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fic-girlie · 16 hours ago

Note

hi!! could i request a no outbreak au with joel x bartender!reader? like he plays in a band at the dive bar reader works at and she flirts relentlessly until he takes her home. it would be a bonus if it’s qz style joel 😋

Take me home

Pairing: musician!Joel Miller x bartender!reader Summary: You’ve been teasing Joel for weeks at the bar where he plays. One night, he finally gives in and takes you home. Warnings: flirting and teasing, explicit sexual content (+18), age gap (Joel is in his 50's, reader is in her 20's), softdom!Joel, unprotected sex, p in v sex, pullout method, slow aftercare, cuddling

It starts the way it always does—Joel Miller on stage, low-slung guitar across his hips, jaw tight and eyes narrowed like the neon signs in the window owe him something. The bar’s already hazy, not from smoke but from sweat, from years of beer soaked into the floorboards and jukebox static curling through the air like ghosts. And you—wiping down the counter with slow, idle circles, pretending like you’re not watching him from across the dim room, but of course you are. Everyone is.

He doesn’t smile much. Doesn’t speak unless someone forces it out of him. But the man plays like the strings were wired into his spine, like his calloused fingers were built for this and nothing else. His voice is even better—low, full of grit and tired Texas sand, like it’s been soaked in bourbon and regret for years. You think about that voice against your ear, warm in your bed, dragging your name through his throat like a promise he’s trying not to make.

And tonight, like clockwork, he comes off stage and leans on your bar, damp with heat and bass reverb and three fingers of something dark in his glass. His band’s still talking to a couple of regulars, but Joel’s always the first to break away. Always the one with the line drawn clean between performance and reality. You reckon he’s lived his whole life that way—chasing the edge but never letting anyone close enough to watch him fall over it.

You pour his usual, let the whiskey hit the bottom with a quiet clink, and set it down without breaking eye contact. “Gonna play Wonderwall for me one night, cowboy?”

His mouth twitches, like he wants to grin but won’t give you the satisfaction. “That song’s older than you.”

“Still hot, though,” you murmur, leaning closer, elbows pressed to the sticky wood. You’ve worn your tightest tank top tonight. Not by accident. “Just like you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just takes a slow sip, his eyes trailing down the length of you like molasses, heavy and unhurried. There’s something dangerous in his stare—coiled tension, the kind that simmers under his skin like he’s always one wrong look away from making a mistake. And you’d love to be that mistake.

“You always this mouthy with the musicians?”

“Only the ones who make me wet when they sing.”

The silence hangs there for a beat—thick, humid. Joel’s grip tightens on his glass. You watch the movement of his forearm, the way veins flex beneath tan skin and sweat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days. Looks like sin in denim and dark cotton. There’s a scar near his temple you’ve never asked about, though you’ve imagined a dozen stories behind it. All of them end with you licking or kissing it.

“I ain’t gonna sleep with you just ‘cause you flirt pretty,” he says finally, voice rough like gravel under boots.

You grin. “Didn’t say you were. Just giving you ideas in case you get bored.”

He finishes his drink. Sets the glass down with a quiet thunk. Doesn’t break eye contact. “Ain’t bored. Just… cautious.”

You raise a brow. “Of what? Me?”

He shrugs, but his gaze lingers. “Of wantin’ somethin’ that don’t end well.”

That makes you pause. Not because it’s a no—it isn’t—but because it sounds like a man who’s walked through fire before and doesn’t want to see the flames again. You’ve met his kind before. Men who’ve held love like a loaded gun and been burned by the trigger. But you don’t want his heart. Not tonight. Just the weight of him in your bed, the scrape of stubble on your skin, the satisfaction of making him come apart after holding himself together for far too long.

“You overthinkin’ or you just scared?” you ask softly.

Joel’s eyes darken. He stands slow, thick frame casting a wide shadow across the bar. He leans in, close enough that you can smell the sweat on his skin, the bite of whiskey on his breath. His lips brush your ear when he speaks.

“I take my time with things, sweetheart. You sure you want that?”

Your stomach flips. Your thighs press together. You’ve been waiting weeks for this—every slow smirk he never gave you, every casual dismissal that only made you lean in closer. You nod without looking away.

“I want all of it, Joel.”

He pulls back, jaw tight, eyes hard. Then finally, finally, that grin cuts across his face—slow and sharp and full of something wild.

“Last call’s in fifteen. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

——

You stumble into his apartment like a storm—laughing breathlessly, your shirt halfway off before the door even clicks shut behind you. Joel pushes you back against the wall, his hands on your waist, on your hips, dragging you up so you can wrap your legs around him. His mouth is hot, demanding, tongue slipping into yours with a low growl in his throat like he’s been holding back since the second he saw you.

“You talk too much,” he murmurs against your lips, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Then shut me up.”

His hands are on your ass, squeezing tight, pulling you against the hard line of his cock through his jeans. You roll your hips shamelessly, grinding down until he curses and pins you tighter to the wall. You can feel the outline of him—thick, heavy. He drops you to your feet just long enough to tear your top over your head and pull his shirt off, revealing sweat-slick skin and muscles you want to sink your teeth into.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, sliding his hand beneath your waistband, fingers slipping easily through wet heat. You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, biting his neck as he strokes you slow. “Jesus, baby. All this from just lookin’ at me?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it for weeks,” you pant. “You, between my thighs. Your tongue, your—fuck—your cock. Please, Joel.”

He groans, dragging his mouth down your throat. “You got no shame, huh?”

“None.” You reach for his belt. “Now take your damn pants off.”

You don’t wait for permission, because with Joel Miller, you’ve learned the quickest way in is through fire and a bit of recklessness. Your fingers work on his belt buckle, fumbling just a little with your breath catching in your throat—because even after all the nights you’ve imagined this moment, nothing quite prepares you for the raw heat of him standing in front of you, the slow flex of his muscles, that hard, jagged edge beneath every movement.

When the belt drops, you catch it, and Joel barely spares you a glance—too intent, too focused on tearing his jeans down with hands that look like they’ve hauled hell and back, the worn leather of his boots scraping softly against the floor. His cock is thick, already hard and pressing insistently against the thin fabric of his boxers, and your mouth waters, your heart hammering in your chest because this isn’t some fantasy anymore. This is real. Joel, all dark shadows and scent of whiskey and leather, right here, right now, ready to take you apart.

He doesn’t wait for you to settle or catch your breath. His hand finds your hair, twisting it just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the full length of your throat. His mouth is on you, teeth grazing, tongue dragging along the pulse point until you shiver beneath him. Your hands clutch at his chest, feeling the lean muscles under your touch, the rise and fall of his breath matching yours. You taste the faint salt of him, the stubborn edge of that lingering whiskey, and it’s intoxicating—more addictive than any bottle you’ve poured behind this bar.

Joel’s mouth trails lower, down your collarbone, to the swell of your breasts, and you arch against him, desperate for more contact, more proof that he’s real and here and finally yours. His hands cup your ribs, thumbs rubbing circles just beneath your breasts, and the roughness of his skin against your softer curves is like electricity snapping through every nerve ending. You whimper, pressing your body harder into his, and he growls low in his throat, like some wild animal barely held at bay.

Joel’s fingers dip beneath the waistband, slick and warm against your skin, and he rubs slow, teasing, like he’s memorizing every inch before he claims it. The friction is maddening, and you groan, grinding against his hand, your body aching with want. He pulls you close, chest to chest, and the hard press of his cock against your belly sends a shock of heat racing down your spine.

“You talk a big game, but you gonna take this?” he asks, voice rough, low, a challenge wrapped in promise.

You nod, swallowing hard. “I’m not here to play, Joel. Take me. Fuck me. Show me what I’m worth.”

There’s a flicker of something wild in his eyes—danger, hunger, maybe even something softer buried underneath—and before you can think twice, he’s moving, stripping off your jeans with one brutal tug, leaving you bare and trembling beneath him. His mouth covers yours again, harder this time, teeth biting, tongue swirling as his hands roam your body like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every tremble as he leads you to the bedroom.

He pushes you back against the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, his hands pinning your wrists above your head with surprising strength. You don’t resist. Not when his eyes are burning into yours, when his mouth slides down your throat, to your collarbone, and lower still until his breath ghosts over your nipples, hard and sensitive from the night’s heat.

Joel’s mouth is relentless, sucking and biting, leaving marks you know will linger for days—proof of this night, proof that you belong to him, even if only for this moment. You arch, your hips bucking instinctively, searching for more, aching for the press of him inside you.

When he finally lines up, the head of his cock brushing teasingly against your slick folds, you feel the deep groan rumble through his chest. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he curses, thrusting in slowly, painfully delicious, the slow stretch and fullness making your breath hitch.

You wrap your legs around his waist without thinking, pulling him deeper, harder, craving the raw, unfiltered connection. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he sets a brutal pace—hard, relentless, and sure—each movement sending jolts of fire through your core. You match him thrust for thrust, the sound of skin slapping, heavy breaths mingling in the air, the electricity between you a tangible force.

Joel’s voice is ragged, low curses and dirty promises spilling out as he buries himself inside you again and again, the tight heat wrapping around him like a glove. You lose yourself in the sensation—the way he moves with rough precision, like he’s been starving for this kind of release, for this kind of claim. The room spins, the ceiling blurs, and all you can feel is the desperate, aching need twisting inside your belly.

