nose as your face flushed—not from her words, but from the way Joel was still watching you, eyes dark and steady like he knew you were reliving every second of earlier, like he wanted you to.

“Okay,” you murmured, sighing softly as you picked up your fork again, your appetite still gone, your mind still far, far away. “Sure.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

It was the perfect day for the beach—blue sky stretching wide and endless, the sunlight dripping gold over everything, the breeze warm but not cruel, salt-sweet and tousling your hair just enough to feel cinematic. Your mom had been right, as she often was about these sorts of things, and the part of you that wasn’t still emotionally limping from being eaten out like a dying prayer wanted to admit it—it was nice. You’d followed behind her and Joel as they made their way across the sand, your mother in a one-piece that had far too much cleavage for someone her age, the floral pattern pulling at all the wrong places, her voice chipper as she talked about beach towels and SPF while Joel walked beside her like he hadn’t had his mouth on your pussy twenty-four hours ago.

He carried everything with ease—cooler in one hand, umbrella under the other arm, your mom’s tote bag slung over his shoulder without complaint—and his white T-shirt clung to his back, sweat already blooming down the spine, catching where the fabric stuck and making your mouth dry. His hair moved with the wind, ruffled and wild, and you watched him in silence, that tight, hot ache returning low in your belly like muscle memory, like your body was already bracing for what it knew he could do to you.

“Alright,” your mom sighed contentedly, settling into one of the beach chairs with a groan, adjusting her sunglasses and cracking open a can of something too pink to be water. “This is heaven.”

You nodded absently, but your eyes never left Joel as he dropped the cooler beside her and then turned to face the water, squinting toward the waves with one hand shading his brow, the wind pressing his shirt tight against his chest, revealing the outline of his shoulders, his arms, the slope of his stomach, the veins in his forearms that made you dizzy.

And maybe it was the heat, or the breeze, or the fact that you were already damp between your thighs before you'd even sat down—but when he looked over his shoulder, found you watching, and gave you that crooked, knowing smirk, something in you clenched tight, sharp and secret.

Because this beach trip wasn’t going to be innocent.

He wasn’t going to let it be.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Your mother had, of course, run into someone she knew—and was now standing further down the beach, arms animated, laughing too loud in that slightly performative way she always did when she wanted to be remembered fondly.

You could hear the hum of her voice over the breeze, a social little echo floating back toward where you lay on your towel, eyes closed, limbs stretched out, the sun making your skin feel warm and weightless. Joel sat beside you, quiet and still, sipping slowly from a bottle of water, his sunglasses low on his nose as he watched you like he wasn’t watching you at all.

“You need more sunscreen, baby,” he murmured suddenly, the words soft but firm, his voice curling low against the sound of the waves, thumb pressing gently into your arm as if testing the skin, watching it pale and bloom beneath the pressure. “You’re burnin’.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, voice loose and airy, caught in a mix of sun-induced haze and the deeper, headier daze that always settled over you when he was near, when his words brushed your skin like fingers and his hands always lingered a second too long.

Joel didn’t move. He didn’t laugh or tease or tug the corner of his mouth like he sometimes did. He just leaned down, voice dropping half an octave as he said, almost sweetly, “Not takin’ no for an answer. You know it’s my job to take care of you.”

And maybe it was the way he said it—my job—like he was your stepfather in a legal sense but your keeper in every other one, like it was ordained, like he’d earned the right to touch you, protect you, own you. Maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when you felt him shift beside you, the rustle of his fingers near your spine, the soft pull of a knot being loosened.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to feel the strings of your bikini top slip free—a gentle unraveling—and you gasped, sitting up halfway in alarm, your hand reaching to grab his forearm, sun-warmed and solid under your grip. “Joel!” you hissed, panic fluttering through your chest like birds in a cage.

He turned his head toward you, completely unbothered, eyes shaded behind his lenses, his hand still resting at the small of your back as he gave the faintest shrug.

“What?” he said, voice calm, patient, the corner of his mouth twitching just a little as he leaned in closer. “Gotta get this skin too. Can’t have you burnin’ where daddy likes to put his mouth.”

And then he smiled—so soft, so normal, like it wasn’t a filthy declaration disguised as fatherly concern, like he hadn’t just said it where anyone could hear if they wandered too close.

But you didn’t push his hand away. You didn’t retie the top. You laid back down, heart pounding, because you knew he wasn’t going to stop. And worse—you didn’t want him to.

He looked back once—just once—to make sure your mother was still deep in conversation down the beach, her laugh echoing faintly over the crash of the waves, too far to see, too far to hear, too far to save you from what he was about to do.

Then, with one hand braced beside your hip, Joel reached down, hooked two fingers beneath the loosened edge of your bikini top, and tugged it down, slow and shameless, until your breasts spilled free into the warm afternoon sun, the tan line stark and humiliating as it revealed just how much skin he was claiming as his.

You gasped—a sharp, startled sound—and tried to squirm away, but he was already reaching for the sunscreen bottle, uncapping it with one practiced flick of his thumb, eyes dark and hungry behind the shield of his sunglasses. You opened your mouth to protest, to say anything, but then he squirted a long line of cold lotion across your chest, thick and slick, and the only thing that came out of you was a whimper.

“Relax, sugar,” Joel murmured, rubbing his palms together once before settling them firmly on your bare chest, his fingers spreading wide as he began to massage the lotion into your skin in slow, maddening circles—thumbs sweeping over your nipples with no shame, no pause, no mercy. “Can’t have these pretty little tits gettin’ all pink and tender, now can we?”

You squirmed under his touch, your legs shifting uselessly against the towel, breath hitching with every slow, possessive glide of his fingers. He wasn’t just covering you—he was claiming you, kneading your breasts with a reverence that bordered on obscene, his hands both soothing and filthy, gentle and cruel in how they refused to stop.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, giving one breast a firm squeeze before his fingers circled the nipple and pinched, just hard enough to make your hips jerk. “I swear to God, baby, these’re the sweetest damn handfuls I ever touched. You know that? You got yourself the perfect pair of peaches, don’t you?”

You whined, cheeks flushed, back arching off the towel as his hands worked over your chest like he was trying to ruin you out here, in public, in daylight, with your mother one scream away.

“What’s that?” Joel teased, his voice low and syrup-smooth as he leaned closer, rubbing a little harder now, fingers tweaking and tugging as he spoke. “You squirmin’ ‘cause you like it? Huh, babygirl? You gettin’ all hot when daddy’s lotionin’ up his favorite girls?”

You made a choked sound—part gasp, part sob—as his fingers rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand sliding down to cup the underside of your tit with a groan.

“Shit, look at these,” he breathed. “Fit in my hands like they were made for me. God made these just for daddy, didn’t He? Little sun-kissed clouds, just beggin’ to be licked clean.”

You tried to pull the towel up—tried to hide—but he caught your wrist, gently, easily, and pressed it back down.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, shaking his head as he leaned down to press a slow, filthy kiss just above your nipple, barely resisting the urge to suck it into his mouth. “You’re gonna lay right here and let me take care of you, sunshine. Just like a good girl should.”

“Joel,” you whispered, voice tight and breathless, your hand clutched the edge of the towel like it could somehow shield you from what was happening—what had already happened, your bikini top still askew, your chest still flushed from his touch. “Anyone could see.”

“Yeah,” he murmured without looking away from you, voice low and casual, like he was talking about the weather, not the fact that he’d just been massaging sunscreen into your tits like they were his personal stress balls. “But you’re not gonna stop me, are you?”

And you weren’t. God help you—you weren’t. You stayed perfectly still, chest heaving under the warm air, your nipples still stiff, skin hot and sticky, pulse thudding behind your knees like a warning bell you’d long since chosen to ignore.

Then, as if time had always been on his side, like he lived for precision and sin, Joel tugged your bikini top back up, slow and measured, his thumb grazing the swell of your breast one last time before tying it tight, securing you like a secret he wasn’t done keeping. He reached for the sunscreen bottle with one hand, rubbed some over his shoulders like nothing had happened at all—just as your mother’s voice rang out behind you, louder than it needed to be, sharp and familiar.

“Oh my God,” she huffed, flopping back into her beach chair, sunglasses perched crookedly atop her head. “Susan talks for hours, I swear. We were only supposed to catch up.” She glanced at Joel, already slick and golden under the sun. “Joel, darlin’, can you get my back with some of that?”

“’Course, honey,” he said easily, his drawl thick and utterly unbothered, already rising to his feet and shaking the bottle in his hand as if he hadn’t just buried his hands in your tits like they were property. You watched him step behind her, the way his hands hovered just above her skin, the same hands that had squeezed you raw, his mouth now a straight line, his eyes flicking to yours like he knew.

You stood, quickly, too quickly. “I’m going in the water,” you muttered, your voice tight, brittle with something that hurt more than it should have.

Your mother turned just slightly, not even glancing up. “Alright,” she said lightly, tipping her head forward so Joel could rub the sunscreen across her shoulders. “Don’t be goin’ too far now.”

You nodded, throat dry, trying not to let the jealousy show in your walk—even though your chest was tight and your eyes burned, even though your skin still tingled from where his fingers had worked you over like you were something soft and sacred.

You moved across the hot sand without looking back, feet sinking into the grains, your hair sticking to your shoulders, your bikini clinging in all the wrong places—and you refused to imagine Joel's hands now on her, rubbing that same lotion into her back with that easy, practiced calm he used on everything.

But behind you, Joel’s gaze never left you. He watched the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass peeking out from your too-small bikini bottoms, his eyes catching on the line where the sun kissed skin he hadn’t touched yet—and he sighed, low and quiet to himself, like he genuinely regretted not rubbing sunscreen there too.

“Damn fool,” he thought. “She’s gonna burn. Shoulda done her thighs, her hips—’specially that sweet little ass. Gonna be red as a tomato come sundown.”

There was a flicker of genuine concern there, buried under the lust—a deranged, backward, unholy sort of protectiveness that made his jaw clench and his chest feel tight, the way only someone truly fucked in the head would feel about a girl he’d just groped under a towel while her mother passed out wine coolers ten feet away.

Your mother sighed dramatically from her chair, pulling her sunglasses down enough to squint after you, her tone casual but edged with disapproval. “Don’t you think that swimsuit’s a little small for her?” she muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for Joel to hear as she passed him the bottle again.

Joel’s fingers squeezed around it just a little tighter, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say anything at first.

Because all he could think about was how that “too-small” swimsuit had fit like a dream under his palms, how good it would look bunched at your waist, how your ass would arch into his hand the second he slid it down just enough to see the line where tan met pale.

He rubbed the sunscreen over her shoulder slowly, his eyes still lingering on the water, on you. And then—softly, just low enough to pass—he said, “Fits her just fine, if you ask me.”

Your mother sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale she always made when she wanted to seem wise and exhausted all at once, the sunscreen cool beneath Joel’s palm as she shook her head. “Girls these days,” she muttered, adjusting her sunglasses, eyes still squinting out at the water. “Seriously… all of them trying to look grown before they’ve even figured out who they are. It’s all ass and attitude now. No mystery anymore.”

She took a sip from her drink, ice clinking lazily against the glass, oblivious to the way Joel’s jaw ticked ever so slightly, his hand stilling just above her shoulder blade.

He could’ve said a lot of things—wanted to, maybe. Wanted to tell her that mystery had nothing to do with the way her daughter had tasted on his tongue, or how she cried so sweetly when she came, how she whimpered his name like a secret she didn’t know how to keep.

But instead, Joel just hummed under his breath and smoothed the lotion into her skin, his fingers moving slow, absent, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Because it was. It was on the water, on the shimmer of your wet shoulders, the line of your back, the way your thighs parted just a little when you dove under.

It was on your ass, now almost certainly burning, and how he’d make it up to you later—with cool lotion and warm hands and maybe his mouth, whispering, “Told you I shoulda covered it, babygirl. Let daddy take care of it now.”

Your mom was still talking, but Joel wasn’t listening.

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The rest of the day passed in a blur of saltwater and avoidance, the hours stretching long and golden as you spent most of them waist-deep in the ocean, drifting in and out of waves and thoughts, letting the sea do what Joel always did—pull you under, leave you breathless, then spit you out dazed and aching for more.

You swam until your legs burned and your fingers wrinkled, not daring to look back at shore, not wanting to see if he was watching—because you knew he was. You felt it, even with your eyes closed.

That heat across your back? That wasn't the sun.

When your mother finally called you back in, her arms waving dramatically like she was signaling a coast guard rescue, Joel was already back on shore, slipping his shirt over those broad, sun-warmed shoulders, muscles flexing as he folded towels and collapsed chairs like it was just another Sunday and not the aftermath of his hands on your bare chest, your bikini still damp with sunscreen and sin.

“Seriously, girl,” your mom huffed when you got closer, planting her hands on her hips like she was about to scold you for surviving the ocean. “I thought you’d drifted off to sea.”

You didn’t answer. Just reached for your towel, drying your legs in silence, your fingers moving too fast, too tight, then yanked your cover-up over your head in one quick motion—not looking at Joel, not even glancing, like that might undo the tiny shred of control you had left.

Your mother led the walk back toward the car, already rattling off half-finished thoughts about dinner, talking to herself as she always did. “Did I take the chicken out to thaw? I meant to take it out. Maybe we’ll do pasta—unless Joel wants steak. Do we have wine? God, I think we’re out of garlic…”

Joel drifted to your side with practiced ease, his steps in sync with yours, hands full of folded chairs, cooler dragging behind him in the sand, and yet his attention was all on you.

“How was the water?” he asked, his voice low, casual, almost innocent—but it made your stomach flip anyway.

“Fine,” you murmured, not turning to look, eyes fixed straight ahead, the sun catching on your lashes.

There was a pause. Long enough to feel it. Long enough to ache.

“You mad at me?” Joel asked softly, and it wasn’t teasing this time. It was gentle, the kind of quiet drawl that made you feel like the bad guy for trying to be mad at him.

You said nothing at first, your chest tightening with something unspoken. And then—barely audible, more breath than voice—you whispered, “You touched her.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and glanced over at you, his voice dropping even lower, that familiar edge sliding in like a knife wrapped in velvet.

“Didn’t touch her like I touched you,” he said. “Don’t wanna touch her like I touch you.”

You clenched your jaw, throat thick, the sound of your mother still talking ahead of you—so close, so clueless.

Joel leaned just a little closer, walking slower now, his voice thick with promise, with hunger, with possession.

“You think I’m thinkin’ about her when I’ve still got your taste in my fuckin’ beard?” he murmured. “You think I’m gonna kiss her goodnight when my mouth still remembers how you sound when you cum?”

You stopped walking.

He didn’t.

He just smirked. And kept going. Like he knew you’d follow.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

You weren’t sure if it was because you’d been too in your head—still aching from Joel’s touch, still jealous, still clenching around the memory of his mouth on you—or if it was just your cheap-ass flip-flops finally giving up mid-stride, but one second you were walking behind your mother, and the next you were on the ground, palms scraped, ankle screaming, and breath lodged somewhere deep in your chest as the pain bloomed like fire.

Tears stung your eyes before you even realized they’d fallen, and then Joel was there—already crouched beside you, his big hands moving so gently, so carefully, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with worry, low and sugar-sweet, like he’d slipped fully into some deranged domestic caretaker mode. “You took a tumble, huh? My poor lil thing—can’t leave you alone a minute without somethin’ happenin’, can I?”

Your mother had kept walking ahead, halfway to the car by now, muttering about dinner and traffic —until Joel raised his voice just enough to cut through the air like a clean tear.

“Hey—stop a second!”

Your mom turned, gasping the moment she saw you on the ground, “Oh sweetheart!” she clucked, quickening her pace and hurrying over, placing a hand on her chest like she was genuinely startled. She crouched for barely a moment beside you, her eyes flicking to your ankle, her mouth opening like she might say something maternal—

But then her phone rang.

She looked at the screen. Her eyes lit up. “Oh—I gotta take this,” she said, already turning on her heel, her sandals crunching in the sand. “It’s the real estate agent—I’ve been waiting for this call all day.”

You blinked up at her, speechless, lips parted, watching her walk away, phone to her ear, already giggling as she answered.

Joel’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his palm warm, grounding, the pads of his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles.

You looked up at him, still stunned. “She—she just left?”

Joel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t comment. He just stroked your hair, and said, soft, “You’re alright now, honey. I got you.” Then, after a moment, he leaned down, voice darker now, slower, like he’d flipped into full protector-mode. “Gonna have to take you to the ER, I think. Can’t let somethin’ this pretty limp around. Gotta make sure nothin’ nasty’s happened in there.”

He looked at your ankle again, gently pressing, watching the way you winced, his brows furrowed with concern that felt real, not like hers—his voice slipping into that quiet, dangerously sweet place.

“’M gonna carry you, alright? Gonna hold you real careful. Daddy’s not gonna let anyone else touch you till we get it looked at.”

Joel lifted you up with an ease that made you feel smaller than you were—soft, breakable, like something he was born to carry—and your arms draped helplessly around his neck, the side of your face pressing into the warm curve between his jaw and shoulder. One of his arms cradled beneath your thighs, the other braced firm along your back, hand spread wide across the space just above your ass like a claim he wasn’t bothering to hide. His scent wrapped around you—salt, sunscreen, sweat, him—and for a moment, the pain in your ankle dulled beneath the thudding heat in your chest.

He started walking toward the car, his pace slow, steady, almost intentional, every step like a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere without him now.

Your mother had just finished her call, still standing a few feet away, sunglasses propped in her hair, voice light and airy as she turned to see the two of you.

She laughed—actually laughed—like the whole thing was a joke. “Oh come on,” she said with a shake of her head, waving her hand like it was all theatrics. “Don’t you think this is a bit dramatic now?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your face deeper into Joel’s neck, burying your flushed cheeks against the warmth of his skin as his hand tightened slightly at your back. You felt the low rumble of his voice before he even spoke, his words aimed at her but meant for you.

“She’s hurt,” he said, calm but clipped, voice lined with something steel-rough. “I’m takin’ care of it.”

That made her blink—just for a second, just enough to register that Joel’s tone wasn’t playful—but then she waved it off with a breathy laugh, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her cheek as she shrugged. “Alright, alright. Doctor Joel to the rescue, I suppose.”

Joel didn’t humor the joke. His jaw stayed tight, his arms still curled around you like a cradle, one hand braced under your thighs, the other steady at your spine. You felt the soft puff of his exhale against your temple as he adjusted his grip—not because you were heavy, but because he could, because you were so light in his arms, feather-soft, warm, clinging to his neck like some fragile thing he’d found washed up on shore. It made something deep and ancient flicker behind his eyes. Something protective. Something possessive.

“Gotta take her to the ER,” he said simply, voice low and even, but laced with enough quiet command that it didn’t leave room for argument.

Your mother sighed, like this was all happening to her, like your injury was a disruption to her neatly scheduled afternoon. “Shit,” she muttered, patting the back of her neck distractedly. “Well, I’ve got to meet with the real estate guy in twenty minutes. He just said that If I don’t show, I lose the slot.”

“You gotta do that now?” he asked, not rude, but pointed—his tone lined with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite fathom that she was standing there debating appointments while her daughter was curled up against him in pain.

She scoffed, waving a hand toward her tote bag. “Come on, Joel,” she said, like he was being unreasonable. “You know how busy he is. He’s squeezing me in between showings. I’ve been trying to land this place for weeks.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just sighed through his nose, slow and steady, and adjusted you in his arms again, pressing you a little closer to his chest—not because you needed it, but because he did. The movement was gentle, but full of intention.

“Well, I gotta take the car,” he said at last, nodding toward the passenger side, then down at you, his gaze flicking to your face, softening for just a moment. Like a reminder. Like a pointed fact. Your daughter is hurt, that look said. And I’m the only one doing a damn thing about it.

Your mother made a face—tight, annoyed—but didn’t argue. She dug into her purse, pulled out her keys, and dropped them into Joel’s waiting palm with a dramatic huff. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take an Uber.”

Joel didn’t thank her. Didn’t smile. He just turned toward the car, carrying you like something precious, already opening the door with one hand while keeping the other snug around your waist.

And you? You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to.

Because the only thing louder than your heartbeat was the quiet way Joel muttered, “Daddy’s got you now.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Joel helped you limp into the emergency room, only because you’d begged him not to carry you in bridal-style like you were five years old—or worse, like you were his five-year-old—and even then, he held your waist with one strong arm and your hand in the other, moving slow and steady beside you like he was afraid the wind might knock you over. Every few steps he’d glance down at you, brows furrowed with soft concern, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he murmured, “You alright, babygirl? Just lean on me. I got you.”

The waiting room was cold and too bright, the kind of sterile chill that seeped under your skin and made you shiver despite the warmth of the sun still clinging to your shoulders. Joel sat beside you, legs spread wide, one arm draped along the back of your chair, the other hand never leaving yours.

He held it like it was instinct, like the act of not touching you didn’t even register as an option. And you leaned into his side more than you meant to, your body aching, ankle throbbing, but comforted by the solid weight of him, the quiet way he kept his thumb moving over your pulse as if he could calm your whole nervous system with one simple motion.

When your name was finally called, Joel stood with you, guided you gently through the halls, and stayed just outside the room while they took your x-rays, pacing slowly like he couldn't quite relax without seeing you. The doctor, a kind-eyed woman who clearly saw through your brave face, told you it was nothing more than a bad sprain. A deep one, sure, but no fracture.

Back in the parking lot, warm dusk bleeding into the sky, you expected him to open the passenger door like always—maybe even buckle your seatbelt for you, like he’d done once after a grocery run—but instead, Joel rounded the car and opened the back door, his silhouette blocking the streetlight, gaze unreadable as he motioned with his chin.

You frowned, brow pinched in confusion as you hobbled toward the open door, your hand braced against the frame for balance. “Why the back?” you asked, your voice soft, suspicious, because Joel never did anything without a reason.

He looked at you with that same calm, steady warmth he always wore when he was about to say something that sounded harmless but meant everything else. His voice was low, rough from the sun and the sea and hours of silence he’d filled with tension you couldn’t name. “Just wanna sit with my girl for a bit,” he murmured, eyes dark and so soft it made your breath catch, “before we go home. That alright?”

Your heart twisted, the ache in your ankle somehow duller than the one that bloomed in your chest as you nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

Joel helped you up like you weighed nothing, one hand on your lower back, the other guiding your knee as you settled onto the wide backseat, the leather still warm from the heat of the day. The door shut with a soft thunk, and then he slid in beside you, stretching out long and loose, the car suddenly too quiet, the air thick with something heavier than heat.

Once you were down, reclined with your injured foot resting in his lap, he was all hands again—soothing, searching—palming your thigh with gentle sweeps of his broad hands, thumb brushing idle circles into your skin like he could erase the pain just by touching you. His voice was a murmur as he looked over your legs, the sun casting golden light over every inch of you.

“You feelin’ okay, baby?” he asked, eyes on your face even as his fingers trailed higher, just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Ankle’s not throbbin’ too bad, is it?”

You looked away, face warm, trying not to focus on the weight of his hand or the way his thumb dipped just slightly into the crease where your thigh met your hip. “It’s okay,” you breathed, almost shy. “The meds the doctor gave me helped.”

“Good,” he hummed, nodding slowly, the sound low and satisfied like he wanted you soft and drowsy, pliant in his lap, like he liked that you were dazed and dependent. His gaze roamed down the length of your legs again, his palm dragging slowly back up over your thigh, not quite teasing—not yet—but definitely lingering.

You hadn’t meant to say anything, hadn’t meant to let it spill out, but it was there before you could stop it, your voice cracking in the middle like a fault line splitting wide open.

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t come,” you whispered, eyes still on the window, watching the gold of the evening smear across the glass. “It’s like… it’s like she doesn’t even care.”

Beside you, Joel’s entire body stilled. His face dropped—not angry, not cold, but something else, something wounded on your behalf, like he felt it, too. Like it hurt him to see you hurt. He shifted closer without hesitation, his hand finding yours instantly, big and warm, calloused fingers curling around your trembling ones as he lifted them to his mouth and pressed slow, deliberate kisses over each knuckle, one after the other, like they were sacred, like you were.

“Awh, angel,” he murmured, voice soft and syrup-sweet, his breath brushing your skin with every kiss. “She just don’t get it, does she?”

You blinked fast, lashes damp, and a few tears slipped down your cheek—quiet, ashamed, like you didn’t want him to see. But he did. Of course he did. Joel always saw. Always knew.

“She thinks you’re all grown up,” he murmured, shifting closer, tucking your hand between both of his now, holding it against his chest like something breakable. “Thinks you don’t need nobody anymore. Doesn’t realise you still need takin’ care of.” He leaned in then, his voice softening to a coo, all low drawl and velvet comfort, and it cracked something open in you even more. “That’s why I’m here, hmm? That’s why daddy’s gotta take care of his girl.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and soothing, like he was tracing the sadness right out of your skin.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re safe. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re held, even when you don’t say it out loud. I see you, baby. Even when she don’t.”

And he meant it—you could feel that he meant it, every word weighted with something bigger than comfort, something deeper than lust. It was devotion, twisted and wrong and perfect in the way only he could make it feel.

So when he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there a little too long, you didn’t pull away.

You sniffled, trying to wipe your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, but Joel was already there—his hand catching yours, stopping you, his thumb swiping that little tear before it could fall. And then his nose was brushing against yours, soft and slow, testing you, teasing, like he wanted to see just how much you’d let him get away with while your heart was still raw. His breath mingled with yours, warm and thick in the quiet of the car, and you could feel him watching your lips, feel the tension stringing tighter and tighter between your bodies.

“Let daddy kiss it better,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, dipped in sweetness but heavy with something else—something darker, something that made your belly twist.

And then he kissed you.

His mouth was soft but sure, warm and deep and claiming, his big hand coming up to cup your jaw like he couldn’t bear the thought of not touching you everywhere at once. He kissed you like he was trying to take something from you—your sadness, your breath, your name. The moment your lips parted, he groaned softly into your mouth and tilted your head with the pads of his fingers like you were his, like this was something earned, something long overdue.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far—just leaned back enough to look down at you, eyes hooded and full of something filthy and so loving it made you shiver.

“Aww, there’s my babygirl,” he cooed, voice dripping with praise and baby-talk so tender it made your eyes sting all over again. “M’sweet lil angel, all sad and bruised up. Poor thing. Want daddy to make you forget all about it? Hmm?” His hand was already moving, already dragging down the waistband of your shorts, his thumb dipping beneath the hem like he owned the right to touch you there. “Forget all about your mama and that achey lil ankle?”

You whimpered, breath catching, but he didn’t wait—he didn’t need your answer.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers slipped lower, cupping you through your bikini with the softest pressure that made your hips twitch. “Daddy knows what his baby needs. Gotta take care of this precious pussy, don’t I? Gotta get her smilin’ again.”

You gasped as his fingers pressed down, slow and warm, teasing you through the fabric, and he groaned, like he could feel it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue thick and low, laced with something filthy but still reverent, like your body was a prayer he’d been saying for years and only just now got permission to answer. His gaze dropped between your legs, lingering with that signature mix of awe and ownership, and then he smiled—slow, crooked, warm in a way that made your toes curl even as your ankle throbbed.

“Alright, my sweet lil sugarplum,” he breathed, slipping into that Southern, old-man cadence like it was second nature, like he’d earned the right to call you names no one else ever had. “Just lay back now and let ol’ daddy take care of it, hmm? You don’t gotta do a thing but be soft for me. Let me spoil you a little.”

You blinked up at him, your lashes still damp, heart beating too fast in your chest, and you didn’t protest—not when his hands found the waistband of your shorts, not when he looked up at you for just a second to make sure you were still with him, still his—before tugging them down in one smooth, unhurried motion. You gasped softly, hips lifting instinctively, your thighs parting just enough to let him work them off with ease.

He made a low, pleased sound in his chest as your bikini bottoms came with them, both pieces sliding down your legs with a whisper of friction, leaving your skin bare and glistening in the dim car light, and he tossed them—your little pink bikini and cutoffs landing in a forgotten pile on the floor of the back seat, like they were nothing more than a wrapper he was done with.

He spread your legs as far as the cramped space would allow, slow and mindful, careful not to jostle your injured ankle, one hand bracing behind your knee while the other gently adjusted the angle of your leg with a tenderness that made your throat go tight.

His touch was reverent, almost clinical—almost—but laced with something darker, something so deeply possessive it made your skin burn. And the moment your thighs opened for him, the moment your cunt was bared and glistening and aching in the thick silence of the car, Joel exhaled slow and low, like the sight of you undone between the seats had physically knocked the air from his lungs.

“Aww, honey,” he cooed, leaning in close, his voice syrup-slow and soaked in that Southern drawl that always melted your brain to static. His hand moved down to stroke your trembling inner thigh, rubbing lazy, soothing circles with his thumb. “You’ve had a day, haven’t you, babygirl?”

You whimpered in response, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering half-shut as the pain in your ankle throbbed beneath the weight of his words, mixing with the other ache—the one that pulsed low and hot in your belly, the one only he could touch.

“Got all hurt,” Joel murmured, thumb dragging dangerously close to the place you needed him most, his voice soft as cotton, laced with real concern even as his fingers teased at your slick. “Been sittin’ in this all day, huh? Soakin’ your little bikini, just achin’ for someone to notice. Bet that pussy’s been beggin’ for me since we left the beach, huh? Poor thing—so sweet and needy, all swollen and sad and nobody takin’ care of her.”

You let out a high, helpless sound, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling for something to hold on to—his wrist, the seatbelt, your own sanity—but Joel just hushed you with a kiss to your knee, so tender it made you shake.

“Ssh, now,” he whispered, pressing the pad of his thumb flat over your clit, rubbing slow and steady, careful not to overwhelm, careful not to make you cry more than you already had. “Daddy’s here now. Gonna take real good care of you, sugar. Gonna make that ache disappear till all you can feel is me.”