Then, just when you think he’s about to lose it, he pulls out with a rough grunt, leaving you hollow and gasping. His heavy breath fans over your skin as his cock twitches, thick and slick in the open air. You watch, helpless, as he lifts his hips, aiming and releasing in slow, heated spurts across your stomach and breasts, his cum warm and sticky, hot and real against your skin. The contrast of his hardness pulling away and the heat of his release splattered on you makes your body tremble all over.

Joel leans down, his mouth brushing over your temple as he breathes hard. “You’re mine,” he growls, voice thick and low, the possessiveness wrapping around you like a shield. “Always.”

You shiver under him, slick and sticky and utterly his, your body still trembling from everything he’s given you. It’s rough, it’s raw, and it’s everything you wanted—and more.

——

Joel’s weight hovers above you even after the last pulse of his release fades, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven waves. He stares down at you, brow furrowed like he’s still half caught in the throes of what just passed between you—like he doesn’t quite believe it happened. His hand cups your cheek, calloused thumb brushing across your cheekbone with a tenderness that doesn’t match the way he just took you apart.

There’s something almost reverent in the way his eyes roam your face, the way he looks at the mess he’s made of you—skin flushed, chest heaving, his cum painted across your belly and breasts—and yet, his gaze doesn’t linger on the wreckage. It’s your eyes he keeps returning to. Your mouth. The way your body hums under his, not with shame, not with regret—but with the quiet, aching satisfaction of being seen. Touched. Wanted.

His voice is low, almost hoarse when he finally speaks. “You okay, baby?”

The word stirs something in your chest—a flutter, a soft ache—and you nod slowly, blinking up at him through the haze. “Yeah,” you whisper, your own voice scratchy, used. “I’m good. Really good.”

A crooked smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, and he leans in, brushing a slow kiss to your lips, softer than any he’s given you tonight. It lingers, a warmth pressed right against your soul, and when he pulls away, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours for a breath or two, the scent of him—salt, sweat, whiskey, something clean and earthy—filling your lungs until you feel like you’re drunk on it. On him.

“Didn’t mean to go so rough,” he mutters against your skin. “You started talkin’ like that, and I just—couldn’t help myself.”

You let out a soft laugh, fingers brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck, grounding him. “You think I didn’t want it like that?” you murmur, lips brushing his temple. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for months, Joel. I knew what I was asking for tonight. Every word. Every look.”

He lets out a low hum, but you feel it more than hear it—a deep vibration in his chest as he shifts just enough to press another kiss to the curve of your jaw. Then your neck. Then lower, until he’s nuzzling against the hollow of your throat, his hand trailing down your side, slow now. Gentle. Worshipful.

“Still,” he says after a moment, voice roughened by something softer now. “Let me take care of you.”

And he means it.

Joel peels himself off of you with effort, as if separating his body from yours costs him something. He moves with a quiet, deliberate slowness, grabbing the discarded towel from earlier, folding it into his hand as he kneels beside the bed. You watch him through heavy-lidded eyes, the sight of him—only dressed in his boxers, skin damp with sweat, those strong hands moving so carefully—making your heart twist in your chest.

He cleans you up like you’re something precious, the towel warm and damp from the tap he ran it under before coming back. He wipes away the mess with such care, cradling your hips in one hand, murmuring apologies when the fabric makes you flinch from overstimulation. His touch is clinical only in its purpose, never in his intent—because he’s watching you the whole time, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear the moment he looks away.

When he finishes, he presses another soft kiss to your hipbone, lingering there like he’s trying to commit the taste of your skin to memory. Then he climbs back into bed beside you without saying a word, pulling the covers over both of your bodies before tucking you into his side. One big arm wraps around your shoulders, drawing you into the solid heat of his chest, and your legs tangle instinctively. It’s quiet now. The kind of quiet you never really noticed you were missing until he gave it to you—steady, safe, warm.

You let your head rest over his heart, and the slow beat of it anchors you, the rhythm steady beneath your cheek.

“You really play in that band just to pick up women?” you ask quietly after a few moments, your voice teasing, even if the words are true.

Joel lets out a low, tired laugh. “Used to,” he says, fingers brushing over your bare back in a rhythm that feels like it could lull you to sleep. “Was a whole different guy back then. Just liked the noise. The drink. The distraction.”

“And now?”

“Now I play ‘cause it keeps me sane.” His voice goes even quieter. “And maybe ‘cause I knew you’d be there behind that bar every Friday. Pretendin’ not to look.”

You lift your head, blinking at him through the dim light, your throat tightening. “You noticed?”

He turns to face you more fully, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Darlin’, I couldn’t not notice you. Smart mouth. That dress you wore a few weeks back. The way you pour tequila like you want men to start fights over it.” He smirks, then sobers, thumb grazing your jaw. “I wanted to take you home the first night I saw you. But I waited. Made myself wait. You deserved more than just a barroom fuck.”

Your breath catches at that, and your hand curls into the worn cotton of his shirt, clinging a little.

“And tonight?” you ask.

Joel presses his forehead to yours again, eyes closed. “Tonight wasn’t just a fuck,” he says, almost a whisper. “And you know that.”

You do. You feel it in the way his fingers still linger at your waist. In the way his body curls around yours like a man who’s used to sleeping alone but doesn’t want to anymore. In the way his breath slows to match yours, two steady rhythms syncing in the silence of your small bedroom.

“Stay,” you murmur. “Please.”

Joel doesn't answer right away, but his hand shifts—moving from your waist to your cheek, tilting your face toward his. He kisses you then, slow and deep and unhurried. When he pulls back, the answer is already written in his eyes.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

And just like that, you let your eyes close, heart thudding slow and heavy in your chest, because you believe him. For the first time in a long damn time, you believe someone when they say they’ll stay.

You pour his usual, let the whiskey hit the bottom with a quiet clink, and set it down without breaking eye contact. “Gonna play Wonderwall for me one night, cowboy?”

His mouth twitches, like he wants to grin but won’t give you the satisfaction. “That song’s older than you.”

“Still hot, though,” you murmur, leaning closer, elbows pressed to the sticky wood. You’ve worn your tightest tank top tonight. Not by accident. “Just like you.”

“You always this mouthy with the musicians?”

“Only the ones who make me wet when they sing.”

“I ain’t gonna sleep with you just ‘cause you flirt pretty,” he says finally, voice rough like gravel under boots.

You grin. “Didn’t say you were. Just giving you ideas in case you get bored.”

He finishes his drink. Sets the glass down with a quiet thunk. Doesn’t break eye contact. “Ain’t bored. Just… cautious.”

You raise a brow. “Of what? Me?”

He shrugs, but his gaze lingers. “Of wantin’ somethin’ that don’t end well.”

“You overthinkin’ or you just scared?” you ask softly.

“I take my time with things, sweetheart. You sure you want that?”

“I want all of it, Joel.”

He pulls back, jaw tight, eyes hard. Then finally, finally, that grin cuts across his face—slow and sharp and full of something wild.

“Last call’s in fifteen. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

——

“You talk too much,” he murmurs against your lips, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Then shut me up.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it for weeks,” you pant. “You, between my thighs. Your tongue, your—fuck—your cock. Please, Joel.”

He groans, dragging his mouth down your throat. “You got no shame, huh?”

“None.” You reach for his belt. “Now take your damn pants off.”

“You talk a big game, but you gonna take this?” he asks, voice rough, low, a challenge wrapped in promise.

You nod, swallowing hard. “I’m not here to play, Joel. Take me. Fuck me. Show me what I’m worth.”

Joel leans down, his mouth brushing over your temple as he breathes hard. “You’re mine,” he growls, voice thick and low, the possessiveness wrapping around you like a shield. “Always.”

You shiver under him, slick and sticky and utterly his, your body still trembling from everything he’s given you. It’s rough, it’s raw, and it’s everything you wanted—and more.

——

His voice is low, almost hoarse when he finally speaks. “You okay, baby?”

“Didn’t mean to go so rough,” he mutters against your skin. “You started talkin’ like that, and I just—couldn’t help myself.”

“Still,” he says after a moment, voice roughened by something softer now. “Let me take care of you.”

And he means it.

You let your head rest over his heart, and the slow beat of it anchors you, the rhythm steady beneath your cheek.

“You really play in that band just to pick up women?” you ask quietly after a few moments, your voice teasing, even if the words are true.

“And now?”

“Now I play ‘cause it keeps me sane.” His voice goes even quieter. “And maybe ‘cause I knew you’d be there behind that bar every Friday. Pretendin’ not to look.”

You lift your head, blinking at him through the dim light, your throat tightening. “You noticed?”

Your breath catches at that, and your hand curls into the worn cotton of his shirt, clinging a little.

“And tonight?” you ask.

Joel presses his forehead to yours again, eyes closed. “Tonight wasn’t just a fuck,” he says, almost a whisper. “And you know that.”

“Stay,” you murmur. “Please.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

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aurorawritestoescape · 7 months ago

Text

HIS STAR || Joel Miller x f!reader || 2,7k

Summary: Joel and you met a few years ago, being aspiring musicians, and fell in love. Now you’re a rising star while Joel is struggling with his career. One night you come to his place and share big news.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, ANGST, fluff, unspecified age gap, Joel’s pov, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, swearing. Pics are only for the mood. Reader wears a dress.

A/n: this is written for @the-orange-tabby-cat ‘s writing challenge (my ask is here). I hope you all will like the story. I’m sending everyone who’s been hurting this week a warm hug and lots of love🫂❤️ Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST

You waltz into his apartment late at night and Joel’s dim living room seems not that dim, his sad life not that sad. Because you are finally here.

Before you came, it was quiet here, still and dull, and now you're twirling around like a shiny twister, wearing your expensive dress, dropping glitter on his faded carpet. You turn the lights on, place the take out you brought on the coffee table and pour him a glass of his favorite whiskey.

Joel's sitting on his worn out couch, watching you with a warm smile, while you're chirping with excitement, telling him about everything at once— the people you've met, the songs you've written, the places you've visited. It seems like he has grown into his old apartment while you're taking over the city, the country, the whole world.

It’s ok. He’s happy for you. Truly.

You can’t come often, only once or twice a month if he’s lucky, your busy schedule be damned, but every time you visit, Joel’s heart overflows with happiness. More often than here he sees you on billboards, beautiful and happy, your face smiles at him from the t-shirts of teenagers, passing him by on the street. You’re always on his mind and in his heart. Always were and always will be.

You both dreamed of becoming professional singers. He met you at one of his gigs in a small bar in Texas. You were too young for him, too beautiful, too talented. But at that time, years ago, he still loved himself and foolishly thought that he deserved you. You fell for each other fast and hard and started climbing that steep mountain together.

You came into his life when he was about to quit the chase but your drive, your passion and talent gave him a second wind. You wrote songs together, lying naked in bed after mind-blowing sex, sang them at the top of your lungs on road trips to various music festivals, supported each other every step of the way. He kissed salty tears off your face after every failure, celebrated with you when you succeeded, which started happening more and more often. His demos were collecting dust on the shelves while your career skyrocketed. Joel kept holding your hand until the moment he realized that he was looking up at you while you were standing on top of the mountain you both had dreamed about, too high for him to reach.

At first envy would squeeze his heart with its freezing hand - he wished to be standing there with you. But terrified of losing you, of ruining your relationship because of that ugly feeling, he taught himself to quiet the nagging voice inside his head and to be happy for you, to feel joy, witnessing your success, even from afar.

After some time it became apparent to him that he was too average, one of many. You were different. One in a million. A star. His star.

Joel continued singing in small clubs, he still needed music like air, but hope for something bigger, brighter was slowly dying in his heart.

Now you’re in his arms, on his lap, tired and slightly cold.

“These tiny dresses of yours— fuckin’ useless— gonna get sick like that,” Joel grumbles under his breath, covering you both with a throw blanket, and you immediately melt against him. Your scent is different every time you visit, he’s enveloped in something sweet and flowery today, but the taste of your lips is the same. Always. They’re intoxicating, soft and desperate. Your hands are eager to touch him, your body pressed tightly to his.

”I miss you,“ you mumble and your tongue slides over his lower lip. His heart sings when a shiver runs over your whole body. You want him. You can have anyone you want and you still choose him every time. He doesn’t know why but he’s grateful for each moment he gets to spend with you, holding you. Fucking you.

“Joel—need you,” you whine and deepen the kiss. Hungry and long-awaited, it soon morphs into a scorching fire, burning you both. A whimper falling from your lips sounds almost pained.

“Yes, baby, yes—jus’ a second,” Joel murmurs and swiftly lifts you so you could straddle him. With trembling fingers you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and take his cock out. Your panties pulled to the side, you sink on his hardening cock, without preparation, without foreplay. The desire is too strong. Joel is swelling bigger and harder inside your core as soon as your wet walls welcome him, so warm and tight around his manhood.

“Missed you, baby.”

“Yes—yes—missed you— so—so— much,“ you echo him, your words falling with the same rhythm as you move yourself up and down on his lap, bouncing on his length. Then you kiss every inch of his handsome face— his chapped lips, his scruffy cheeks, every wrinkle and every mole which you could draw by heart.

His hands leave your waist and slither down to take your dress off. In a moment you’re naked in his arms, you, the subject of desire of so many people is right in front of him, just a kiss away. And he kisses you, your neck, your collarbone, your bouncing breasts. He licks at your nipples, sucks each tit into his mouth and you sing only for him, your most intimate song.

Joel’s t-shirt rides up and he feels how wet you’re for him as your folds and clit are rubbing against his lower belly. You’re chasing your pleasure feverishly and he already feels how your little pussy starts pulsating around his big cock.

“Come for me, my love.”

His gruff voice in your ear sends a signal to your brain and the sound you love the most pushes you over the edge. You’re crying and shaking, coming all over his stiffness, always so sensitive to the ecstasy he gives you, and he lets you soak him, both with your tears and you cum.

“Yes—yeah, sweetheart— ride it out— c’mon.” He’s lifting you up and down with his strong hands, wishing to give you more moments of euphoria as you tremble and whimper in his arms and soon he explodes inside you with a groan that rings loudly in his quiet apartment. He presses you tight against his chest but without leaving any marks on your soft skin, skin that millions of people could see tomorrow. He’s nuzzling the crease of your neck while his cock is pumping you full of his warm seed.

You’re leaning against Joel’s chest now, still straddling him, his member slowly softening inside you. Your eyes close by themselves, lulled by his heavy breathing, but you drive the sleep away. You need to tell him something, to ask him.

You slide off his lap, feeling your thighs getting wetter, and pull him to lie down with you on the couch. Joel tucks his cock back into the sweatpants and throws the blanket over you two. You face him and your eyes lock. Your mouth opens but then closes again.

“What is it, baby? Tell me.”

He always reads you like a book. You seem anxious.

After clearing your throat you whisper,

“I’m going on a world tour.”

Joel is quiet for a few seconds until he grabs you and hugs you. His chest is rumbling with a joyous laugh and you giggle when he squeezes you too tight and kisses the crown of your head, your forehead, your mouth. You melt into him again, feeling his smile on your lips.

When he parts from you, his eyes are glossy and warm.

”Your first world tour! I’m so damn proud of you, my love!”

You can’t help but tear up, seeing him genuinely happy, and you kiss him again and then murmur a shaky “thank you.”

“Joel. I wanted to ask you—,” you’re looking at his chest now, eyes averted, your sweaty palms placed over his heart, ”I’m gonna be traveling for a whole year… and... I wanted to ask… Will you go with me?”

Joel’s eyes are darting between yours. You look sleepy, tired and gorgeous. He pulls you close to his chest and embraces you.

“Let’s talk in the mornin’, baby. You need rest.”

You look at him for a few moments, your eyes piercing and then ask with a half smile, “Could you sing for me?”

With you lying in his arms, Joel starts softly singing your favourite song, the one he wrote for you, one of dozens he wrote for you.

He keeps singing when your breath gets deep and slow and you’re purring like a little kitten, your head on his biceps, and Joel can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop singing to you until his voice breaks, his eyes sting, and he holds his breath, scared to wake you up with a sob, crawling up his throat.

Here it is. Joel always knew that the time would come. The time when something big would happen, and he would have to do the right thing. Would have to let you go.

He takes a deep breath again and again, trying to calm himself down. He blinks the tears away and feels them on his cheeks. Your face is blurry in his eyes at first but he keeps watching you sleep, memorizing your every feature, as if there’s any chance he’s ever going to forget them. Your image is carved into his heart forever.

It’s not like you two haven’t talked about it before— why you come to him only at night, why you need to be extra careful not to be seen by paparazzi.

It’s still hard to accept for the both of you that Joel is your secret. Your label doesn’t want him around you and Joel understands it. He’s been trying to make it in this business for too long not to know how things work. It hurts but it’s the reality.

And the reality is making him stomp on his heart and break yours.

In your sleep you snuggle even closer to him and with your forehead against his heart he drifts off too. As always he dreams of you.

A few hours pass before you wake him up, stirring in his embrace. Your smiling face welcomes him when he opens his eyes.

“Morning, Joel.”

The dust of mascara on your cheeks, your hair disheveled, you look angelic in the soft glow of the early morning sun peeking through the drapes. Joel’s breath hitches for a second, your beauty overwhelms him, until the pain hits him right in the chest. He has to tell you.

You get up and, after putting on his flannel, pad to the bathroom. When you return, Joel’s sitting up and you take your favorite spot, you get on his lap. Your soft kisses caress his scruffy cheeks until you search for his eyes.

“So—about the tour— what do you say?” you ask, giving him a little smile, your eyes full of hope. Joel feels his heart beating fast and loud. He knows you feel it too, your warm hand is resting on his chest. He takes it, brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.

“I can’t, baby.”

In your gaze he sees that you knew what he was going to say. You don’t look shocked, but you look crushed.

”Wh—why not?”

Still on his lap, you start hastily telling him why he should go, that it’s going to be fun, that it’s another opportunity for his career, and he lets you tell him all that, he doesn’t interrupt you.

“I can’t do this alone, Joel. I’m scared,” you mumble at the end, looking tired after your pitch, and press your forehead to his chest. Joel hugs you and starts rubbing your flannel-covered back with his hands.

“Remember what your team told you? I’m not good for your image. An old loser like me.”

You break his embrace and sit up, your gaze fiery, your chest heaving.

“You’re not, Joel! I don’t give a fuck what they say. I love you and — ” your voice breaks as tears start flowing down your cheeks.

You slide off his lap and sit next to him, crying. Joel wants to grab you, kiss your lips, comfort you, but he knows it’ll make it harder. For the both of you. His gruff voice is a little shaky when he talks.

“I shouldn’t go. You must understand why. And it’s gonna be ok. You’re a fuckin’ star! Now go and show it to the world.”