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about this pretty little thing,” Joel murmured, voice thick with want as he used two fingers to spread you open, slow and reverent, dragging them through your folds with a groan so low it sounded like it had been buried in his chest all day, just waiting to escape. His touch was so gentle, so deliberate, like he was worried you might break again—but that didn’t stop him from slipping those same fingers down, coating them in your slick like he needed proof of how wet you were for him. “Been drivin’ me crazy, sugar. Tasted so fuckin’ sweet, babygirl. Like somethin’ made special, just for me.”

You whimpered, back arching slightly, the pain in your ankle still pulsing but overwhelmed now by the rush of heat flooding through you at the way he looked at you—like he worshipped the sight of you undone. Your lips parted, your voice barely above a whisper as you breathed, “Please…”

Joel paused—just for a heartbeat, just long enough to look at you, and when he did, his eyes softened even more, crinkling at the corners with something warm and dangerous, something that felt like love and tasted like sin.

“Aww, baby,” he chuckled, the sound low and fond, like you’d just said something adorable, like he wasn’t about to put his mouth on you and eat you until you forgot your own name. “You sound so damn cute when you beg. So sweet when you ask nice.”

He leaned down then, lips ghosting over your inner thigh as his hands spread your legs again—still careful of your ankle, always careful, but wide enough for him to settle between them, big palms sliding under your thighs to hook them just right. And then he was there again, tongue warm and wet and so slow as he licked a long, lazy stripe up your pussy, groaning like it hurt to be away from you even for a second.

“Gonna take my time this time, baby,” he mumbled against your cunt, already lapping at you like a man possessed. “Wanna make sure you forget all about that hurt little ankle, all about that mama who walked away, all about anything but this tongue right here.”

And you did—because the moment his mouth sealed over your clit, all you could do was sob and grip the edge of the seat, your body trembling under the weight of his mouth and his words, every broken moan swallowed whole between the filthy praise he kept murmuring into your skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let daddy make it all better.”

Joel groaned into you like he was starving—like the smell of you, the taste of you, the feel of your thighs trembling against his cheeks had sunk into his bloodstream like a drug he couldn’t quit.

His tongue moved with greedy reverence, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, filthier, until you were clutching at his hair with both hands, your hips twitching despite the ache in your ankle, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. He didn’t just eat you—he worshipped you, groaning like he was drunk off your slick, like your pussy was his favorite fucking flavor, like he was proud to be messy for you.

You were already shaking when he finally pulled back, chin soaked, lips slick and pink and shining in the dim car light. His eyes met yours as he sat back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, that smirk of his softened by something that looked dangerously close to affection.

“Aww, look atcha,” he murmured, voice like warm syrup, full of baby-talk and filthy promise. “M’poor baby, all wet and cryin’ for me. She’s so sensitive today, ain’t she? So fuckin’ sweet I could stay down there all night.”

You whimpered, legs spread and shaking, chest heaving, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he leaned in close again, kissing the inside of your thigh like a thank-you, like a promise, like a claim.

“Alright now,” he said softly, cooing the words as he ran his hand up your stomach, over your ribs, not stopping until he was cradling your cheek. “We gotta start openin’ you up, don’t we? Can’t just rush it, babydoll—gotta be gentle with this sweet lil’ cunt. She needs daddy’s help, huh?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He kissed your temple once, slow and soft, then looked down again, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers tracing your soaked folds with maddening patience. “You think you’re ready, baby?” he murmured, breath warm against your cheek. “Ready for Daddy to stretch this little pussy out real nice and slow?”

“Yes,” you gasped, already trembling. “Please, Joel—yes.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and then you felt it—just one finger, thick and warm, easing inside with devastating care. You gasped, hips jolting despite the ache in your ankle, the stretch already so much. It was only one, but he made it feel like everything—his knuckle brushing your entrance, his thumb circling your clit in soothing, lazy strokes.

“There she goes,” Joel murmured, eyes locked where he was buried in you. “Grippin’ me so tight, baby. Like this lil’ pussy doesn’t wanna let go.”

He worked the digit deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make you twitch, to make the ache bloom into something hotter. His thumb never stopped moving, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips, your thighs twitching under his grip.

“Gonna have to open you up real gentle,” he said, pressing kisses along your hip like he couldn’t help himself. “Gonna take my time, stretch you nice and wide for Daddy’s cock. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, breath hitching, and his expression softened—some of the tension in his jaw easing as his hand kept moving, steady and patient.

“Good,” he murmured. “My best girl.”

Joel watched your face, always your face, like every twitch of your brow and flicker of discomfort meant more to him than anything else in the world. He moved slow, careful—so careful—like you were something sacred he didn’t dare break.

And then he sighed, jaw flexing as he pushed in deeper, voice wrecked. “Fuck,” he breathed. “This sweet lil’ pussy—your mama could never squeeze me like this. Not even when she tried.”

The words hit like a slap and a kiss. Your eyes flew open, the heat of them searing through your gut, and Joel smiled—crooked, wicked, like he knew exactly what he’d done. Exactly how filthy you liked it.

“Think you can take another?” he asked, eyes dark, voice dipped in something soft and dangerous.

You hesitated, hips twitching toward him on instinct. You felt full already, stretched wide and aching—but the thought of him pushing deeper, of him needing more from you? You nodded.

“Y-Yes.”

Joel exhaled slow, like you’d given him oxygen, like your voice was the only thing keeping him grounded. “That’s my big girl,” he whispered. “So proud of you. Doin’ so good for Daddy.”

He kissed your thigh, hand spreading over your belly as he adjusted his grip. “Relax for me,” he coaxed. “Can’t rush a perfect little cunt like this.”

The second finger pushed in with careful pressure—hot, thick, overwhelming—and you cried out, legs trembling. The fullness stole your breath, your hands scrabbling against the seat for something to hold.

“There you go,” Joel murmured, voice velvet and honeyed sin. “That’s it. That’s my good, brave girl. Just like that. You let Daddy take care of you now, okay?”

He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just rocked his fingers the smallest bit, a shallow press that made your hips jerk and your jaw fall open. You whimpered, high and soft, your body trying to pull away even though every part of you wanted more.

And Joel? He just watched. Watched you fall apart with awe in his eyes and reverence in his hands.

He froze for half a beat, thumb stroking softly over your thigh, his eyes lifting to yours with that deep, furrowed concern that ached sharper than your ankle ever could.

“Hurts, baby?” he asked, voice low, tender, thick with so much care it made your eyes sting again.

“Yeah,” you breathed, cheeks burning, body clenching around him as your muscles fought the stretch, caught somewhere between craving and the overwhelming fullness of it.

“I know, babygirl,” he murmured, soothing, his fingers still warm and steady inside you. “You’re doin’ so good. Bein’ so brave.”

He kissed you again, higher this time, nuzzling the soft skin of your thigh before his voice dipped into that sweet, filthy lull that always made your body listen.

“Gotta get you used to it, angel,” he whispered, stroking his palm up your side, grounding you with his touch. “You feel full now? Just wait till Daddy’s cock is stretchin’ you wide on his lap, holdin’ you down while you whimper for more.”

You gasped, hips bucking on instinct, your breath stuttering as your body pulsed around him—and he felt it, knew exactly what that did to you.

“That’s why we gotta practice, huh?” he went on, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his fingers began to move again, slow and careful. “Don’t wanna hurt you when I’m finally deep in you. Want you soft, open, drippin’—just beggin’ for it.”

You whimpered, thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel just whispered, “Shhh,” against your skin, like even your cries made him ache. He didn’t rush. Didn’t thrust. Just coaxed your body to yield to him, fingers curling and stroking with reverent precision, as if you were something blooming beneath his hands and he was the only one patient enough to tend you.

And then his mouth was on you—lips brushing your clit like it was something sacred, something too tender to take without reverence. His tongue moved slow, unhurried, licking you open with gentle, wet strokes, suckling like he was tasting you for the first time. His eyes fluttered closed, breath warm between your thighs like this was where he belonged—here, face buried in your cunt, fingers buried inside you, lips drinking you in like prayer.

“J-Joel,” you gasped, voice breaking apart in your throat, hips jerking forward before you pulled away instinctively from the sharp heat of sensation. “It—it feels good.”

And God, the sound he made.

A soft, low groan, proud and aching, like your pleasure fed something inside him that had gone without for too long.

“Yeah, baby,” he said between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with warmth. “Knew it would. Knew you just needed some help, needed daddy to teach your sweet little body how to take it. You’re doin’ so good for me, angel.”

He curled his fingers just right, hitting the spot that made your mouth drop open in a silent cry, and then his tongue moved faster, lips closing tight around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you shake. His fingers followed suit, easing deeper, moving in slow, rhythmic pulses that made you feel like you were unraveling from the inside out.

“Mm, that’s it, sugar,” he mumbled, his voice muffled between your legs. “Let daddy have it. Let that tight little pussy give me what she’s been holdin’ all damn day.”

And in no time—no time at all—you came.

Hard. Shuddering. Messy.

You smiled—really smiled—lazy and blissed-out, the ache in your ankle now a distant hum compared to the throb still pulsing low in your belly, a warmth that spread through your limbs like honey in the sun. Your chest rose and fell in soft little waves, your lashes fluttering as you blinked up at him, dazed and glowing, lips kiss-bruised and parted. It was the kind of smile that came from deep inside you, the kind that didn’t just stretch across your face, but bloomed in your chest and soaked into your skin—soft, sated, safe.

Joel smiled right back, and fuck, it did something to you—the way his whole face changed, the way his rough edges softened as he looked at you like you’d hung the goddamn moon. He moved up your body slow and sweet, kissing his way along your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast, until he reached the hollow of your throat, where he lingered—kissed you there, over your pulse, humming low against your skin like your heartbeat was the only thing worth listening to.

“Love seein’ my girl smile,” he murmured, voice thick with affection as his hands roamed again, broad and warm and so fucking handsy, squeezing at your hips, your waist, the curve of your ass like he couldn’t help it. “My sweet girl, lookin’ all happy and full and messy.”

Then he was kissing you again—messily, hungrily, his mouth slanting over yours with a groan, his lips sticky and wet, tongue slipping between your lips like he needed to taste the pleasure he’d just pulled out of you.

You gasped into his mouth, body arching up to meet his like instinct, like your skin missed his the second it wasn’t touching—and between kisses, breathless and stunned, you asked, “That’s what I taste like?”

Joel chuckled low, biting your bottom lip just barely before letting it go, his voice sweet and smug and absolutely ruined as he murmured, “Yeah, baby. That’s you. That’s how sweet you are—fuckin’ candy, darlin’. Sticky and soft and perfect on my tongue.”

You whined as he kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes, the kind that made your toes curl and your spine melt, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He kissed you like he wanted to crawl inside you—like he needed to taste every part of you to survive. His tongue swept into your mouth, deep and hungry, making you taste yourself on him, like that was the prize he'd earned. He swallowed your moans like they belonged to him, like he’d branded them into his chest, and when he finally pulled back—just barely, just long enough to breathe—he rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and tangled with yours as he whispered,

“Gonna keep you like this, baby. All fucked-out and smilin’. Nothin’ else matters. Just you, me, and this sweet little mouth.”

You barely had time to blink, to gather the breath he’d stolen, before his lips were back on your neck, mouthing along the curve of your jaw, trailing down the place just beneath your ear where he knew you shivered. His voice was rough and quiet, like he couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop tasting.

And then his phone buzzed.

You felt it against the seat, the vibration dull but sharp in the quiet haze, cutting through the warmth like a blade. He didn’t flinch. Just kept kissing down your neck, teeth grazing lightly as his hand slid lazily over your ribs.

“Don’t you wanna get that?” you murmured, barely above a whisper, the words thick in your throat even though you already knew. It was probably your mother—calling to ask if he wanted steak or curry for dinner, or just wondering where the hell you two were.

“No,” Joel muttered, lips still on your skin, voice low and sweet and full of something that felt too big for the moment. “Just wanna love on my girl a little longer.”

You melted. Fully, completely. Nothing but warmth and ache and that quiet, golden feeling like your bones had turned to honey.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

TAG LIST - and yes a next part is coming out ..!

@caramelic3dlatte @thottiewinemom @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @vixorell @pastel-luna @pedroswife69 @lonelysoul504 @sweetlylcv

@wandasimp-69 @bitchydragonparadisee @thottiewinemom @jmg2631 @clever-dragon @beautifulhybrid01 @xcallmetaniax

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mari-positas · 1 year ago

Text

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high.

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter.

His youngest daughter.

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still.

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit.

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none.

Still.

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation.

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him.

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told.

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs.

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

#fic: fall into temptation #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x afab!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #post outbreak joel

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worlds-we-write · 8 days ago

Text

Not So Funny Now, Huh?

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Patrol gets messy when a friend teases you about "your man" and Joel overhears. Back home, jealous and possessive Joel makes sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

tags: dom!Joel, jealous/possessive behavior, rough sex, heavy dirty talk, hair pulling, choking (light), marking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praise/degradation mix, possessiveness, aftercare.

AN: jealous + filthy Joel is always the mood 🔥 thank you @/stankyedits27 on TikTok for inspiring this nasty little one. enjoy xoxo

My Masterlist

The patrol was supposed to be quiet.

Just routine—south perimeter check, little chit chat, nothing serious. But of course, Lila couldn’t help herself. She kept glancing between you and Joel like she was watching the start of some soap opera.

"So… how’s your man these days?" she asked with a knowing smirk, nudging your arm as you both walked a little ahead of Joel.

You laughed it off, waving her off quickly. “Shut up. He’s not my man.”

“Uh huh,” Lila singsonged. “You sure don’t sound like someone who isn’t head over heels. I see how you look at him.”

Your face flushed hot, but you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Drop it. Seriously.”

But Joel was behind you. Joel was listening.

His boots scraped harshly against the gravel. His jaw ticked, heavy silence radiating off him like heat from the summer pavement. You didn’t realize he’d even been paying attention. You didn’t realize just how closely he’d been listening.

By the time patrol ended and the sun dipped low, Joel hadn’t said a word.

Not until you were back at your place. Alone.

You barely locked the door before he was right there, crowding into your space, hands braced on the wall beside your head. You blinked up at him in confusion.

“‘Your man,’ huh?” His voice was a low growl, soft and dangerous. “That who you were talkin’ about out there? Someone else?”

You swallowed. “Joel—what?”

“Answer me.” His palm wrapped around your throat, not tight, just firm enough to make you feel small and trapped against him. His eyes were wild with something dark and simmering.

“Of course I was talking about you,” you whispered, breath catching.

He huffed a sharp breath through his nose, like he wasn’t sure if that satisfied him or pissed him off more.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. “Laughin’ it up, blushin’ like a fuckin’ teenager. You like gettin’ people talkin’, baby? Like makin’ ‘em wonder who’s fuckin’ you?”

His words hit you like lightning. You felt them between your legs more than you should have.

“Joel, no—”

“No?” His free hand slid down, gripping your hips so tight it hurt. He hauled you against him, letting you feel the hard, thick press of him through his jeans. “Don’t lie. You want me like this, don’t you? All worked up. Jealous. You know what that does to me.”

Your knees went weak. You whimpered as he shoved you back toward the bedroom.