You turn your head to him, your wet face twisted with sadness, as you mumble through sobs,

“I—I can’t spend— a whole —year without you”.

“Baby—,” Joel takes a deep breath before ripping the band aid off. ”—I’m movin’ back to Texas”.

You turn to him on the couch.

“What?! Why?!”

Because he sees your face everywhere he goes. It would hurt too much. After this. After today.

So he lies. But only partially.

“Los Angeles isn’t for me. I hate it. Everything here reminds me that I failed.” He raises his hand when you open your mouth, ready to argue. “I’ve tried, sweetheart. You know I have. But it’s not in the stars. Tommy offered me a job. Contractin’. That’s what I’m gonna do for a start, then we’ll see.”

You drop your head and sit quietly for a few moments. Joel swallows loudly, his stomach twisted with nerves. It feels like he’s going to be sick.

When you look up at him again, your brows are furrowed, eyes reddened.

“What about us?”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I’m too old and you have a whole life ahead of you. Long, successful, happy life. I won’t hold you back. I love you too much to do it. You don’t need me.”

“Doesn’t sound like you love me,” you hiss at him, your pain turning to anger quickly.

You jump off the couch and grab your dress off the floor after almost ripping his flannel off your body.

“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me!” you exclaim, standing in front of him, getting dressed, while he’s looking up at you with a pained expression.

“You’re telling me you love me but then you say all this shit?! You won’t even fight for us! For me!”

“But I’m doin’ it for you!” He hates to shout but it’s hard to control his emotions as they’re ripping his heart to shreds.

“Then why do I feel like you’re killing me right now?!” You take a small step towards him, your hand reaching for his. “We can see the world together—wake up together every morning and—“

Joel gets up and holds you by the shoulders, trying to make you listen.

“Stop lyin’ to yourself! Go live your life! Quit returnin’ to me! I’m your past and you still come here jus’ because you’re scared of the future! We had fun together, baby, but now it’s over!”

You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth agape, and then you angrily swat his hands away.

“Fuck you, Joel!”

These are the last words you tell him before storming out. The last words you ever tell him.

He still hears you crying in the hall when he shuts the door behind you. His forehead pressed to the wood, eyes closed, he listens and feels like everything good in his life is leaving with you. He hears the elevator ding and then nothing.

His apartment is quiet again until a loud wail shutters the silence. Joel knows that he’s done the right thing. Then why does it feel like he’s dying?

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST || more angst - Always and Forever

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #TabbysYardSale #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #the last of us #pedro pascal smut #joel miller au #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #his star fic

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etherealeowyn · 2 months ago

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"Fade into You" - Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Fluff and a little bit of angst

Word Count: 1,460

Y/n was a musician before the outbreak, and while Joel was out, he stumbled upon a guitar, which he'd happily gift her on one condition. She had to play him a song. This is set in around 2006, so Joel is in his late 30s, and the reader is 25!

“Stay right there and don’t open your eyes until I tell you,” Joel spoke, his words laced with excitement, as he held a well-kept guitar.

“Okay, I won’t, but where were you, Joel? I was starting to get worried,” Y/n spoke, her voice full of relief, knowing he was safe.

“I had to run an errand, but that’s not important. Right now, I need you to hold your arms out,” he told her, and she nodded slowly before doing exactly what he said.

Carefully, he wrapped one of the woman’s hands around the neck of the guitar, and before moving her arms so that she could hold it perfectly in her lap.

“If this is what I think it is, I’m going to cry tears of joy,” she laughed, her eyes still pressed shut.

“Okay, you can open them now,” Joel told her, watching as her eyes opened, and immediately went wide from pure excitement.

“Oh my God, this guitar is beautiful, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough for something like this. Joel, I’m seriously so thankful,” Y/n spoke, getting up from her spot on the ground and wrapping her free arm around his body to hug him.

“You’re welcome, and don’t worry about it, I only have one request for you,” he replied, the corners of his eyes slightly wrinkling from the smile that took over his whole face.

“Absolutely, what do you need me to do?” she questioned, eager to repay him for the gift.

“Will you play something for me? I don’t even care what song it is, I just want to hear your voice,” Joel responded, mirroring the woman as she sat back down on the floor.

“Of course, now you can’t judge me too much, it’s been a while since I’ve played anything,” Y/n laughed, going through the mental catalog of songs she still remembered how to play after all these years.

He nodded in response and watched as her eyes softly fluttered shut, as if she was picturing the sheet music in her mind. It wasn’t often that her facial features were so completely and utterly relaxed, and Joel was taking every single one of them in.

I wanna hold the hand inside you I wanna take the breath that's true

The second the woman started to sing, Joel couldn’t help but find himself completely and utterly entranced by her. Y/n’s voice was one of those that managed to be soft, yet raspy and full of emotion.

I look to you to see the truth You live your life, you go in shadows

She had spoken to him about how, before the outbreak happened, she traveled around performing at small places, and even though he was intrigued, he wasn’t sure how good she’d be. But now, as he sat there, staring at Y/n plucking the strings tenderly, he was genuinely surprised that she was only performing for small crowds.

I look to you and I see nothing You'll come apart and you'll go blind

Joel knew the song she was singing, but when he first heard Fade into You, he didn’t have the same perspective on life. This time around, each lyric hit him differently, and he could tell that Y/n had a deep connection with the song.

He was curious why, out of all the songs she could’ve played, this was the first one that came to mind. Was she singing about someone she knew before the world went to hell, or was it about someone after?

Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know, because the more time he spent around Y/n, the more he fell for her. Joel felt foolish admitting this, even mentally, but he was mildly jealous of the fact that someone else, before the outbreak, could’ve not only watched her perform, but called her mine.

Some kind of night into your darkness Colors your eyes with what's not there Fade into you

As she sang those last few words, her playing halted, and she once again opened her eyes.

“I think that’s probably all I could sing of that song, it’s been so long,” Y/n said, letting out a nervous laugh after doing so. “I promise I used to be a lot better.”

She quickly turned her head away from Joel, embarrassed by the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Playing again was more overwhelming than she thought because it reminded her of the life she’d never be able to live again. Y/n wasn’t dumb; she knew it wasn’t guaranteed that she’d make it in the music industry, but the fact that she never had the chance killed her.

“I don’t think it’s even possible to sound better than you did right now,” Joel spoke, cocking his head to the side as he tried to get a glimpse of her face.

“You’re just being nice,” Y/n responded, looking over at him with eyes that were slightly red and glossy, making them stand out even more than usual.

“I don’t just be nice, I’m only nice when I mean it,” he quickly replied, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“I’d disagree with you, but I’ve been around you long enough to know that’s the truth,” the woman responded, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her face. “So, thank you, I’m glad you liked the song, next time I promise I won’t stop halfway through to cry.”

Joel sat there for a moment, quietly, and Y/n sent him a smile, wondering what was going through his mind.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, trying to read the man’s face.

“No, nothing is wrong, I just wanted to ask you something, but I don’t want to overstep,” Joel said, fidgeting with the watch on his wrist.

“Joel, you’re more than welcome to ask me anything, you know that,” the woman told him, walking over to where he was and sitting down next to him, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“The song you were singing, Fade into You, who were you thinking about when you were playing it?” he started. “Was there someone in your life, like a boyfriend, husband, something along the lines of that?”

Y/n involuntarily half-chuckled at his question before responding, “I was thinking about someone when I was singing it, but it certainly wasn’t an old boyfriend or husband, I never had one of those. Hell, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet and I’m 25.”

“Huh, I just assumed you would’ve had guys lined up for miles to be with you, especially with a voice like yours,” Joel replied. “So, if it’s not about a boyfriend or husband, who were you thinking about then?”

“Well, there’s this one guy, and I’m not dating him or anything, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. The catch is that I’m not sure if he likes me or not, and I’m worried about getting rejected, especially because I’ve never felt this way about a man before,” she said, letting out a deep breath and removing her head from his shoulder so she could look at him.

Joel’s heart was beating faster in his chest as he looked at the woman who was looking up at him through her eyelashes. His gaze began to travel down Y/n’s face until it settled on her lips. They were slightly parted and rosy, and there was nothing more that he wanted than to kiss them.

“I was singing about you,” Y/n told him, blushing as she did so.

“Can I kiss you?” Joel asked, taking one of his hands and gently cupping the side of her face.

“Absolutely,” she said breathlessly, excited that after months of dreaming about this moment, it was finally happening.

Cautiously, Joel’s lips met with Y/n’s, moving slowly at first to make sure that she was comfortable, especially considering it was her first. But after a little bit, he began to kiss her harder and hungrier. One of his hands traveled down to her waist, and her breath hitched at the sensation of his fingers gripping her hip.

She disconnected from Joel, feeling dizzy and breathless but in the best possible way.

“Holy shit,” Y/n laughed, “I’m going to need to do that again.”

“Don’t worry, we definitely will,” he responded, a smile lighting up his face.

“You promise,” she asked while moving her body so that she was straddling the man’s waist, eliminating any space that previously existed between them.

“I promise,” he responded, his hands immediately grabbing onto her waist to make sure she was steady.

Carefully, she draped her arms around Joel’s neck before going back in for more, this time with much more confidence.