Once you hit the bed, he didn’t waste time. Pulled your pants down roughly, threw them somewhere across the room. Fingers dragged down your soaked panties like he expected you to deny how wet you were—but you couldn’t.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel hissed, running his fingers through your arousal. “You’re so fuckin’ wet already. From just me bein’ mad at you, huh? You like pokin’ the fuckin’ bear, girl. Like knowin’ you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, arching up as two fingers pushed deep inside you.

“Yeah,” he grunted, leaning down so his mouth was right by your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Say it again.”

“Yours. I’m yours.”

“That’s right. No more gigglin’ with your little friends. No more wonderin’.”

His fingers fucked into you relentlessly until you were crying out, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Joel—oh my God—Joel—”

“Not good enough. Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours, yours, it’s yours—please—”

He groaned, pulling his fingers free and shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. The head of his cock nudged against your soaked entrance and without waiting, he pushed in deep, all at once. You cried out, body jerking.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. So fuckin’ tight. Like you were made for me.”

He set a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours as his hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Look at me. You wanna act like I’m not your man? Huh? Then why’s your pussy squeezin’ me like this?”

You could barely breathe, the mixture of pain and pleasure making your head spin.

“I—Joel—can’t—”

“Yes you can. Gonna take every fuckin’ inch. Gonna let me ruin you.”

He was relentless. Filthy. Every word pouring from his mouth more possessive than the last. He owned you in every sense—his cock driving you toward oblivion, his hand gripping your throat again, his voice branding you.

When your orgasm hit, it shattered through you. You screamed his name as your body arched off the bed, clenching and fluttering around him.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, letting go and fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

“Mine,” he snarled as he spilled deep inside you, hips grinding down as if he could bury himself even deeper. “You’re fuckin’ mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you sobbed, overwhelmed and trembling.

Joel collapsed over you, breath ragged. But even as he kissed your temple and whispered soft praises now, his hips still lazily rocked against you, keeping you filled, keeping you marked.

“You ever even think about sayin’ otherwise again, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week,” he murmured against your skin.

And somehow… that didn’t sound like a punishment at all.

Your legs were jelly by the time Joel finally let you go. He could see it too — the way you slumped back against the mattress, boneless and dazed.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Wore you out, huh?”

You could only nod weakly, eyes fluttering shut as his hands caressed your sides. The rough, jealous edge was long gone now. In its place was something far softer — careful, protective Joel, whose fingers traced the marks he’d left with visible regret.

“Didn’t mean to be that fuckin’ rough,” he whispered, voice thick with guilt. He kissed the faint red lines on your throat, then your collarbone. “You alright? Talk to me, honey.”

“M’okay,” you mumbled, sleepy but floating. “Was good. Really good, Joel.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He gave a low hum, kissed you again — this time slow and unhurried — and then stood.

“Stay right there,” he ordered gently. “Ain’t done takin’ care of you.”

You barely registered him moving around the room, but minutes later he was back with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up with slow, tender strokes, murmuring sweet praises the whole time. Took me so good, baby… fuck, I love you like this.

When he was finished, he pulled you into his arms effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the small bathroom.

“Joel,” you mumbled, half-asleep against his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothed, “gonna run you a bath. Just relax.”

He didn’t let you lift a finger. He set you down carefully on the closed toilet seat as he filled the tub, making sure the water was just right before helping you in. His hands stayed on you the whole time — washing your hair, massaging your scalp, running soft cloths over your skin.

By the time he pulled you out, wrapped you up in his flannel, and carried you back to bed, you were nothing but pliant warmth in his hold.

Once tucked under the covers, he slid in behind you, pressing his chest to your back and hooking a heavy arm possessively around your waist.

“No more jokin’ about ‘your man,’” he murmured sleepily, voice rough but fond as his nose nuzzled into your hair. “Ain’t no fuckin’ joke. You’re mine. You hear me?”

You smiled, drowsy and warm and safe.

“Yours,” you whispered back.

Joel hummed, satisfied, pulling you closer as he drifted off with you in his arms — wrapped up in the sweetest kind of aftermath.

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pedrospookie · 5 months ago

Text

so there was a flood at the office I work at, and the maintenance manager who is here problem solving this flood is so Joel Coded

he keeps walking in, all tall and broody, and I can’t unsee it

I feel like this has fic potential

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #Joel miller saves the day #Joel miller needs to come save me from my 9-5 #potential fanfiction #joel miller x reader series #joel miller fluff #tessa's assets

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 20 days ago

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Healed Masterlist

"You saved his life. I'm asking you to help him keep it."

Joel Miller x Doctor Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one. Warnings: alternating pov, injury, eventual smut, mutual pining, fluff, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel survives, medical jargon, blood, sponge baths Chapters will have individual warnings.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Convalescence Chapter 2 - Awake

—- Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on updates to be alerted when a new chapter drops!

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stylesispunk · 3 months ago

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'Landed too hard'

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You save Joel's life from raiders but instead of thanking you, he gets mad at you.

You get hurt and you are forced to be vulnerable with each other.

wc: 7k

warnings: age gap, established relationship, angst, fluff, miscommunication, insecurities, mentions of blood, and fluff

a/n: i'm slowly coming back to this with this baby here that was on my drafts. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

The forest was too quiet for your liking. No birds, no wind—Just the soft crunch of the snowy ground beneath your feet as you followed Joel who was ahead of you and Ellie. There was something in the air this day, eerie silence pressing on your chest, tension, and Joel had been on edge all day, his broad shoulder seemed tense under his jacker, his grip on the rifle tighter than usual.

It felt like the premonition of something bad coming on your way. So, you kept your knife close and your gun pressed under your hand.

“We’ll set up camp soon,” Joel muttered, his voice low without looking behind to you and Ellie.

Ellie groaned. “Finally. My feet feel like they’re gonna fall soon.”

You gave her a tired smile at her remark, but your eyes stayed on Joel. His jaw was tight, the scar above his brow crinkling deeper. You knew him well enough to read the signs—he was worried. More than usual.

That’s why you didn’t even hear them coming.

One second, you were walking behind Joel, and the next, chaos broke out. Shouts echoed through the trees. Five, maybe six men, all armed came out from nowhere. Joel shoved you and Ellie behind an overturned log.

“Stay down,” he growled, pressing his rifle into your hands. “If anyone gets close, you shoot. Don’t move unless I say so.”

“Joel—”

“Stay.”

You swallowed your fear and nodded, grabbing Ellie and pulling her down. Joel stepped out, drawing their attention, firing a shot that took one of the men down, then another and so on.

But the rest came fast. Through the cracks in the log, you watched Joel fight. He moved like a man who’d done this too many times, but even then, it was too much. One of the raiders tackled him, and suddenly, Joel was on the ground, with one of those men’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

the man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could barely hear Ellie’s panicked breathing next to you.

Joel clawed at the man’s wrists, his face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t going to get out of it and you couldn’t just sit there watching the man you loved die in front of you.

“Stay here,” you told Ellie, voice shaking from rage.

“Wait…what are you doing?!” she whispered.

Your body moved before your mind could argue. You were already running before Ellie could have the chance to stop you.

You tackled the man strangling Joel, knocking him off balance, but before you could finish him, another set of hands grabbed you from behind. You struggled, kicking and clawing, managing to land a sharp elbow into the man’s ribs before twisting free. The first man lunged again, but you dodged, feeling the burn of a knife slicing across your cheek. The pain barely registered as you drove your own blade into the man’s neck, then turned and plunged it into the second attacker’s chest before he could recover. Warm blood splattered your hands as the man crumpled, gasping his last breath.

You stood there, panting, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Joel coughed violently, rolling onto his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands hovering uselessly. “Joel? Hey—hey, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, still gasping for air. When he finally sat up, his brown eyes locked onto yours—not with gratitude, but with pure, burning rage.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he rasped, voice raw.

You blinked, the adrenaline still rushing through you. “I—I had to. He was going to—”

“You didn’t listen to me!” Joel slammed his fist into the dirt, his whole-body trembling with anger. “I told you to stay hidden! What if he’d killed you?!”

“Well, he didn’t” you stated, “I saved your life!”

“And you risked yours doing it!”

His voice echoed through the trees, sharp and unforgiving. You felt your chest tighten, heat rising in your throat.

“I’m not some helpless girl you can just shove behind a log, Joel! I did what I had to!”

Joel stood up, wiping the blood from his hands. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. The space between you felt impossibly wide.

He ran a hand over his face, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at you. "You put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed. Do you even get that?"

"I get that I just saved your ass!" You shot back, the weight of the moment crashing over you. "And all you can do is yell at me?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists before he turned away. "I ain't doin' this."

"Fine," you bit out.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. You glanced at Ellie, who stood off to the side, arms crossed, her expression tense.

You lifted a hand to your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky with blood. The cut burned now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you sucked in a sharp breath. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the wound, concern flashing across her face, but she didn’t say anything. Joel still wasn’t looking at you, his back rigid as he adjusted his pack.

"We should get moving," he muttered, voice low and strained.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache in your throat. Without another word, the three of you fell into step, the silence stretching between you like an open wound

That night, you found a small clearing tucked between dense trees, far enough from the road to feel safe. The cold had settled deep, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the weak glow of the fire. Joel had barely spoken a word since the fight, his focus set on keeping watch, his back to you.

You weren’t hurt by his words or the outburst he had, but by the idea of him willingly die and feeling at peace with it. How easy would be for him to left you behind and in your own.

You dismissed your thoughts as you dug through your pack for a rag, pressing it against the wound on your cheek. The sting made you wince, and you cursed under your breath.

A quiet shuffling caught your attention, and you looked up to see Ellie kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed.

"Here," she said, pulling a small bottle of alcohol from her pocket. "Let me help."

You hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small nod. She dampened the cloth with the antiseptic and reached for your face. The touch was gentle, but the sting made you hiss.

"Sorry," Ellie murmured, concentrating as she cleaned the cut. "You’re lucky it’s not deeper."

You let out a small chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Lucky isn’t exactly how I’d describe this day.”

Ellie huffed, finishing up before pulling a bandage from her pack. "Well, you’re not dead, so that counts for something."

You smiled faintly, glancing toward Joel. He still hadn’t turned around. You sighed, looking back at Ellie. "Thanks, kid."

She just shrugged, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Anytime."

As the fire crackled softly between you, you finally felt a small sense of comfort—at least, from Ellie. Joel, on the other hand, was still a storm brewing on the other side of camp.

Joel sat a few feet away, his gaze drifting to you as he kept watch. He noticed the way you shivered, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, but still, you slept. He hesitated, jaw tightening as he debated with himself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over you.

You stirred slightly at the added warmth, a small, unconscious sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Joel lingered for a moment, watching you, before settling back down next to you as if he needed to remind himself you were still here.

The fire in your camp had burned down to glowing embers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cool morning air. Joel sat near it, his hands wrapped around his termo, sipping coffee our from it, his eyes occasionally flicking over to where you slept.

Your back was to him, your body curled slightly, the jacket pulled high over your shoulder. The cut ran along your cheekbone from the fight the day before—a fight that left you and Joel in a tense, suffocating silence. Reminding him how you always put yourself in danger for him.

He hated himself for it. How he had came to the point where he felt useless.

Now, in the morning light, you looked peaceful despite the frown that creased your forehead. Joel knew that look. He knew you too well.

Ellie stirred next to him, stretching before getting to her feet. She glanced at you, then back at Joel. “Should I wake her up?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ellie raised a brow. “Why?”

Joel sighed, glancing at you again before taking another sip of coffee. “She’s got a frown.”

Ellie blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause she’s mad at you. Even in her sleep.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, but there wasn’t much fight in it. “No. It’s different. She gets that when she gets a migraine.” He ran a hand over his beard, glancing at you again. “Let her sleep a little longer.”

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something softer. “You really pay attention, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another slow sip of coffee, staring into the fire. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “When it comes to her of course I do.”

Ellie sighed, dropping back down onto the log next to him. “So… you gonna fix this or what?”

Joel tensed, setting his cup down beside him. “She doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Yeah, because you yelled at her.” She reminded him.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“She saved your ass, Joel.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t the point.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, it kinda is. She did what you would’ve done for her.”

Joel was silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do you think she would be fine if you were dead?” she pressed on, sighing.

Instead of answer, Joel reached for his bag, unbuckling the strap. He knew exactly where to look, tucked inside one of the side pockets were the pills he always carried for you, just in case.

Ellie, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, tilted her head. “Wait… you carry her pills?”

Joel didn’t look up as he pulled out the small bottle, checking how many were left. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, like he didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.

Ellie crossed her arms. “Huh.”

Joel finally glanced at her. “What?”

Ellie smirked. “Nothin’. Just—you act all tough, but you’re, like, secretly the softest person ever for her.”

Joel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Keep it to yourself, kid,” as he moved toward you.

You stirred slightly as he knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your face with a careful hand. The sight of the cut on your cheek made his stomach twist again, but he pushed the feeling down. He had already failed to keep you from getting hurt once, he wouldn’t fail you now.

Gently, he set the bottle of pills down next to you, along with a canteen of water. He knew you still weren’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop taking care of you.

As he sat back, Ellie watched him with something unreadable in her expression. “Still mad, huh?”

Joel sighed, rubbing his thumb over the strap of your bag.

Ellie nodded. “Well… you’re doin’ the right thing, at least.”

Joel wasn’t sure about that. But as he sat there, keeping watch while you slept, he figured it was all he could do for now.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the dull ache in your head. The second was the soft sound of the fire crackling nearby. You blinked against the morning light, your body still heavy with exhaustion.

And then you saw the canteen and the small bottle of pills sitting beside you. You didn’t have to ask who put them there.

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who sat a few feet away, his back turned slightly toward you. He was sharpening his knife, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filling the quiet space. Ellie sat across from him, kicking at the dirt with her boot, sneaking glances at you like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You swallowed, your throat dry. Carefully, you pushed yourself up, wincing as your muscles protested. Your fingers brushed against the bottle of pills, and you hesitated before finally picking it up.

Joel’s voice came before you could say anything. “Drink some water with that.”

It was quiet. Gruff. Like he wasn’t sure where the two of you stood after yesterday.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond, but you didn’t have the energy to fight again. Instead, you obeyed, twisting the cap off and dry-swallowing the pill before chasing it with a sip of water.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw his shoulders drop just a little.

Ellie, of course, didn’t stay quiet for long. “Sooo… does this mean you guys are done being mad at each other?

You shot her a look. “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying’—”

Joel cut in; his voice flat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Ellie huffed but dropped it, tearing off a piece of jerky with her teeth.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before stealing a glance at Joel. His eyes were still fixed on his knife, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the handle a little too tightly.

He was waiting. For you to say something. For you to forgive him.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples in a weak attempt to ease the pressure in your skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing ever really worked, except for him.

Joel had a way of grounding you when the pain got bad. He didn’t always have the right words, but he never needed them. He had his own way of taking care of you, of letting you know he was there. And right now, all you wanted was for him to kiss your temples the way he used to.

The way he always did when you were hurting.

But things weren’t the same. You had fought, you had pulled away, and he had let you. And now, even though he was right there, he felt miles away.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, trying to push down the disappointment twisting in your chest. It was stupid to want that from him right now. After everything, you shouldn’t need him like that.

Except you did.