#the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #imagine #fanfiction

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joels-shitty-puns · 2 years ago

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Five octaves is a pretty big range, I dunno if he's got that (yet) but I really hope they have Pedro actually singing for s2. 😭😭😭 I need it. If they need a vocal coach I'll help out 😏😂

Why do I feel like (TV) Joel’s singing voice would be so surprising? Like I don’t know why but I fully see this guy as an insane bass singer with like a 5 octave range. You do not listen to Joel Miller sing with your ears, you listen with your bones.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #musician

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guiltyasdave · 2 years ago

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still bejeweled

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.4k

summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'

tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3

• dividers by the lovely @saradika!

• find my full masterlist here!

You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.

But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.

You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.

But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.

That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.

All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.

Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.

“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”

Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”

You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.

“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.

Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.

You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.

Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?

Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.

The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.

“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.

It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.

He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.

He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...

Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.

Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.

“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”

“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”

She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.

“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.

You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.

You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.

“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”

Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”

You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.

You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.

The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.

His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.

“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”

Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”

“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.

You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.

“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.

“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.

Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.

Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.

A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.

“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”

There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.

You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”

“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.

He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.

The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.

He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.

“You're feeling good? You want this?”

You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”

“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.

“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”

The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.

“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.

You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.

His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.

Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.

“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.

“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.

Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.

He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.

You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.

You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.

He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.

Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.

“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.

“Me too.”

He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

“Impatient little thing.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.

“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”

He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.

“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”

“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”

You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”

“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.

“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”

His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.

“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”

You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.

“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.

“Please what?”

“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.

“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.

His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.

“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.

You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.

His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.

“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.

“I promise.”

a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

#janaispunk #janas fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedrostories

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

Text

his favorite girl, part iii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: tensions rise as your second lesson continues, but joel still refuses to admit his feelings to you—or himself. you'd concede defeat if you really believed he didn't want you. or if his actions weren't constantly contradicting his words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher au, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, smut, angst, f!masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mentions of guilt & shame

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part i | part ii

You have no idea how you're supposed to survive another afternoon with Joel, let alone an entire semester. He's basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, hiding under the visage of an unfairly sexy, middle-aged musician, but you never know which one you’re dealing with until he pushes you away or calls you his girl.

Today, he feels like a dangerous combination of both.

After your verbal agreement to keep things professional, yet again, he concedes and finally sits next to you on the couch. Guess that safe distance he was so desperate to maintain is null and void now that he’s made his feelings clear—sort of.

You assume his proximity is an olive branch, but it sure doesn't feel like one. Now, he's close enough to smell his cologne, an earthy, woodsy scent that's so Joel, it makes your head spin. It's also making this lesson infinitely harder to focus on.

You’d never even considered the possibility of him shutting you down this hard, but then again, a hot fling with an older guy wasn’t why you showed up on his doorstep in the first place. If he'd just admit he's interested, maybe things could be different, but he won’t, will he? So, what other option do you have?

You’re not going to throw yourself at him like some pathetic schoolgirl with a crush, even if that’s exactly what you are. You want him to want to touch you, to crave you the way you're sure he does, but right now he wants to teach you chords. Starting with C, apparently.

“We’re gonna try this chord again, alright? Same as last time, nice and slow,” he starts, reaching back to pull something out of his pocket. He presents you with a small, black piece of plastic that looks like a clamp, identical to the one on his guitar. "This here's called a capo. Go ahead and fit it right over the third fret—it’ll raise the key of the guitar. M’thinkin' that'll make things a little easier for ya."

You push your feelings to the side and accept it, following his lead and squeezing it into place before glancing up for his approval. He gives you an encouraging smile and nods, and your heart rate kicks up wildly in your chest.

God, why does his praise feel so good? And why does it feel like it’s been so long since anyone was this patient with you, or genuinely wanted to see you succeed? You realize you want him to keep looking at you like that, regardless of the nature of your relationship.

"S'perfect. Now, your fingers'll go here, here, and here," he arranges his fingers one by one on the three strings that make up the chord and strums. He lets it ring out for a moment, then looks up at you expectantly. "Any of this ringin' a bell from yesterday?"

Vaguely. Mainly, you're remembering how tempting his fingers looked while he was playing, but you'll have to do better than that today. Instead, you focus on mirroring what he showed you.

"Like this?" you ask hesitantly, pressing down on the strings and mimicking his motions. Tough nylon bites into your skin just as painfully as last time, but the sound you produce is pretty. Nothing like the muted, garbled mess from your previous attempt.

You meet his eyes, and they're filled with none of the surprise yours contain. He just looks pleased, like he had total confidence in you even if you didn't.

"Exactly like that. See? You're doin' better already. Must'a done your finger exercises last night like I told ya,” he says proudly, none the wiser.

If only he knew that’s exactly what you spent your night doing. Practically the entire night, if you’re being honest, and to no avail. It might’ve unintentionally improved your dexterity, but you're still stuck on everything that did or didn't happen yesterday. The only lasting result is how unexpectedly conflicted it made you feel. You nod, biting your lip to keep from grimacing.

“Sure did,” you play it off with a laugh. "I wanted to be as prepared as possible."

Prepared for something a little more physical than playing guitar, but that's a moot point now, isn't it?

You sound as fake as you feel, but luckily he’s so eager to continue the lesson, he doesn’t notice. Again, you follow his lead and try your best to ignore your disappointment and bury the residual hurt. You have a sneaking suspicion you're going to be doing a lot of that, but inexplicably, it's getting easier.

You're starting to realize it's not in spite of Joel. It's because of him. In a brief moment of self-indulgence, you let your gaze linger on his rosy cheeks and the newfound serenity in his eyes.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and his love for music radiates like a Texas heatwave, burning hotter with every chord he strums and string he picks. Even his posture is loosening, and the soft smile on his face seems like a permanent fixture.

It's that same warmth from earlier. That intimate connection you felt blooming in your chest from sharing in his joy. Cautiously, you allow yourself to hope, if not for you and Joel, then for your degree. For the goals you have yet to achieve that, regardless of the past 24 hours, still mean everything to you.

"So, what's next?" you ask eagerly.

His eyes light up, and you know you've asked the right question. He shifts across the strings to a new chord, his smile widening as you quickly move to match him.

"Next, we're learnin' F," he grins, nodding toward your finger placement. "Then, I figure we can run through some pickin' patterns if you're up for it.”

"I'm up for anything you are, teach," you reply earnestly, and the smile you give him feels genuine this time. You really do mean it in every sense. "But be gentle with me. It's been a while, if that wasn't obvious."

His smile falters, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes. After a moment, you realize what you said and how it must’ve sounded. You open your mouth to clarify, but before you get the chance, his expression clears. He chuckles, and it's a light, tinkling thing that fills your chest with a heady combination of relief and longing.

Of course, he’d take it in stride. You’re struck again by the resemblance to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, left wondering if you're still imagining things. The subtle twitch of his fingers must be a figment of your imagination, too, or at least that's what you tell yourself. It doesn't matter now, anyway.

"'Course, I will,” he drawls companionably, his words commanding your attention, compelling you to hang on to each one like a lifeline. “Like I said, we'll take it nice and slow. Ease you back into things until you're ready for somethin' harder.”

It takes everything you have not to choke on your spit. Ignore it. Ignore it. Focus on the lesson and how incredible it’s going to feel when you finally finish the song and pass your damn class.

But you can’t. He’s too close, and he smells so good. You’re only human.

"I think I'll surprise you," you retort cheekily. You’re so fucked. "Plus, I like it hard. Just need a little build-up to get me there."

His hand tenses in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it movement, and you can't help the overwhelming feeling of pride pooling in your belly. You've never backed down from a challenge and you're not about to start now. This one is apparently still ongoing.

"Well, all right, then," he says smoothly, and this time when you shiver, he looks pleased. "Let's hear ya strum it, and then we'll work through the rest. Think you can handle that?"

You straighten up, sitting confidently with your fingers poised over the frets, ready to play. As you shift in your seat, your thigh presses firmly into his and sends a rush of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. "Yeah, I can take it.”

He shakes his head with an amused, yet undoubtedly shy smile. You bite your lip coyly, nodding at the sheet music you've just noticed on the rug at his feet.

"Are there more chords in this bar or is it just picking until the next line?"

It's a toss-up whether or not he heard any of what you just asked if his rapt attention on your lips is any indication. You're still teasing your bottom lip with your teeth, and it's not until you laugh that he finally snaps out of it. He shakes his head a little harder as if to shoo away the distraction, before reaching down to inspect the piece of paper.

He concentrates a little too hard on the page, looking but not seeing, so you reach over and point at a confusing string of notes that connect and repeat with seemingly no rhyme or reason. His gaze shifts to your daintily extended index finger, and you're hit with an intense feeling of deja vu, except this time, your roles are reversed.

“Can you show me how that part goes? It looks like gibberish to me, to be totally honest,” you prod him, trying to reel him back in.

As if on autopilot, he quickly discards the sheet and shifts his hands into place, ready to teach like he wasn't just daydreaming about your fingers wrapped around his cock, covered in his release. And if he wasn't, then you sure were.

“Y-yeah, sure thing. That line's just the intro, but the flow is somethin' else. Probably one of my all-time favorites," he says, his endearing mask carefully slotted back into place.

But you're onto him now. Begrudgingly, he tears his eyes away from where you're matching him on your guitar, waiting patiently for his next instructions.

"It really ain't as bad as it looks," he continues. "The timing's purposely a little off, but it's adaptable. This one's real easy to add your own spin to if that's somethin' ya wanna try."

With all of the skill and grace of a practiced musician, he plucks through the line to give you a preview of what was previously only lines and circles on a page. The notes blend seamlessly, a mixture of picking and what you vaguely remember to be hammering, and it evokes something you never expected.

An unidentified emotion takes root and feels startlingly like yearning and hope, carried by the short melody. It's beautiful. He circles back to the beginning, hopping along the frets slowly just for you, and he's beautiful. You watch him, enamored by his fluidity and ease of motion.

For him, all of this is innate. His guitar is a natural extension of himself, something he was born to hold. You used to think you were born for it, too. The reminder is a painful one, but thankfully you're not left to dwell on it for long.

"So, how 'bout it? Ready to give it a try?" Joel's voice cuts through the fog, as honeyed and mellow as the music at his fingertips. You want to hear that voice call you beautiful again and feel him panting against the shell of your ear while he stretches you out around his thick fingers. God, you want.

Yet, your hands move of their own accord and fall into place—it's the C chord. Apparently, you really want that, too.

"Ready, teach," you nod, and you know you must look like a lovesick fool.

Right now, you really don't care because your gorgeous guitar teacher is beaming and excited, and beneath it all, there's still a tinge of something that makes you believe all of this is real. A lust for more simmering just below the surface.

"You have my full attention, promise."

——

The next hour is spent walking through various strumming and picking patterns, and acquainting yourself with the fluctuating tempo. It's tricky, but you're committed. Again and again, you repeat the same bars, following Joel's interjected advice and corrections, and your mistakes become less obvious until they're all but gone completely.

Rewarding doesn't even begin to cover how a successful run feels. Even the pain blooming beneath the reddening indents on your fingertips feels good. Calluses are beginning to roughen the soft skin, but you earned them.

They're yours and yours alone, proof that you worked your ass off and achieved something remarkable. The results speak for themselves, bouncing around the walls of Joel's living room and breathing new life into the space. Your contribution to his little corner of the world.

And Joel looks so damn proud. He stays patient through every flubbed hammer and too-hard pluck, grinning when you complete the section without his guidance. Your lesson's already gone on long past its scheduled time, but neither of you seems to notice. You likely wouldn't bother to mention it even if you did.

Time trickles by like the slow drip of molasses, thick with the sweetest tension, yet the longer you play, the more a familiar ache starts to creep in and make your progression a little more difficult.

Your hand is cramping, and it hurts. You pause mid-strum to shake it out and stretch your fingers, sighing at the brief respite.

"Hurtin' again, huh?"

You huff out a laugh, remembering the last time he asked you that question. The throbbing in your joints would more than welcome another massage from Joel, but you don't exactly trust yourself to come back from that. You have to stay focused until the next line of the song, at the very least.

"It's really not that bad. Guess all those finger exercises are paying off," you joke, but you don't expect him to catch the underlying punchline. "I kinda figured it wouldn't go away overnight, anyway."

You can tell he's thinking about it, too. He nods understandingly, tapping a restless, arrhythmic beat against his guitar.

"S'all part of bein' a guitar player, unfortunately," he agrees, his entire body tense like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and inspect the subtle changes to your delicate skin for himself.

Your mind starts to wander as his tapping changes to slow circles swirled into the wood grain. You can't help but wonder if your new calluses would feel good sliding up and down his cock, if he'd like the coarse hint of pain teasing the ridge or circling the tip. You wonder what his own would feel like pressing into your clit. The skin of his middle and ring fingertips is noticeably rougher than the rest and with a little pressure—fuck.

You're wet. That can't happen. You have to concentrate. But his movements are starting to speed up, and you can almost feel them sliding through your messy heat.

The intrusive thought is thankfully interrupted when he stops the lewd motion and continues his reassurances like it never happened. Why does he keep doing that? It seems so pointless to keep pretending you’re not on the same page, but you’re not about to call him out and scare him off again.

You tell yourself to focus on the pain. Focus on what he’s saying, not what he’s insinuating.

"Pain's a good thing. It means you're stickin' it out and makin' some real progress," he says fondly, and it's almost enough to reclaim your attention. "Says a lot about the kind of person you are, too, what you do with that pain and how you let it shape ya. You're a good one, I can tell. Committed, like I was."

It's so much sweeter than anything you'd expected him to say. It helps.

"Fair enough. Still kinda sucks though," you grumble, but the slight quirk of your lips betrays your tone.

"Yeah, yeah. What happened to likin' it hard?" he asks playfully, and you feel that telltale whoosh between your legs.

You shift uncomfortably, subtly trying to unstick your underwear from where it's cemented to your core, but the unexpected friction makes you flinch. He picks up on it immediately.

"Look, why don't we take a break? I'll grab us some drinks while you rest up, and we can dive back in whenever you're ready," he offers, his voice raspier than before.

"Yeah, that, um...that sounds good. I'm actually gonna run to the bathroom real quick if that's cool," you reply, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

It's hot as hell all of a sudden, even though the AC hasn't stopped kicking since you got here, and you have a feeling cold drinks won't be enough to cool you down. He hesitates before nodding, then points down the hall.

"'Course. S'the first door on your left," he says, brows furrowing in concern. You all but speed walk past him to your temporary haven.

Backing into the door the moment it closes behind you, you squeeze your legs together as tightly as you can, but it only makes it worse. The ache is almost unbearable, and you know for a fact that you'll waste the rest of the lesson if you try to go back out there like this.

The entire afternoon has been such a complicated back-and-forth of conflicting feelings and confusion, but you still have no idea what do to about it. You want him to fuck you, but you also want him to teach you. He wants to teach you, but he also wants you in ways he won't admit to you. Or himself.

Your head is cloudier than it's been all day, and your thoughts are a jumbled mess of desire and rationality, both fighting for dominance. So, now what?

There was only one way to clear the fog last night, but you really shouldn't. You're in his bathroom for christ's sake, and he can't be more than 15 feet away, pouring you a glass of lemonade in the kitchen.

You do it, anyway. With one hand shoved down your pants and the other slapped over your mouth, you decide your best course of action is to rub one out in Joel's bathroom to rid yourself of this distraction once and for all. And it feels good.

The moment your sore fingertips press into your clit, your hips buck into your touch and you lose yourself to the friction. You're even wetter than you realized, and your fingers keep slipping from where you need them most, so you change tactics, ramming two of them inside you instead.

So much for resting your hand. Your motions are frantic, bordering on desperate, and you can't bring yourself to stop now that you've started. Wet squelching mingles with your muffled moans and fills the room, noisier than you’ve been all day even after an afternoon of playing guitar.

But you're getting a little too loud. The door rattles on its hinges every time your palm slaps into your heat, and your hand isn't nearly enough to mask your increasing volume the closer you get. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't hear a thing. Or maybe you'll get really lucky and he'll hear everything.

You're too far gone to care. Just a little more. You can feel yourself starting to squeeze your fingers, and you just need a little bit more—

Then, there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice tentatively filters through.

"Everythin' alright in there?" he asks kindly, but he sounds wrecked.

It's obvious he heard everything, and yet he's still trying to be polite, desperately clinging to his morals and good, Southern manners. Too bad that turns you on.

Not bothering to respond, you keep going, fixated on how vivid a picture your unstifled moans and reckless actions must be painting. You wouldn't be surprised if it's just your imagination again, but you swear you can hear labored breathing and a litany of muttered curses coming from the other side.

He knocks on the door again, harder this time, and you quickly realize that any patience Joel had left is gone. You've finally pushed him past his limit.

"M'givin' you sixty seconds to get back in that livin' room," he grits out roughly. "You're finishin' out here."

The door shakes as he pushes off of it and stomps away, leaving you in palpable silence.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iv!

divider by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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mono-red-goblin-party · 15 days ago

Text

What You Can't Have: Part One

Part Two | AO3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to save your floundering music career, you accept the lead role in Mr. Right, a reality TV show with a massive following. All you have to do is fall in love with one of twenty perfect guys, and you'll have everything you've ever wanted. There's only one problem, and his name is Joel Miller. Your cameraman is infuriating, unfriendly, and entirely off-limits. So why can't you stop fantasizing about him?

Tags: AU, smut, medium angst, slow ish burn, no use of y/n, jealous!joel, dad!joel, extremely inaccurate production details because I want them to fuck

Part one preview: Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off.

Word count: ~5.5K, This is prologue + chapter one

A/N: This is my first published fanfic, so please let me know what you think! I am back on tumblr after a literal decade because I am such a slut for Joel. Part two is in the works and it is thirsty. Comments would mean the world :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Prologue~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Top ten warning signs that your music career is over:

1. When Barnett Records releases your second album, you realize they’ve decided to name it Summerbash. 2. The label cuts all your original songs from the record. 3. When you complain about this to Grant Barnett, your producer and boyfriend of three years, he dumps you. A week before your thirtieth birthday. 4. You celebrate your thirtieth birthday. 5. Pitchfork rates the album a 1.5/10. You learn this from an article entitled “Summer-bash my head in”. 6. The “Summerbash Summer Splash” Tour is postponed. Indefinitely. 7. When Marlene – your manager – calls Barnett Records about a contract for your next album, the label doesn’t call back. 8. In fact, none of the record labels call back. 9. The only call Marlene does get is from the producers of a reality dating show called Mr. Right. They want to see if you’ll be their so-called Dream Girl next season. Because you’re now notoriously single and unemployed.