Joel shifted, and you felt him move closer, his presence clear even before he spoke. “Did you take the pills?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a long silence, and then, so softly you almost missed it— “Still hurts?”

You hesitated. Your pride screamed at you to say no. To brush him off and keep that last little bit of distance between you. But you were tired.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

Joel exhaled slowly. And then, finally, finally, you felt his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head just enough so he could lean in.

His lips pressed against your temple, warm and steady, lingering for just a second longer than they needed to.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“Get ready, we have to go now” he spoke, still closer to your face.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the sudden shift back to reality. The moment was brief, fleeting, just like every soft thing between you and Joel seemed to be.

He pulled away first, his hand dropping from your face like he hadn’t just touched you like you meant something to him. Like he hadn’t just kissed you the way he always used to when you were hurting.

You cleared your throat, pushing yourself up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest "Yeah, okay," you muttered, rubbing at your face as if you could wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel stood up, already shifting back into that closed-off version of himself, the one that had been there ever since your fight. The one that didn’t know how to bridge the gap now.

Ellie walked in just as you were attempting to stand, her eyes flicking between the two of you. "You guys look weird," she said, frowning. "Like... extra weird."

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now, Ellie."

She just smirked, clearly entertained by whatever tension was hanging in the air. "Whatever you say, lovebirds."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag to distract yourself. Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, but you pretended not to notice. Joel pretended too, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, watching you too closely like he always did.

The road stretched ahead, cracked and broken, nature reclaiming what once belonged to people. You walked in silence, the weight of the morning still pressing against your chest. Your head ached, but you bit down on the pain, refusing to let it slow you down.

Joel was beside you, his steps steady, his presence solid as ever. But something about him felt distant. He was looking at you, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you every few moments, but it wasn’t the same. Not like before.

Before, his eyes had been filled with something warm, something certain. But now? Now, it felt like he was watching you from behind a wall, like he was making sure you were still there but refusing to let himself feel anything about it.

Ellie, for once, was quiet, kicking a stray rock as she walked ahead, letting the tension settle between the two of you.

Joel’s outburst had been raw, desperate, his voice breaking, his hands gripping yours like he could tether you to him. But now, you saw it for what it was. Fear. Not just of losing you. But of what it meant if he didn’t.

Because Joel didn’t think he deserved to have you. He thought he wasn’t enough, that he never had been. And maybe… maybe he never would be.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," you muttered, not even turning your head.

Joel tensed beside you. "Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to cry to let you in and forgive you shout at me.”

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. But then—

"I am not," he said, voice rough. A lie.

You stopped walking. Finally, you turned to face him. "Then what is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you meant for it to be. "Because you had been like this for week, something's been different and yesterday you just broke."

Joel exhaled slowly, looking away, his hands on his hips, his fingers flexing. "Nothing’s different."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Ellie stopped a few steps ahead, glancing between the two of you like she wanted to intervene but thought better of it.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders stiff, his mouth opening—then closing again. He had no answer. No real one, anyway.

Because the truth was, it had never been about you. It had always been about him. About the way he would rather push you away than let himself believe, even for a second, that he was allowed to keep you. That you would want to stay.

That you would choose him. But you were tired of being the only one fighting for this.

So, you just nodded, setting your jaw. "Alright," you murmured, turning back toward the road, ignoring the way your chest ached. "If nothing’s different, then let’s just keep moving."

He Heard the way your voice broke at the end and he just watched as you joined Ellie.

Joel stood there, hands tightening into fists at his sides as he watched you walk away. He’d done this—again.

He had Hurt you.

He told himself it was for the best, that it was the only way to keep you safe. But that excuse was starting to sound as hollow as he felt.

Ellie shot him a glance, her expression unreadable before she turned her attention back to you. She said something low under her breath, nudging your shoulder. You didn’t look back.

And Joel? Joel just stood there, rooted in place, watching the one thing he was most afraid of slip through his fingers.

Because, deep down, he knew. It wasn’t the world that would take you from him. It was him. It was a matter of time.

A few hours later, when cold still found its way deep down your bones. You followed Joel and Ellie into the old market, the air inside thick with dust and the remnants of a world long gone. The faded signs above the shop windows once advertised fruits and vegetables, but now they were nothing more than silent witnesses to the decay around them.

Joel stepped into the shadows first, scanning the area with ease. His hand never strayed far from the rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t just looking for supplies—he was looking for danger, as always, he was ready to find it. You watched him move with that quiet confidence that made him seem invincible, even though you knew better. The way he held himself, as if the weight of the world was constantly on his shoulders.

He disappeared behind a corner, moving into the heart of the market.

Ellie, always ready for adventure, shifted impatiently next to you. “Think it’s safe?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the market.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes fixed on the place where Joel had vanished. You could feel the tension coiling between the two of you, that invisible thread that had been growing tighter over the last few hours. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

“He’ll let us know when it’s safe,” you said quietly, not taking your eyes away from him.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. “Yeah, but what if-”

You cut her off with a shake of your head. “He’s careful. He’ll check everything first.”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but she stayed quiet. You both waited in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the wind and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Then, Joel’s voice echoed from ahead. “Clear,” he called out as he reappeared from behind a row of shelves, his gaze briefly flicking over you before he turned to lead the way deeper into the market. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the wariness beneath it.

His fingers found their way to your shoulders, his touch was brief, just the slightest brush of his fingers against your jacket. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a habit he couldn't break.

You didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on scanning the shelves, looking for anything useful. Cans, medical supplies.

Ellie was already rummaging through a shelf, muttering under her breath about how people really liked canned beans before the world went to hell. Joel moved ahead, his rifle held tight as he checked the corners, ever cautious.

You bent down, shifting through a pile of toppled boxes, when Joel’s voice came from behind you. “You good?”

It was automatic, the way he asked. Like even when he was keeping his distance, he still couldn’t help but care.

You hesitated, keeping your back to him. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Not the way his voice sounded. Not the way your chest ached every time he was close but not close enough. And definitely not the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long on your shoulder, as if he didn’t want to let go.

Joel was already moving toward another section of the market, scanning the rows of empty shelves, searching for anything of value. Ellie had drifted further ahead, already rummaging through a crate she found. You stayed close to the wall, the building’s dilapidated structure making you nervous, but you tried not to let the unease show. You knew Joel was doing his best to keep everyone safe, but the weight of everything—of what you had lost, of what you were still fighting for—was starting to catch up with you.

You took a few more steps, carefully picking your way over the cracked floor, when suddenly, the ground beneath you gave way with a sharp, unsettling creak. Before you could react, your foot twisted, the bone snapping like a twig under the weight of the fall.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your ankle as you cried out, unable to stop yourself. The world spun for a moment as you collapsed, hands pressing to the ground to catch yourself, but the pain in your ankle was unbearable. You let out a sharp gasp, fighting the urge to cry out again as you felt something shift beneath the skin, your foot didn’t feel right.

"Shit," you muttered, trying to stay calm, but panic crept in with each breath. Your heart raced as you instinctively tried to pull yourself up, but your foot wouldn’t hold any weight. You couldn’t put it down.

Ellie’s voice broke through the fog of pain, distant but growing closer. “What happened?”

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice followed almost immediately. You could hear the panic lacing his tone, the urgency in his steps as he turned back toward you. You felt the weight of his presence before you saw him, his figure coming into view, moving fast.

He saw you on the ground, your face twisted in pain, and his heart dropped. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, kneeling down beside you with a speed that surprised you. His hands were gentle, but you could hear the frustration in his voice as he assessed the damage. "What the hell happened?"

“I—I fell,” you stammered, gritting your teeth as you tried to hold back more of the pain. You couldn’t focus on anything other than your ankle, the way it throbbed, the way your body seemed to give way under the weight of it.

Joel’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to carefully touch your injured ankle. “I’m gonna need you to stay still, alright?” His voice was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to let his worry show, but you could see it in his eyes. His hands worked quickly, checking for anything more serious, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Ellie, get over here,” Joel called out, his voice low and strained.

Ellie rushed back toward you, eyes wide with concern as she knelt beside you. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said through clenched teeth, trying to sound stronger than you felt. “It’s just my ankle.”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and Ellie, his mind clearly racing. “We need to get you out of here, now.” His hand gripped your shoulder for a moment, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if grounding himself in that brief contact.

Ellie was already standing, her expression determined as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go grab what we need.”

Joel nodded, but his focus never left you. He reached down, his hands carefully lifting you as he positioned himself behind you. "I'm gonna carry you. It's gonna hurt a little, but I need you to hang on."

You bit back a hiss of pain as he adjusted his hold on you, making sure not to jostle your foot too much, but you couldn’t suppress the way your body tensed at the movement. The pain was still sharp, but there was something comforting in the way Joel’s arms secured around you.

“Joel…” you whispered, too exhausted to speak louder.

“I got you,” he muttered back, his voice almost a promise. "Just hang in there."

As he started to move, carrying you carefully toward a safer corner, you could feel your heart rate begin to slow, your pulse steadying slightly in the rhythm of his steps. But the ache in your ankle still lingered, a constant reminder of how fragile everything really was.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the pain, trying to find some semblance of peace in the way Joel had his arms around you. Because no matter how mad you were, no matter how much you weren’t talking to him, Joel Miller was always going to take care of you.

Joel helped you settle into a quiet corner of the abandoned store, easing you down onto an old crate. He crouched in front of you, his hands steady as he pulled your boot off, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

Ellie hovered for a second, glancing between the two of you, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna go check the other side of the store. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

You didn’t respond. Joel didn’t either.

Once Ellie disappeared, Joel focused back on your ankle, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pack. He was quiet as he started wrapping, his fingers gentle but firm, pressing just enough to support your injury.

You watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to pretend you care about this.”

Joel’s hands stilled. His jaw ticked. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You think I’m pretending?” His voice was low, rough. Almost offended by the way your voice sounded saying those words.

You looked away, focusing on the peeling paint on the walls. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. One second, you’re mad at me. The next, you’re acting like—like this.” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like it actually matters.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. “It does matter.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you were yelling at me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was mad because you almost got yourself killed.”

“I was saving you.” You protested.

“I don’t need saving” He replied, rough as always.

Your eyes snapped back to his, anger flashing in them. “And I don’t need you acting like I don’t have a say in whether or not I protect you. You can’t just decide for me, Joel.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, like he was carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You frowned, your voice softer now. “Can’t what?”

His gaze met yours again, something raw behind it. “I can’t lose you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint wind outside, the rustling of leaves.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You think I want to lose you?”

Joel’s expression softened just a fraction. He sighed, reaching forward, his hand hesitating before resting gently on your knee.

Your breath caught. The fight, the tension, it was still there, but underneath it was something deeper. Something neither of you had the words for just yet.

“You are always so willing to die,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for the exact moment. Like none of this matters to you. Like I don’t matter.”

Joel’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, grounding you, but he didn’t say anything.

You sniffed, shaking your head. “Do you even know what that does to me? How it makes me feel?”

He swallowed hard, his throat working around the words he wasn’t saying.

“You walk into danger like you’ve already made peace with dying,” you continued, your voice raw. “And maybe you have. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I care. And you make me watch you throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. Like you don’t care if I have to watch you—”

Your voice cut off as a sob wracked through you.

Joel let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he spoke. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, swiping at your tears. “You sure don’t act like it.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look at you. “I’m not waiting to die.”

You scoffed, looking away.

“I’m not” he insisted. His voice was rough, firm. “I just…I don’t know how to do this. How to—” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the back of his neck. “I spent twenty years not giving a damn about whether I made it out of alive. And then you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.

You stared at him, waiting. His gaze met yours again, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable.

"Do you think I would survive without you?" You asked him.

"You're strong." he stated.

"That doesn't matter if the person I love and I protect throws himself to death" you said, tired of the cycle.

“I’m not trying to--” he started, but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You act like you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I do. And I don’t know what’s worse—watching you run into danger without thinking or knowing that if you died, you’d probably think I’d just move on.”

His brows furrowed. “That ain’t—”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around Joel’s wrist. “Do you love me, Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it—that maybe, after everything, he’d still hold back.

But then, his hand moved, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek. His touch was careful, reverent, like he was memorizing you.

“I do,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Your breath stilled.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “More than I ever meant to. More than I know what to do with.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

“Then stop trying to leave me behind,” you whispered, pleading to him.

He looked at you with such intensity, as if he was trying to see past the pain and fear, trying to understand something that had always eluded him.

“How do you even love someone like me?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly, the question laced with vulnerability, a side of him you rarely saw—something raw and unprotected.

Your heart hurt at the sound of it. You wanted to reach out and erase the doubt from his mind, to tell him that he didn’t have to question it. But instead, you just looked at him, letting the silence linger for a moment, trying to gather the right words to answer him.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “I love you because you’re you. Because through all the broken pieces, all the walls you’ve built around yourself, I still see the man who’s been there for me. You’re not perfect, none of us are. But you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if taking in your words, processing them, before meeting your gaze again. His expression softened, the tightness in his jaw easing, but there was still that guarded look in his eyes. He was trying to fight something inside himself, something he had carried for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, almost to himself, but you heard it loud and clear. The doubt in his voice, something he couldn’t shake.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Stop saying that,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “You deserve me. You deserve everything good that’s coming your way. I’ve seen who you are, Joel. You’re not what you think you are.”

“Why do you think I keep pushing you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, like he was afraid of the answer himself.

You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly touching his, and your breath mingled in the quiet space between you. “Because you’re scared of letting yourself love me the way you do,” you said softly. “You’re scared of losing me. But pushing me away won’t make it any easier. It’ll just leave you with a regret you can’t undo.”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if your words had struck a chord in him, but it wasn’t enough to break him completely, not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m afraid if I let myself love you fully... if I let myself need you the way I do… I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t live with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you reached up to wipe it away, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. You could feel the pain in his words, the depth of his fear, and it only made you love him more.

Joel’s hand gently moved to your ankle, and despite everything that had just been said, the tenderness in his touch wasn’t lost on you. His rough fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully positioned your leg. You winced slightly at the discomfort, but it wasn’t the pain from your ankle that caught your attention—it was the way his eyes never left you, the quiet care he was showing in that moment.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, trying to keep his own emotions in check. You could tell he was trying to be calm for you, even though you knew he was anything but calm inside.

Joel’s fingers moved gently over your ankle, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. His touch was steady, and for once, it was soft, more like the careful tenderness of someone who didn’t want to hurt you, rather than the harshness that often came with survival.

You winced slightly when the bandage tightened, but he immediately eased his grip, looking at you with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but his care made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

Once your ankle was properly secured, Joel leaned back, looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place in them. He didn’t speak for a while, just stared at you like he was trying to decide something in his mind.

Joel’s gaze went to your ankle for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing the soft skin of your bandaged ankle. It was a gesture so tender, so unexpected, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice remained quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

You shook your head, still chuckling lightly, the sound feeling strange after everything that had happened. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Joel,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s just... never thought you’d be kissing my ankle better.”