And the ultimate, irrefutable sign that your music career is over:

10. Marlene actually wants you to take the job.

“No,” you say. The music in the gym is always blasting, so you have to shout for Marlene to hear you. She originally convinced you to work out with her to build stamina for the Summerbash tour, and lately has been dragging you here with arguments about endorphins and you “not exactly being up to anything else”.

You raise your voice over the chorus of “Abracadabra” and continue your protest. “Absolutely not. Shows like that are completely humiliating.”

Marlene finishes her bench press and re-racks the barbell. Sometimes you think she deliberately breaks bad news to you here so that her insanely jacked arms add emphasis to her managerial authority. She sits up and levels you with a long stare.

“More humiliating than actually going on the Summer Splash Tour?” she asks, “because you were willing to do that, last I checked.”

You do not appreciate this comparison.

“This is not the same thing,” you say. “The tour would have involved actual singing. Mr. Right is a glorified beauty pageant.”

“I told them as much on the phone, actually.” Marlene gets up to pull plates off the bar and replace them with your much lighter ones. You give her a skeptical look, and she continues. “Well, not in so many words. I told them you’re a musician, not a reality star, and it would be a tough sell.” She nods to the bench. “You’re up.”

You lie back and brace yourself, then slowly lower the weight as Marlene spots you. It takes all your concentration to hold the right form, so you conveniently can’t interrupt her pitch.

“Apparently your career is a big draw for them,” she says. “If you take the role, they want to use one of your songs as intro music for the season. They even offered to pay for studio time if you want to record an original single for the show.”

You consider this as you finish your set. One single – even if you manage to write a good one – is not going to erase the legacy of Summerbash. But it’s the closest thing to a record deal you’ve seen in months. You struggle through your last rep and sit up.

“I get why you want me to do this,” you tell Marlene, “But it’s Mr. Right. I really don’t think it’s for me.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, “dating twenty eligible men is going to be so miserable for you.”

“Not dating,” you say, “marrying. One of them, at least.”

“Come on,” Marlene says. “Mr. Right has been on TV for twenty-four seasons. You know how many couples are still together? Three. Nobody on that show is really there to marry you.”

“I’ll still have to get engaged,” you protest.

“Maybe,” she says, “if you find someone you like. Or maybe you have a dramatic on-camera heartbreak. Either one gets you diehard fans.”

You don’t respond, and she drops to the bench beside you.

“I know you know this, but Summerbash only got fifty thousand streams,” she says. “No label is going to risk signing you after that, not unless you can guarantee better numbers. Do you know how many people watched the last Mr. Right season?Twenty million. You take this Dream Girl offer, you win over America, and I can get you your pick of labels.”

You let out a soft moan of despair and bury your head in your hands. Marlene tells the truth. It’s what you’ve always liked about her, but right now you want to hate her for it. Because when the facts are all in front of you, there’s really only one good choice.

You take the fucking part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter One~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m a girl with an Iceberg Heart, Little heart but big feelings Hard to stop once you make me start, All these layers you’re peeling.”

--“Iceberg Heart”, Summerbash Track No. 6. Lyrics by Grant Barnett. Vocals by You.

Tonight, you meet your Suitors. Your call sheet for the day has a six-hour window for “getting dressed”, with a handwritten annotation in perfect cursive reminding you to show up on time. Not that you could really be late, seeing as the dressing room is in your hotel suite. It’s a beautiful room, with plush white carpeting and large French doors that open to a balcony overlooking the LA skyline, but you can’t take it in at the moment. You’re perched on a stool in front of a vanity mirror, trying hard to stay still while Courtney – the official Dream Girl Stylist – glues the final few lashes onto your eyes.

In the mirror, the reflection of Eliza, the head Dream Girl producer, buzzes across the room looking for problems to solve. Eliza is beautiful in a sleek, professional way, with a blonde high pony and eternally flawless French manicure. She’s also the one who submitted your name to the show-runners as a potential Dream Girl, and you probably should resent her for this, but she reminds you of Marlene and you can’t dislike her. She told you once that she loves your album – not the new one, but your EP, Glass Slipper. She might have been lying to soften you up, you think. If so, it worked.

Eliza’s running a steamer over the already wrinkle-free folds of your dress when somebody knocks on the door. She puts the steamer down and checks her Apple watch. “It’s six fifty-seven, so that has to be your camera guy. I told him seven sharp.”

She opens the door and there’s a confusing instant before you spot the actual camera when you think one of the Suitors has found his way into your suite, because fuck, your cameraman is gorgeous.

He’s tall, with broad shoulders that stretch against the fabric of his snug green t-shirt. It’s probably not a good idea to stare at him, but you’ve been on a strict no-dating regimen since you signed the Mr. Right contract, and a part of you can’t help but take in the strong outline of his chest, the way his worn-out jeans hang low on his hips. His hair is dark, curls slightly overgrown. You notice a hint of gray at his temple and figure he’s a few years older than you, mid-thirties maybe.

You catch his steady gaze in the mirror. A tiny thrill runs through you. Did he notice you checking him out? Your cheeks warm and you might be imagining it but his expression shifts, a slight raise of an eyebrow. Oh, he noticed. Suddenly you’re remembering that all you have on is a satin robe and a no-show thong.

Eliza closes the door. Right. There are other people in the room.

“I want to introduce you to Joel Miller,” Eliza says, “He’s our best videographer, and he’s going to act as your personal cameraman this season.”

You tell him your name, and his tiny smirk widens.

“Reckon I already knew that” he says, and you’re almost too annoyed by his smartass comment to notice that even his voice is sexy, smooth and deep with a hint of drawl.

God, you need to get it together. Twenty of the hottest men in America are about to be vying for your affection. Marlene would kill you if she knew were drooling over someone else.

It turns out Joel is here to shoot a handful of “getting ready” shots for the first episode. Eliza brings in a few PAs and Joel asks them to reposition the vanity three times before he’s satisfied with the lighting. Then Eliza hands you a mascara wand and tells you to look in the mirror and pretend to apply it to your lashes.

“Think about your future husband,” she says, “the man of your dreams is probably driving up in a limo this very moment. Look in the mirror and imagine how it will feel when you find him.”

Really, you’re stuck trying to imagine how anyone could believe these are your natural lashes, and it must be obvious because Joel is frowning into his camera behind you.

“Light still ain’t right,” he mutters. His hand settles on your shoulder as he guides you backward, turning you toward the window, the soft light of the sun just starting to set.

He takes a step back and trains the camera on you again. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Beautiful.”

You know he’s talking about the shot, but your skin heats up at the soft praise.

Eliza leans over Joel’s shoulder and confirms that the shot is “dreamy”, and then she’s whisking everyone out of the suite so Courtney can get you into your opening night dress. It’s a soft pink evening gown, slightly low-cut and fitted down to the waist with an A-line skirt that flows to your ankles. Eliza had final say over tonight’s gown. She wants this one to“reintroduce you to America.” No longer a pop star, but a princess.

This isn’t the first outfit you’ve been told to wear in your career, and hardly the worst of them. It’s nothing compared to the cover of Summerbash, which, as per the Barnett exec’s directive, depicts you clad only in sky-blue soap suds. You never want to be labeled difficult by complaining about little things like styling. You certainly don’t plan on rocking the boat tonight, especially since you don’t exactly have a closet of your own “Dream Girl meets her Suitors” looks. But it feels strange to play dress-up on the biggest stage of your career.

The door cracks open. Eliza calls in to see if you’re decent, and then she’s back with Joel and the PAs. Now that the sun is setting, they want a few shots of you outside in your dress.

Joel positions you in the center of the balcony, arms spread out, facing away from him. It's just the two of you outside. Silence stretches between you, and you’re not sure why but it makes you uncomfortable to stand there under his quiet scrutiny.

“So, are you from the south?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

“Texas.”

No elaboration. Cool. Clearly Joel Miller is not much of a conversationalist, and this shouldn’t annoy you, but it does. You’re the goddamn Dream Girl, aren’t you supposed to be good at talking to men?

You try again. “Are you looking forward to filming this season?”

He gives a noncommittal grunt.

“So, hard yes?”

Joel doesn’t reply, and you figure he’s decided to ignore you completely when he breaks the silence.

“Y’know, the shot’s gonna be just as good if we don’t talk to each other while I take it.”

Fuck, he’s exasperating. You roll your eyes, grateful that the camera can’t see you, and you hear a small huff of laughter from behind you.

“I’m gonna need you to relax,” Joel says, “You look real tense on camera.”

“The back of my head looks tense?”

“Well, that too, but you’ve got a fierce grip on that railing.”

You let go instantly. A hot spike of indignation runs through you. Somehow Joel has had the upper hand since he walked into your suite.

Behind you, Joel lets out a low chuckle. You feel him move close, then he places your arms one by one back on the railing. You’re becoming increasingly convinced this guy is a nightmare, but some horny, treacherous part of your brain notes that his touch is surprisingly gentle on your skin.

“You know,” you say, “some consider it common decency to try and get to know a person you’re about to be glued to for the next six weeks.”

“That so?” He’s teasing you now, a playful current in his voice. “Because I’d say the decent thing is to let a man do his job in peace.”

Asshole. You say as much out loud.

He is tone is entirely unaffected when he responds.

“I ain’t paid to be nice to you, Dream Girl.”

Obviously not.

It’s a bit of a relief, to be honest. Joel may be life-ruining levels of hot with his mouth closed, but you could never be attracted to the patronizing jerk he becomes upon opening it. You tell the part of you that’s been memorizing the slope of his chest to fuck off. It’s time to meet your Suitors.