Joel’s smirk softened into something more tender, and for a moment, there was nothing between you but the quiet understanding. His eyes dropped back to your ankle for a brief second before lifting to meet yours once more, his expression serious. Without another word, he moved closer, his hand reaching to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he had shown when tending to your injury. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his lips just a breath away.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you, soft, lingering, as if it was a promise, as if it was everything, he hadn’t been able to say before. You leaned into it, letting the kiss speak for you both, the tension between you finally easing, at least for this moment.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Ellie’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

You and Joel broke apart instantly, your breath still tangled in his, as you turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Joel cleared his throat and sat back slightly, rubbing a hand over his beard like that would somehow erase what she’d just walked in on.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re already making out. Unbelievable.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Ellie—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s kinda sweet, but gross.”

Joel shot her a look, his voice flat. “Ellie.”

“What?” She shrugged, grinning. “Just saying. But, uh—maybe save the romance for later, lovebirds? We kinda got shit to do.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but when he glanced at you again, you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon,” he muttered, standing up and offering you a hand. “We should get movin’.”

You took his hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. As you stood, Ellie shot you both a smug look before turning on her heel.

As she walked away, you heard her mutter under her breath, “God, I hope I never have to see that again.”

As soon as you put weight on your injured ankle, a sharp pain shot up your leg, making you wince. You bit down on a curse, trying to tough it out, but Joel noticed immediately.

“Joel, it’s fine, I can walk,” you protested, but you could see the look in his eyes, the one that said, no argument.

“Not gonna argue with me on this one. Up you go.” Before you could protest, he crouched slightly in front of you. “Get on.” He waited for you to settle onto his back, and you reluctantly complied, knowing it would be easier than walking on your own.

You blinked at him. “Joel, I can—”

He shot you a look over his shoulder. “I'm not asking...”

Ellie snorted. “Just get on, lovebird.”

You sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you effortlessly.

“Easy, old man,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip. “Call me that again, and I’m dropping you.”

You laughed softly, “Thanks,” you muttered after a moment, your face buried in his jacket, still feeling the warmth of his body. The way he carried you felt like a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You sighed against him, letting yourself relax just a little as Joel carried you forward with steady steps. Without thinking, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just above the collar of his jacket.

Joel stiffened for half a second, his grip on your legs tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You trying to distract me?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

A smirk played on your lips. “Is it working?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You laughed, placing another kiss on the same spot, “I love you, Joel.”

His steps faltered for just a moment, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your legs like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his jaw tight. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

But then, in that quiet, gruff voice of his, he murmured, “I love you too, darling. Always”.

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lazysoulwriter · 1 month ago

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grumpy!joel miller. - hc.

part of this au! 1 | 2 | moodboard.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to shut the hell up while you’re humming on patrol, but keeps walking slower so you’ll stay close.

♡ grumpy!Joel that complains every time you pick wildflowers on the road, then tucks one behind your ear when you’re not looking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that huffs every time you call him “cowboy,” but positions himself between you and danger without a second thought.

♡ grumpy!Joel that pretends he doesn’t care when you get a scratch, but won’t sleep until he’s checked it twenty times and kissed your forehead after.

♡ grumpy!Joel that says “you’re gonna get us both killed” when you smile at strangers, but still lets you do all the talking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that rolls his eyes when you sneak into his sleeping bag at night, but pulls you tight against his chest like you’re the only safe thing left.

♡ grumpy!Joel that tells you to quit being annoying while handing you the last piece of jerky without blinking.

♡ grumpy!Joel that acts like your teasing means nothing, but almost shoots a guy just for looking at you too long.

♡ grumpy!Joel that keeps his gun in one hand and yours in the other, grumbling about “being careful,” but never letting go.

♡ grumpy!Joel that finally calls you “baby” during a firefight, like it slipped out in panic—but won’t stop saying it after.

♡ grumpy!Joel that mutters “you drive me insane” when you laugh after almost dying, but kisses your temple like you’re the only reason he’s still fighting.

♡ grumpy!Joel that hates how soft he is with you, especially when you patch him up and call him a “big baby.”

♡ grumpy!Joel that kisses you like it’s the last time, every time, because in this world—it might be.

♡ grumpy!Joel that pushes you against a crumbling wall, panting and bloodied, just to groan, “you’re mine,” before kissing you breathless.

♡ grumpy!Joel that makes love to you in abandoned houses like you’re the only thing that survived the end of the world.

♡ grumpy!Joel that swears under his breath when you giggle during sex, only to say “keep smilin’, baby. I live for it.”

♡ grumpy!Joel that holds your face like it’s something sacred and whispers “I love you” like it might destroy him.

♡ grumpy!Joel that fucks you slow after every close call, just to feel you alive and breathing under him.

♡ grumpy!Joel that lets the whole world burn as long as you’re safe in his arms.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #joel miller x you #joel miller series #joel miller fanfic #joel miller headcanon #joel miller headcanons #headcanons #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfics #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons #tlou fanfic #grumpy!joel miller x annoying!reader #jm

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 22 days ago

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back pain. l Joel Miller

Summary: Joel had back problems, someone had to help him

Warnings: smut (+18), unprotected sex (don't do that), breeding kink, oral sex (f!receiving), Joel has back problems, Ann shows up, Hazel is mentioned, a bit of jealousy

A/N: like many of us i also saw ep 2 tlou2. i had this chapter already written, i thought it might cheer you up. joel deserves everything and i'm trying my best.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It had been going on for a while. It started with discomfort after returning from patrols, but Joel put it down to the time spent in the saddle. Then the pain came after a nap on the couch or a long day at the stables.

You couldn’t ignore it when Joel groaned loudly one morning as he got out of bed. You tried to help him. You massaged the aching muscles on his back and shoulders, applied warm compresses to ease the tension. It all helped, but only for a moment.

“Ann told me there was a woman next door who did professional massages,” you said one night. You were straddling Joel, naked from the waist up, lying on his stomach, accepting the touch of your hands. “She’s helped a lot of people in Jackson.”

"I don't need help." he groaned when you pressed a particularly painful spot. "You're doing great."

"I have no idea what I'm doing." You mumbled. "What if I only hurt you more?"

"Don't care. I'm not going there." He replied, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're so..."

"Old?"

“Stubborn!” He patted him on the shoulder. “Your back has been bothering you for a long time. You should do something about it. You want a baby, so how are you going to get up for it at night?”

You shouldn't have used that argument, but it was the only thing that came to mind. You had been trying to conceive for months, but you weren't panicking. Whatever was coming, you were just willing to accept it. Joel's aching back was worrying you, so you tried to do everything you could to help him. Even Tommy and Ellie had pitched in to convince him to rest, but Joel was... Yes, stubborn.

You hadn't brought it up since that night. Joel had been busy renovating more buildings in Jackson, and you had your hands full as well. It wasn't until you met Ann, who was with Elijah at the store, that you found out something was wrong.

“I’ve been seeing Joel lately,” she said, stroking the boy’s head as he slept snuggled up to her chest, a scarf wrapped securely around him. “I asked him what he was doing, but he was acting strange.”

"Strange? What does that mean?" you wondered.

"I don't know." Ann shrugged. "Do you think Hazel asked him for help again? She lives a few houses down from us."

You saw Hazel occasionally, sometimes at the Tipsy Bison or on the street in Jackson, but you didn’t talk. You knew she always felt more comfortable around Joel, but he hadn’t mentioned her in a while. A hint of jealousy rose in your heart, though you knew that if Joel hadn’t told you about Hazel, it was just so you wouldn’t feel bad. “I don’t know. He’s been pretty busy lately.” You replied. “Maybe he has a job in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She smiled softly and picked up the basket. “Are you coming over later? Shane’s going on patrol with two new guys, I don’t want to be alone. You know how it is.”

"Sure. I'll come."

You couldn't pretend that what Ann had told you didn't interest you, and where Joel was headed was starting to worry you a little. Every morning he'd say he was going to the construction site or on patrol, but you didn't really know if he was actually there. You didn't feel the need to check on him, because why would you?

Hazel entered your thoughts again. Maybe she'd asked him for help, and Joel just didn't want to worry you? No, you weren't angry. Just worried.

You were halfway through washing the dishes when you heard the door slam and the familiar heavy footsteps.

"Baby?" Joel's voice echoed through the house.

“Here.” You replied, dipping your hands into the suds and washing another plate. “Are you hungry? I have some more stew, Ellie and Dina didn’t eat all of it. We’ll have to start hiding food from them.”

You heard footsteps but no voice. When suddenly a solid body pressed against your back, almost pushing you into the sink.

“Jesus! Joel!” you squealed in surprise, pulling your hands out of the water and grabbing his arms that were wrapped tightly around you. “What happened?”

His low, deep voice resonated against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you. Now."

He wasn't lying. The hard bulge pressed against your ass, you swallowed hard.

"Now?" you repeated, bewildered.

There was no response. A low groan tore from Joel’s chest as he released you, crouching down and throwing you over his shoulder in an instant. You were so surprised that you fisted your hands in his shirt dramatically.

"Joel! Your back!" you chuckled as he headed towards the stairs. "Joel! That's not safe!"

“Then stop squirming, for God’s sake!” he muttered as he climbed the stairs. Luckily, you listened, because the idea of falling on your face wasn’t interesting. He kicked open the bedroom door, and a moment later it slammed shut behind you, and you landed with a thud on the bed.

“Joel!” you were too confused. It all happened so fast, and Joel looked like he was going crazy. His fingers deftly unbuttoned your pants and in a quick movement slid them down your back along with your underwear. “What the fuck?!”

"I already told you, I want you. Now." he replied, as if it was obvious. He came for what was his, for you.

You didn’t say anything else as he spread your thighs, his head disappearing between them. You took a breath, gripping the sheets in your hands as you felt him start to eat you out like this was his last meal, like he’d been starving for years. Your brain couldn’t process anything but the violent pleasure that was taking over your body. But it didn’t last.

Joel rose, his beard glistening with your juices, looking at you with nearly black eyes. The belt made a familiar sound and he pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Maybe he had lost his mind, maybe something had possessed him, but you couldn’t lie—you wanted him more than ever.

Without taking his eyes off you, he took off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and strong arms. Despite his age, he still had it. And you still only wanted him.

When his hands grabbed your hips and turned you on the bed almost like a rag doll, you just squealed softly. He lifted your hips, his hand sliding down your back, pressing you to the bed. You knew what was coming, but when with a quiet, “So fucking sexy…” he slid inside you in one hard movement, you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from moaning. His cock was deep, all the way to the base. At that moment, Joel could do anything to you, because your brain and body had stopped working properly.

Every thrust, every movement, every sigh drove you crazy. The orgasm built in your body at a dizzying speed. You had made love many times before, in different ways and at different speeds, but this was different. Almost primal, animalistic, passionate. But at the same time, with Joel, you knew you were safe, even as his fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you with all his might.

Suddenly he leaned down, his arm sliding under your body and lifting you up so he was pressing you against his chest. Joel’s hand slid under your shirt and bra, squeezing your breast tightly.

“Take it all... I can feel you close...” His voice was heavy as he whispered in your ear, “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. Fuck, take it.”

You reached back, gripping his hair as he nearly bit your neck. A hard shudder wracked your body as you came, your throat aching. Joel was right behind you. His movements became frantic as he pounded into you. “I’m gonna fill you up… Until it fucking takes hold.”

He squeezed you so hard he could break you, and then he came deep, with a deep groan. You stayed like that, until the last twitch, breathing deeply, slowly regaining your senses. Finally, you managed to find your voice, despite your sore throat.

"What was that?"

He turned his head, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent. “That’s how babies are made, darling.”

You giggled, and after a moment, Joel did the same. His arms slowly released you, and you fell back onto the bed, feeling your limbs go limp. Joel collapsed next to you, breathing deeply and feeling completely at peace and comfort. Silence filled the room, and you steadied your breathing, trying to get back to reality.

“I’ve been going to that woman you were talking about for a week now.” You turned your head and looked at Joel’s profile. His eyes were closed, a few curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. “The massage lady.”

"That's good. Did she help with your back?"

He turned around and looked at you with a sly smile. "Didn't you notice?"

“Jesus!” you covered your face with your hand. “And I thought you…”

"What?" Joel rolled over and rested his head on his hand. "What did you think I was doing?"

With a heavy heart, you told him what Ann had told you, that she had done it in good faith, about your concerns about Hazel. Joel listened patiently, never once suggesting that what you were saying was stupid or irrational. Finally, he smiled and leaned down, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said and seeing your surprised look he added "The fact that you're a little jealous of me is really flattering. But you also know that I'm completely devoted to you. I'm yours, baby, no one will ever change that."

She stroked his cheek, smiling. “And you really think that kind of sex can produce children?”

"We could always do it again." He shrugged, "Just to be sure."

You pulled him closer and kissed him tenderly. He was yours, body and soul. And you were his.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #short stories from life series

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wasitforrevenge · 11 months ago

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#joel miller i love u #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel and ellie #joel miller #the last of us #tlou series #tlou2 #tlou game #pedro pascal #pinterest

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theetherealbloom · 1 year ago

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BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM - SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Main Song: But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift

Main Masterlist

CONTENTS:

Chapter One: I Know He's Crazy, But He's The One I Want Chapter Two: Just Screeching Tires And True Love Chapter Three: Dutiful Daughter, All My Plans Were Laid Chapter Four: Scandal Does Funny Things To Pride, But Brings Lovers Closer Epilogue: Coming Soon...

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader series #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader tlou

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dilf-docs · 4 months ago

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So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #bfd!joel miller #bfd!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction #to the devil i know series

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worlds-we-write · 9 days ago

Text

The Weight of It All

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You’ve been hiding your sickness—and the truth—from Joel for weeks. But when a pregnancy test confirms your fears, the weight of it becomes too much to bear. Telling him risks reopening old wounds… but keeping it secret might break you both.

WC: 3.8K

tags: Age gap (60s Joel x 30s reader), pregnancy reveal, anxiety, crying, panic, mentions of past child loss (Sarah), emotional vulnerability, soft Joel, comfort, domestic tenderness, happy ending

My Masterlist

You’ve been sick for days. Maybe longer.

It started as something small—dull headaches, a little nausea in the mornings, that tight ache behind your ribs when you stood too fast. Nothing worth bringing up. Not with Joel. Not when he already worries too much.

You’d blamed it on stress. On the cold. On whatever dried meat Maria had handed you from the trade post. But it hasn’t gone away. It’s gotten worse.

Today, it hits harder than usual. Your stomach twists before your eyes even open. You lie in bed, curled on your side, one hand pressed to your mouth, breathing shallowly through your nose.

Joel’s already up. You hear him in the kitchen—footsteps creaking across the floorboards, the soft clink of silverware, the low grumble of the stove catching. You try to move, but the moment you sit up, your body rebels.

You make it to the bathroom just in time.

You vomit hard, clutching the edge of the sink like it might keep you tethered. Cold sweat beads on your neck, your spine prickling with heat and nausea and panic.

It’s not the first time this week.

And still, you haven’t told him.

By the time you pull yourself together, Joel’s voice is already calling down the hallway.

“Breakfast’s ready. You up?”

You splash water on your face and don’t answer right away. You can’t. Your reflection in the mirror looks pale, your lips chapped. You stare at yourself a moment too long.

Then you step into the hallway like nothing’s wrong.

He doesn’t question you.

He never does at first.

Joel’s at the stove, dividing up the food onto two plates. It’s not much—just scrambled eggs and a toasted slice of bread—but he’s humming under his breath like he’s proud of it. You try to sit down without making a face. The smell turns your stomach.

“Didn’t hear you get up,” he says, voice low and easy. “Sleep okay?”

You nod. Lie.

He sets the plate in front of you. You force yourself to eat a few bites, chewing carefully, swallowing around the nausea.

“You sure you’re not gettin’ sick?” he asks after a while, studying you. “You’ve been lookin’ a little… off.”

You shake your head too quickly. “No, just tired. Stomach’s been weird. Probably a bug or something.”

He doesn’t push. Just narrows his eyes, then reaches over to squeeze your thigh under the table. A quiet gesture. Comforting. You wish it didn’t make your chest ache.

You don’t talk much after that. Joel launches into something about a new gate they’re reinforcing on the east wall, and you nod along, trying not to gag every time you lift your fork. You excuse yourself early and claim a headache. He offers to make tea. You say no.

By the time you crawl back into bed, you’re already crying.

The test isn’t something you went looking for. Not really.

It’s tucked in the back of your dresser, hidden beneath a pair of old gloves and a cracked mirror you meant to throw away. You remember Maria handing it to you months ago, half-joking—“Just in case.” You’d laughed then. Said something sarcastic. Stuffed it in the drawer and forgot.

But you find it now.

Hands shaking.

Heart pounding.

You stare at the little plastic thing like it’s a weapon.

You haven’t had your period in… shit. You count on your fingers. At least two months. Maybe more. You try to remember when the last time was and come up blank. Just nausea and headaches and crying over stupid things like burnt toast and Joel leaving his damn flannel on the floor again.

You sit on the edge of the bed and peel the wrapper back slowly.

The directions are smeared but readable. You follow them. You take the test.

You wait.

Two minutes feels like an hour.

You pace the room, bare feet cold against the floor, every breath too shallow, too loud. You’re not ready for this. You can’t be. You’ve been careful. Joel’s older. You thought…

You glance at the stick.

Two pink lines.

Clear as day.

No denying it. No maybes. No confusion.

You’re pregnant.

You sink to the floor and cry so hard your throat burns.

It’s not that you don’t want a baby.

It’s that you don’t know how to have one. Not here. Not in this world. And not with Joel, not after everything he’s been through. After everything he’s lost.

You think about Sarah. The photo he keeps in his coat pocket. The way he still gets quiet when kids are nearby. The way he looks at you sometimes—like he’s waiting for you to vanish, too.

He hasn’t said her name in months.

But you see it in his eyes.

You press your hands to your stomach. Try to imagine what’s inside. Try to make it feel real.

And it does.

Terrifyingly real.

But you don’t tell him.

Not that night. Not the next. Not the week after.

You keep pretending.

Keep hiding.

Keep waking up sick and saying it’s nothing.

Because you love him too much to ruin this.

And you’re afraid—so afraid—that this will be the thing that finally breaks him.

You don’t remember when it stopped being something you could ignore.

Maybe it was when your nausea turned into full-blown vomiting every other morning. Maybe it was the way your body started to ache differently—heavier, tender in places it hadn’t been before. Or maybe it was the way Joel kept watching you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You try to keep up the act. Try to smile when he brushes your hair behind your ear. Try to laugh when he mutters something sarcastic about Jackson politics or how damn cold it still is. You sit with him by the fire at night, listening to the quiet crackle of the wood, letting him rest his hand on your thigh like nothing’s changed.

But everything’s changed.

You’ve got a secret growing inside you. One you didn’t ask for. One you still don’t know how to feel about.

And it’s eating you alive.

You start waking up before Joel does, slipping quietly out of bed to vomit or dry heave into the toilet, chewing your lip to keep from crying out. You brush your teeth in silence. Splash cold water on your face. Sit on the edge of the tub until the spinning stops.

By the time he’s awake, you’re already wrapped in a blanket on the couch, pretending to read a book you haven’t turned the page on in three days.

“You sure you’re not comin’ down with somethin’?” Joel asks again that morning, a mug of tea in his hand instead of coffee. “You’ve been… quiet.”

“I’m just tired.”

He gives you a look.

You try to change the subject. “What time you heading out with Tommy today?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just hands you the mug. It’s chamomile. Your favorite. He’s trying. It makes your heart ache.

“I could stay,” he says slowly, sitting down beside you. “Ain’t nothin’ urgent. We were just gonna check the perimeter out past the ridge.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say too quickly. “I’m fine. Go.”

His jaw tightens a little. Not in frustration—more like… uncertainty. Like he doesn’t quite believe you but doesn’t know how to press without making things worse.

He kisses your forehead before he leaves.

You cry as soon as the door shuts.

You wander out later, needing air, even though the snow’s still packed in frozen ridges along the path outside the cabin. The sky is overcast, the wind sharp enough to sting your cheeks. You wrap Joel’s flannel tighter around you—he left it behind again this morning—and follow the half-trodden trail into the woods behind the cabin.

No one follows.

No one knows.

You find the edge of the treeline, the big flat rock you sometimes sit on in warmer months. You stand there now, breath puffing out in clouds, staring down at your gloved hands like they might hold an answer.

You fish the test out of your coat pocket.

You’ve been carrying it with you. You don’t know why.

Two pink lines, clear as ever.

You could throw it into the snow. You think about it—feel the urge in your fingers, the burst of anger that’s starting to rise like bile. You want to throw it, scream, crush it beneath your boot, pretend this isn’t happening.

But you don’t.

You sit.

And you hold it.

And you cry again.

That night, Joel makes soup. He tries not to burn it this time. You sit at the table and pretend to eat, smiling when he cracks a joke about the carrots being too soft. You’re exhausted, not just physically but from the weight of pretending.

“Was Maria askin’ about you today?” Joel says casually, handing you a piece of crusty bread. “Said she hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“Just been tired.”

“She said you should stop by.”

“I will.”

You won’t.

Joel leans back in his chair, watching you. “You know you can tell me if somethin’s wrong, right?”

You freeze.

He says it so gently, it almost breaks you. No suspicion in his voice, just quiet concern. The kind he only shows when he thinks you’re about to run—or when he is.

You want to tell him. You do.

But fear clamps down hard on your throat.

What if he looks at you and sees a mistake?

What if he looks at you and sees Sarah?

What if this is the thing that makes him leave?

You force a smile. “I know.”

Joel looks like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t.

He just reaches for your hand across the table and holds it in his calloused palm.

And you grip it like it’s the only solid thing keeping you from unraveling.

The nightmares come next.

You dream of blood. Of silence. Of holding something small and helpless and watching it disappear. You wake up gasping, clutching your stomach. Joel stirs beside you but doesn’t wake, and you’re glad. You don’t want him to see you like this.

You start wearing looser clothes. You start avoiding the mirror. You start skipping dinner.

Joel notices. Of course he does. He’s not stupid.

“Did I do somethin’?” he asks one night, voice quiet against your shoulder.

You’re in bed, turned away from him, pretending to be asleep. His fingers brush your arm.

“You’ve been distant.”

You say nothing. Your throat tightens.

“I ain’t mad,” he adds. “Just worried.”

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“I love you, y’know,” Joel murmurs. “Even when you shut down like this.”

That’s the moment your heart breaks.

Because you realize what you’re doing isn’t fair. Not to him. Not to yourself. Not to the tiny life you’re carrying inside you.

But you’re still not ready.

Not yet.

You nod into the pillow, blinking tears onto the fabric.

“Love you too.”

A week passes.

Maybe more.

You lose track of time, counting your life in nausea and guilt and half-eaten meals. Joel never says it out loud, but you can see it in the way he watches you—like he’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

You think about telling him every night.

You rehearse the words. I’m pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m scared.

But when you open your mouth, nothing comes.

Until finally… it does.

You don’t plan to tell him that night.

It’s the same as every other evening lately. Joel gets back late from patrol, shedding his coat and boots at the door with a tired grunt. You’re already in the kitchen, stirring soup that smells better than it tastes. You’re still too nauseous to eat more than a few bites, but you pretend for his sake.

He doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just waiting.

The table is quiet as you both eat. Joel hums under his breath between spoonfuls, something familiar—an old Johnny Cash tune, maybe. He thanks you like always. Tells you it’s good even though it’s barely seasoned.

After dinner, he offers to wash up, and you let him. Your hands won’t stop shaking anyway.

You find him in bed later, shirtless and reading something he borrowed from Tommy—a survival manual someone dug up from the library. He doesn’t look up when you enter. Just shifts a little to make room for you under the quilt, reaching out to rest a warm hand on your hip when you slide in beside him.

You lie there stiffly.

Heart pounding.

Stomach twisting.

“You’re awful quiet,” he murmurs after a while, voice rough from sleep already creeping in.

You swallow. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” He turns slightly, fingers idly stroking the hem of your shirt. “You been sayin’ that a lot lately.”

You tense.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “Yeah.”

Joel doesn’t push. Not right away. He just keeps tracing slow circles on your skin, quiet and patient, like he’s waiting for something you’re not sure you know how to give.

And then—

“Been thinkin’…” he says slowly. “Maybe you oughta see that doctor Maria keeps fussin’ about. Just in case.”

You flinch. He feels it.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.

Joel rolls onto his side to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. His brow furrows, and the concern there nearly guts you.

“You’ve been sick almost every damn day,” he says gently. “You ain’t eatin’. You’re pale. You cry at soup commercials.”

You bark a laugh that dissolves into a sob before you can stop it.

Joel’s expression shifts. Alarmed now. He sits up fully, cupping your face in both hands. “Hey—hey. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, curling into yourself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“What—? Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

And finally—finally—you say it.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Not shocked. Not gasped or cursed.

Just… silence.

You feel him go still, like every muscle has locked up at once. His hands fall from your face.

You don’t look at him.

“I found the test a couple weeks ago,” you say, words tumbling now, rushed and raw. ��I thought it was a stomach bug, or something I ate, but then it didn’t stop. And I remembered Maria gave me that test a while back and I just—fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen, Joel. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”

“To me?”

Your breath catches.

Joel’s voice is low. Barely above a whisper. You finally glance at him.

He looks shell-shocked. Not angry. Not even upset. Just… wrecked. His eyes are wide, jaw tight, like he’s trying to keep something inside from breaking loose.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whisper. “After everything. After Sarah. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the blanket bunched around his waist, like it might offer an explanation he can’t find in your words.

“I thought you’d leave,” you admit softly. “Or worse—I thought you’d stay, but you’d hate me for it.”

Joel blinks slowly. “You really think that little of me?”

“No.” You wipe your eyes. “No, I just—I know what this means for you. I know what it could bring back.”

Joel’s breath hitches. He leans back against the headboard, one hand dragging over his face. The silence stretches between you like a rope pulled taut.

“I ain’t mad,” he says finally.

You flinch.

“I ain’t,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Just… I need a second.”

You nod. Curl your knees to your chest. You try not to cry again, but your chest won’t stop heaving, your hands won’t stop trembling.

Joel stays where he is for a long time. Not speaking. Not touching you.

But he doesn’t leave.

And somehow, that’s what breaks you the most.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe twenty.

Then Joel shifts.

He reaches for you slowly, hesitantly, and when you don’t pull away, he pulls you into his arms.

You bury your face in his chest and let yourself fall apart.

He holds you through all of it. Lets you sob until your voice goes hoarse, rubbing your back and whispering nothing-words you barely register.

When you finally quiet, he kisses the top of your head.

“You should’ve told me,” he says, not angry. Just aching.

“I was scared.”

“I know.” He sighs against your temple. “So was I.”

You blink. “You?”

Joel nods, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wet, rimmed with red.

“I knew somethin’ was off. Knew it wasn’t just the weather or the food. I kept thinkin’ about what it could be, and I… I think I knew. I just didn’t wanna be the one to say it.”

“Why?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I said it, it’d be real. And if it’s real, it can be lost.”

Your breath catches.

He cups your face again, thumb brushing your cheek.

“But I’m not walkin’ away,” he says, voice rough but certain. “Not from you. Not from this.”

You close your eyes.

“Joel—”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, whisper soft. “But I want to try. If you want this… I want it too.”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I do. I really do.”

He pulls you into his chest again and kisses your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You’re not alone,” he says.

And this time, you believe him.

You wake to the sound of rain tapping against the window.

It’s still dark, the kind of blue-black quiet that only settles in just before dawn. Joel’s arm is wrapped around your middle, his chest pressed warm and steady to your back, one hand splayed low over your stomach like he already knows what’s growing there.

Maybe he does.

He hasn’t moved all night.

You lie still for a while, not quite ready to break the spell. The room is quiet, the fire low in the hearth, the storm outside soft but persistent. You can hear his breathing behind you—slow, even, calmer than you’ve heard it in days.

It’s the first time you’ve really slept in weeks. The first time you haven’t woken up sick with dread curling through your spine. There’s fear, still. Of course there is. But it’s quieter now. Outweighed by something else.

Something that feels a little like hope.

Joel stirs not long after, mumbling sleep-drunk nonsense against your neck.

You hum softly, shifting to face him. His eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep. You expect him to look tense. Uncertain. But he doesn’t.

He looks soft.

His thumb brushes your hip. “Mornin’.”

“Hi,” you whisper.

His gaze drifts to your stomach, then back to your face. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Better.”

He studies you a beat longer. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah. Still tired. A little queasy. But… it’s different now.”

Joel’s fingers flex against your side. “Yeah. It is.”

There’s a quiet pause. Neither of you says it, but it’s there in the air between you. Real. Alive.

“I kept thinkin’ about what I’d say,” you admit quietly. “When I finally told you.”

Joel smiles faintly. “What’d you come up with?”

You shrug. “I didn’t think I’d get that far.”

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at your cheek.

“You were right to be scared,” he says. “I was scared, too.”

You nod.

“But I want this,” he adds. “I want you. I want this baby.”

You blink fast. “You sure?”

“Sweetheart.” His hand moves back to your belly, resting there like it belongs. “I ain’t been sure about much in my life, but this?” He leans in, voice low and raspy. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Your eyes sting again.

He kisses you softly—slow, lingering, like he’s not in a rush anymore. And for once, neither are you.

Later, when the sky lightens and the rain slows, Joel gets up and pads to the fire to stoke it back to life. You sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his flannels, watching him move around the cabin like he’s already settled into this new chapter.

He talks as he works.

“Might need to reinforce that back door soon. Wind keeps slippin’ through the cracks.”

“Mmhm.”

“And we’ll need more blankets. If you’re gonna get cold easier, can’t have you freezin’ all night.”

You smile, resting a hand on your stomach.

“Could build a new shelf for the pantry,” he adds, glancing at you. “Start settin’ aside things for winter. For… y’know.”

He gestures vaguely at your stomach, the faintest blush creeping into his cheeks.

You can’t help it—you laugh.

“What?”

“You’re nesting.”

He frowns. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Joel mutters under his breath, but you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

He crosses the room a moment later and crouches in front of you, palms resting on your knees.

“I’m serious, though,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever we need. You just gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, alright?”

You nod.

“No more secrets,” you whisper.

“No more secrets,” he echoes.

He leans forward, presses a kiss to your thigh, then rests his forehead there for a long moment. When he looks up again, his eyes are glassy.

“You ever think about names?”

Your heart lurches.

“I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Well,” he says softly, “maybe we should.”

You stare at him.

“I know it’s early,” he continues. “But I keep thinkin’ about it. The kind of name we’d give. What kind of person they’ll be.”

You reach for his hand. “You really want this?”

“I already do,” he says.

You smile, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “What if it’s a girl?”

Joel swallows hard. “Then I guess I’ll have two reasons to keep this world safe.”

You press your forehead to his.

And you both sit there in the early morning quiet, breathing together, dreaming of something you never thought you’d have again.

A future.

That evening, Joel pulls you into his lap while the fire crackles, his hand absentminded on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles over the curve that isn’t there yet but will be.

He talks to the baby like he’s already met them.

Tells them how much he’s looking forward to teaching them to fish, to play guitar, to run without looking back. He jokes about how stubborn they’re probably gonna be, how it’s definitely your fault, and how he’s not gonna let them out of his sight until they’re at least twenty-five.

You laugh, and cry, and laugh again.

And when you fall asleep in his arms, it’s the first time in weeks that your dreams aren’t full of fear.

They’re full of names.

And tiny hands.

And sunlight.

tags: @lowrisemiller @pedrito-is-punk7 here ya go from a post a couple weeks ago

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pedrospookie · 2 years ago

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Hi hi hi — i am super rusty but i have decided that i am going to start writing a TLOU series set in Jackson.

I’m just going to pretend that the second game doesn’t exist and that they all live happily ever after together.

I have a general idea of what I want and where I’d like it to go, but if any of y’all have any suggestions, quotes or inspo that you’d like me to include, please just let me know!

It has truly been ages since I’ve written something but I’m inspired. Some of this story is inspired by my own life & events during the pandemic which will either be cathartic or traumatic LOL we will see

#tessa speaks #pedro pascal #writing fanfiction #tessa's assets #TLOU #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #TLOU Series #Joel Miller X Reader Series #tommy miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller thoughts #tess’ thoughts

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 18 days ago

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Chapter 1: Convalescence

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: M. Chapter Summary: "Help him," Maria says. "Help Tommy’s brother, Joel." Chapter Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR S2E2, FIX IT FIC, pov switching, joel survives abby's encounter, injuries, healing, blood, death, apocalypse health care, temporary blindness Words: 2,725

A/N: I don't think I've ever written something so deep and sad, but damn, Joel Miller will do that. Thank you to @mothandpidgeon, @schnarfer, and @for-a-longlongtime for guiding me and looking everything over.

Healed Masterlist Masterlist

—- You’ve given up trying to avoid the glass. Blood smears red against the clear shards strewn across the floor. Too many voices, too many cries of pain. You’ve been in Jackson for only one day, a town that you thought would be a sanctuary amongst the wreckage of the world you used to know. And yet, you quickly learn, no matter how tall the walls are, the blood never stops flowing. The room suffocates beneath the hot, metallic tang of it, pooling beneath your feet as you move among the bodies. You can't get away from the screaming.

You are doing this on instinct. You must be.

"You're a doctor," a voice says. Maria, one of the leaders, grips your arm. "We need a doctor.”

You follow her as she pushes through the crowd, leaving the blood.

The air is bitter as you step outside, the stench of death is strong as you make your way through the corpses of your new neighbors and the infected.

"We need a doctor," she repeats, as you follow close behind. "Before it's too late."

You don't have the heart to tell her that it probably already is. You’ve already seen this type of despair line the streets through the apocalypse.

You’re both running down Main Street, the same street you rolled down just yesterday, exhausted and starving.

You should still be worn down from the days of travel, from the confusion and loss. But each time you think you can't take another step, you do. It’s almost enough to give you hope… until you see the gate burning while a group quickly seals a fissure in the fence.

Just past the flames, a man kneels over someone lying in the snow.

"Help him," Maria says. "Help Tommy’s brother, Joel."

—-

He’s not moving. His leg is mangled, tourniqueted by a belt soaked in red. You put your ear down to his heart and check for a pulse. Nothing.

Tommy still kneels, crying and pleading as his shaky hands grip Joel’s shoulders.

“Move,” you command, getting into position. You find the center of his chest and begin compressions.

One, two, three, four…

A small group forms around you, whispering Joel’s name as they look on. You can’t focus on them now.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

You tilt Joel's head back, pinch his nose you’re sure is broken, and give him two of your breaths. His broad chest rises slightly with each one. Back to compressions.

One, two, three, four…

He fills his lungs with air, but it sounds like the opposite… like they're letting the air out.

He’s alive, but barely.

He needs surgery. Now.

"We need to move him," you say urgently, looking up at Tommy. "Can you carry him?"

Tommy nods, and with the help of two other men, they lift Joel's limp body. His head lolls back, face gray beneath the blood. You keep your fingers pressed against his neck, feeling the faint flutter of a pulse.

—-

There's too much blood to hold on to anything, it's impossible to even see without a suction running the whole time. This is not what they taught you in med school. This is nothing like it should be. It hasn’t been for 25 years.

You're out of practice and out of your league.

There’s no oxygen therapy in the apocalypse, and he’s barely breathing. His pulse is weak, but he’s still here, holding on after you brought him back to life.

A doctor, who looks like he should have retired years ago, tells you it’s nearly impossible to save Joel’s leg.

"I’ll try," you respond.

The bullet fragments are still in his leg. Some of them. Maybe not enough to kill, but enough to leave him limping the rest of his days. If he makes it through.

Your steady hands dig and find, dig and find. Shards land on the floor with a tink as they hit the tile.

The operation shouldn't have lasted this long, not with what looks like an old man, not with the slight pulse he barely holds onto.

But he lasts.

Joel Miller survives.

You wash his blood off your hands and breathe in relief for the first time today.

You walk out the door of the tiny, barely sterile operating room, Tommy stands across the hall.

"He's going to live," you say, that’s all he needs to hear.

He hugs you.

"Thank you,” he whispers, pulling away. “He needs care," he says, hands still on your shoulders. “The hospital's overrun. Joel—" His voice breaks. "Joel's gonna need someone who knows what they're doing."

"I'm not sure—"

"Please," his grip tightens. "You saved his life. I'm asking you to help him keep it."

—-

And that’s how you found your new home. Save a life, get a bed. The room across from Joel’s is now yours.

It’s a nice enough room. A queen bed, two worn side tables, and a closet that can easily fit your one change of clothes. You haven’t had an actual bedroom to yourself in ten years. Yet, you hardly spend any time in it, it’s easier just to sleep in the worn recliner near Joel's makeshift hospital bed that sits in his living room.

The silence during the day is overwhelming. Just your footsteps on the worn floorboards, your soft voice telling Joel what you’re doing as you care for him, your knitting needles tapping against one another as you knit with what little yarn you have left. He never stirs; he just lies there silent.

The nights are even quieter. Joel’s breathing is the only sound you hear when you drift off to sleep every night, air filling and emptying, rattling his lungs.

He sleeps for days. You change his dressings, monitor the fever that makes him sweat and shiver, and refill the makeshift IV drip that hangs from a nail in the wall.

There’s a framed sketch sitting on his mantle. The man that stares back at you from the yellowing paper is quite handsome. You think it’s him.

But for now, his face is only a collection of pain.

Bruises, cuts, scabs.

Contusions, lacerations.

Stiff and swollen.

You unwrap his bandages, cleaning his wounds twice a day. You talk softly to him, as if he’s listening.

He's really not much company. The house sits still like him. And yet, every morning you tell him good morning and reintroduce yourself, just in case.

It’s lonely.

Sometimes there’s company, but not enough.

Maria brings you new clothes, spools of yarn, and some essentials you haven’t had in so long. When she leaves, she grabs your hand, tears welling in her eyes, and thanks you. “So many people depend on him here.”

Tommy checks in every day, and on the days he has the time, he sits silently watching his big brother’s chest gently rise and fall. He brings you food, one less thing for you to worry about as you spoon-feed Joel broth and blended vegetables.

“He’s tough,” he always says before leaving. “He’ll pull through.”

You only nod. The wounds are severe; infection is a constant threat. And yet, Joel refuses to let go.

—-

A young woman hobbles in one day. Ellie. Tommy’s mentioned her many times. She winces as she sits, damning her broken ribs when she leans forward and grabs Joel’s hand, tears falling down her cheeks.

She asks if he’s okay.

You nod.

She asks if he can hear her.

You nod.

She asks you to leave the room.

You leave.

—-

His face is still swollen and misshapen, barely recognizable. You stare at the sketch on the mantle. Ellie drew it, a supposed perfect reflection of who Joel was, you look over at his broken face. If you squint, you can almost make it work. You wonder if he will ever look like the man in the drawing again.

His body sprawls on the bed, limp under the blankets that you pull away from him as you check over his body and wash it.

"I'm going to clean you up a bit," you tell him softly, dipping the cloth into the basin of warm water beside the bed. You're not sure if he can hear you, but you talk anyway. "It might sting a little."

His body tenses slightly at your touch—the first real response you've gotten from him.

It’s all so clinical, but you can’t help but take a moment to notice the size of his body. He’s marred, yet still golden. Purple bruises cover his torso, and a large, mangled scar stretches across the side of his stomach. You wonder what story it tells.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you whisper aloud to nobody.

His leg is healing, though still swollen and damaged. He must be in so much pain.

He stirs under your touch, and the briefest twitch of his eyelid tells you he's still hanging on. "Joel?"

Nothing.

It's so strange to care for someone like this, someone who doesn't even know you're there. Or maybe he does. Maybe somewhere in the darkness he’s shrouded in, he can feel your presence.

—-

You don’t know if you’ve ever been around this much silence. You’re quietly reading in the recliner when you see his fingers twitch, the corner of his mouth pulls back just enough for you to tell he's fighting his way back to the world.

“Joel.”

You say his name. His breathing quickens at the sound, but there's no response otherwise.

He's drifting in and out, unaware that you're beside him. But at least he's moving.

He's barely conscious, his breaths turning into grunts and mumbles as you watch over him.

You place a hand on his arm, soothing him softly, petting against the small part of him that isn’t injured. He calms, his breathing evening out. “You’re okay, Joel. You’re safe.” He doesn’t respond, it’s not like you expected him to.

If you can't hold a conversation with him, at least you can try reading to him.

You start taking books from his bookshelves. You start with the westerns. He stays still, stuck under a haze, but you read to him like he's listening. “Lonesome Dove, hm,” you muse to him, when you pick up a thick hardcover book. “Sounds kinda like me right now, doesn’t it?”

You pull the chair close to Joel’s bed,

“When August came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake – not a very big one.”

You barely finish the page before you nod off. You’re exhausted, you can’t remember the last time you stood in the sunlight.

When you wake, his fingers are twitching again.

You pick up the book and read on, twenty pages this time.

Days blur into one another as Joel's condition improves just enough for you to keep your spirits up. He can't see you through the swollen mess of his face, but you know he hears you.

You read him chapter after chapter, the only entertainment for the two of you. He barely says a word, just grunts in approval or pain.

You feel more like a librarian than a doctor.

—-

The sound of your voice is more real than anything else. He floats through the clouds of half-consciousness. Part of him thinks he’s dead.

He must be a ghost, hovering above the empty shell of his body. But when you speak, he’s tethered back to life.

He wants to see you, to open his eyes and find out if you're real, but it's too much work. His lids are heavy with injury, and the swelling doesn't allow them to open.

He hates the dark.

Sometimes you hum, sometimes you talk out loud to yourself, sometimes to him. He holds on to your voice because when you speak, the pain goes away.

He can just make out your silhouette backlit by the window near his favorite chair. Your face is a blur he can't bring into focus. Maybe he did die, maybe this is some sort of limbo he’s in, because you sure as hell sound like an angel, and when you touch him, he feels at peace.

A whole week passes. The swelling is still too much for him to see anything besides shadows and forms.

He hears pages turning and knows you're still there.

He hears the edge of worry in your voice as you talk to his brother and knows you care.

You’ll sometimes drift to sleep while you’re reading to him, always waking when his breaths become strained, when he struggles in his dreams.

Always there.

"You need to wake up," you tell him.

And still, he can't be sure you're not a figment of his desperate imagination.

Sometimes he’s sure he must be dead, because he thinks you’re an angel. He wonders if he deserves one.

Another day passes.

Another.

And another.

He loses track of how long you've stayed by his side. Until he loses track of everything except the sound of your voice.

But you don't leave him.

His body refuses to cooperate, but you don't give up.

And then, after god knows how many days, progress. His voice is the first thing that returns to him. It barely makes it past his throat.

"Ellie?" It's the most important question.

"She's safe," you tell him.

“Water,” he manages, the word scraping against his dry throat.

“Here,” you say. Your hand slips beneath his head, lifting it gently as you bring a cup to his lips.

“Slow,” you whisper. “It’s been a while.”

"How long?" he asks. He sounds like such an old man, but at least he sounds like himself.

"A while… but you survived.”

“Who are y–” the question dies in his throat, he’s too weak to form it completely.

“I’m a doctor, your brother asked me to care of you."

“Your voice,” he says, the words barely audible. “I know your voi—”

“Try to rest,” you tell him as you adjust his pillows.

—-

Soon, he’s able to say a full sentence without feeling like he’ll never be able to speak again. He gets to tell Tommy he’ll be okay. He gets to tell Ellie he missed her. He gets to say your name.

It has to be easier to take care of him now, he tries not to think about how much of a burden he is to you. A stranger, in his home, taking care of him in the way that you do. The soft way you adjust his pillow, the way you gently brush his unkempt hair out of his face, the sweet way you greet him every morning.

Every night, after dinner, you read to him. It’s his favorite part of the day. The familiar sound of the chair scooching into place, your soft throat clear, and then your voice.

“Live through it," Call said. "That's all we can do.” Your voice catches at the end of the line.

“Repeat it,” he requests.

You read it again for him. He sits silently. Your sweet voice saying “live through it” is repeating in his head.

—-

The breathing gets easier, the swelling begins to subside, and you still don't give up on him.

He flutters his eyes open just enough to see, to test it. It’s no longer shadows.

This time, he opens his eyes and he sees you. He sees your face.

He really sees it.

You’re as beautiful as he imagined, backlit by the window, you’re bathed in an aura of soft light shining in through it. You are an angel.

He stares at you. The mystery of the metallic clicking he’s been hearing is solved. You’re knitting, two needles clicking away in your hands. His vision is the clearest it's been.

He says nothing and watches you. He watches and he memorizes.

You don't even notice him. You're so used to him lying there, lifeless, that you don't even look to check… until you’re done counting your stitches and look up, your needles freezing mid-stitch.

“Joel…”

He croaks an affirmative.

You drop your knitting needles and gasp.

"Joel?" You kneel by the bed, and for the first time, he can see your whole face. For the first time, he’s sure you're real.

You press your palm to his forehead, testing his temperature before grabbing your stethoscope and checking his heart rate.

“Can you focus on breathing for me, Joel? Your heart is elevated.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his heart, knowing it’s only because of you.

—-

Next Chapter

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My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

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