----

You’re standing on your mark in front of the Mr. Right Villa, fresh out of a final hair-and-makeup check with Courtney. Eliza budgeted four hours for you to meet twenty men, which seems excessive. Then again, you’re already running five minutes behind. Joel wasn’t satisfied with the camera crew’s setup, so the PAs are putting up an additional reflector in the driveway. Eliza is taking advantage of the delay to run through tonight’s events one more time with you.

“You’ll only have a few moments with the Suitors now. They have to say their names for the camera, but don’t worry about remembering. Just focus on the connection you feel.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“After they greet you, they’ll go ahead inside the Villa. Feel free to – ”

“Watch them walk away,” you cut in, “And comment out loud if they’re especially hot. I remember.”

Eliza’s brow furrows. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.”

“Tense.” Joel offers, raising an eyebrow at you. Asshole.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Eliza.

You’re not fine. You’re nervous as shit. You’ve been on camera before, to film music videos, but always dancing or lip-syncing. You’ve never just had to be you, and it’s hitting you now that this whole season rests on your shoulders. You need to be electric. If you’re stiff, or rude, or boring, the fans will hate you.

The panic must show on your face because Eliza sighs. “You’re totally spiraling, aren’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Okay, yes, a little.”

“Talk to me,” she says.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment. You want to tell Eliza that you don’t even know how to connect with people if you can’t impress them with your career, that the only man you’ve ever maybe loved dropped you the second you screwed up, that you’re afraid all the Suitors will just see right through you. But there are already B-roll cameras recording you.

You open your eyes and sigh. “I think it’s just hitting me how surreal it is that I’m America’s Dream Girl.”

Behind Eliza, you notice Joel is done fiddling with his new reflector. He’s trained the camera on you and is staring into its screen, undoubtedly clocking every moment of your freakout. Great. His eyes flit up to meet yours, and his expression shifts slightly as he holds your gaze. You break the eye contact and focus on the producer in front of you.

Eliza smiles softly and squeezes your arm. “Believe it or not, the lead feels like this every season. But you deserve to be here. You’re going to be an incredible Dream Girl.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls something up on it.

“Technically phones are contraband,” she says, winking at you, “but I came prepared for night one jitters.” She passes you the phone and you realize she’s showing you footage Joel filmed earlier tonight. “I want you to see yourself the way America will see you,” she says.

The footage is incredible. Linen curtains part in the wind, letting through a shaft of amber light. The camera follows the light until it falls on an ethereal woman – you – touching up her makeup in a mirror. The mascara application felt stilted in the moment, but under Joel’s lens it comes across artistic. He’s positioned the camera so that it catches the fringes of evening light on your eyelashes. In the glass, your reflection is exquisite, her satin robe shimmering as she moves, shadow pooling beneath her exposed clavicles. Yes, the makeup she’s fixing is already perfect, yes, she’s a touch uncertain, but somehow this makes her seem human, desirable. You watch as her breath hitches, a flush spreading over her skin, and oh. You are the picture of romance.

Next is the balcony shot. The camera walks through the curtains to find you gazing out at the city, your silhouette haloed in gold. There’s a zoom-in of your hands lifting restlessly from the railing, then another full body shot as a sigh settles through your shoulders. The woman on the screen has a perfect view before her, but Joel makes it clear her mind is elsewhere. She’s aching for something more. She’s the perfect Dream Girl, and she’s yearning for love.

The footage ends. Your skin is burning. You can’t bring yourself to glance at Joel, but you look up at Eliza.

“Do you see?” she says, taking back the phone. “You belong here.”

You nod wordlessly. The girl on the screen isn’t here by accident. She already is the fantasy. You take a deep breath. You can do this.

Eliza is still looking at you with concern.

“Thank you,” you say, “for being the best producer a girl could ask for. I think I’m ready to flirt with some very hot men now.”

Eliza grins. “Attagirl. Let’s tell this love story.”

She strides off camera, shooing the remaining crew members out of frame, then radios into her walkie-talkie that you’re ready for the first limo. You shoot a glance at Joel as it pulls in, belatedly wanting to thank him somehow, but he’s fixated on his camera screen, ignoring you. Right then. You turn to face the car.

The limo comes to a stop and a PA opens the door. Your heart races. A tall Asian man steps out onto the driveway. He’s dressed in a deep blue suit, and you notice his hands jitter as he closes the button on his jacket. He meets your eye and gives you a shy smile. You smile back automatically as he walks toward you.

Up close, he’s even taller than you thought, easily a head above you despite your stilettos. He’s also incredibly handsome, with high cheekbones and long, thick eyelashes. He hovers in front of you for a moment. His eyes jump to the cameras behind you, then back to your face.

“This is crazy,” he blurts out. His eyes widen in horror. “I mean, good evening.”

“Good evening,” you say back.

“Thank you,” he says, and you watch him cringe. There’s a pause. In your periphery, you watch Joel pacing a few steps closer to get a shot of you over the contestant’s shoulder. You probably look like an ice queen on camera. How can you salvage this?

You reach out and take the contestant’s hand.

“It’s okay,” you say, “I’m nervous too.”

He sighs shakily and runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he says, “Two seconds into meeting my celebrity crush, and I’ve called you crazy, forgotten how to speak, and now I’m cursing on camera.”

“Technically you didn’t call me crazy,” you reply, “and if I swear too will it make you feel less like a fuck-up?”

He laughs, a bit of the tension washing out of him. “You know, I read once that swearing actually helps us relieve stress. There was a psychological study where they measured people’s heart rates before and after they cursed, and their vitals improved every time.”

“Really?” You tilt your head at him. “Do all bad words work? Would ‘shit’ get me just as calm as ‘fuck’?”

“I don’t know.” He crinkles his brow. “And I can’t look it up, so the only way we can find out is via experiment. I think we’re going to have to test this out on our dates.”

“Oh, so we’re going on dates?”

“I hope so,” he replies. He takes your other hand and looks you in the eye. “If you can’t tell already, I’m really excited to be here. I even planned a whole introduction for us that didn’t involve profanity.”

Over his shoulder, Eliza is giving you the wrap it up signal. You squeeze the Suitor’s hands.

“Well, I can’t fucking wait to hear more about this would-be introduction later.”

“Sounds good,” he says, and he pulls you into a quick embrace before walking past you into the Villa.

You’re beyond grateful to have producers who know you well enough to send such a sweet guy out first. You try to play up an optimistic, love-struck expression. You’re about to comment on how cute he is when you see Eliza’s frustrated expression. All at once, you realize what you forgot.

You turn toward the Villa to call out to the Suitor, but he’s already running back. Joel backs out of the way as the man skids to a stop in front of you.

“Holy shit,” he says, “I completely forgot to tell you my name.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Henry.”

You shake his hand, amused at the formality of the gesture. “It’s very nice to meet you, Henry.”

He beams, then impulsively pulls you in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you inside,” he says, then jogs back toward the Villa as you laugh for the cameras.

Eliza is practically shaking with excitement by the time the door closes behind Henry. She shoots you a thumbs up over Joel’s shoulder. “That was perfect! I told you, you’re a natural!” She looks around at the crew. “We all good for the next guy?”

“Just a minute.” Joel’s gruff voice ends the moment of celebration as he strides over to you. He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you two steps forward. “We need you to stay on your mark,” he says, “Okay? And it’ll help me keep your face in frame if you cheat out at an angle from the men.”

Now that you’ve seen how good Joel is, you shove aside your frustration at his overbearing comments and try to follow his lead. You pivot your body slightly. “Like this?”

“Hang on.” He steers you into position. He’s barely a foot away, so close that you can see stubble dusting his jaw. He smells of woodsmoke and leather.

“There you go,” he mutters. He removes his hand and steps back, snapping into focus as he gives you instructions. “If you’re ever not sure about a shot, look at me, right? If you can see the camera without having to lean around anybody, all good.”

“Got it.”

He pauses for a moment. “You’re not doing terrible,” he says.

Gee thanks.

The limo exits continue. Plenty of the men are nervous, but no one else forgets to say their own name. A few of the contestants have customized their introductions for you. A dark-haired Suitor with a one-word named brings you fan mail from his niece. Solomon, a tattoo-covered guy who can’t be older than twenty-five, unbuttons his shirt to show a glass slipper inked on his ribcage. The most memorable of these Suitors is Lucas, a burly guy a little older than you, who steps from the limo in a recreation of your sky-blue soap suds from the Summerbash cover.

The remaining Suitors use their limo entrances to tell you about themselves. Mike, a soft-spoken paramedic, hands you a stethoscope so you can hear his heart racing. A Suitor named Jasper wants to teach you how to ballroom dance, and usually you’d be thrilled at the chance, but at this point you’ve been standing in the Villa driveway for two hours, and you’re suspicious that the stilettos Courtney chose for you tonight are actually medieval torture devices.

Your feet are killing you. These heels look great with your evening gown, and they felt okay when you tested them out in your suite. But now the straps are digging into you, and you’re pretty sure there are blisters forming on your toes. When Jasper leads you through a figure eight, it takes everything you have not to wince. Dream Girls do not grimace at their Suitors.

You do your best to keep the pain from showing, but you practically sob with relief by the time the last of the Suitors – an ex-hockey player whose name you’ve already forgotten – gives you a hug and heads into the Villa. You’ve made it.

Eliza runs out to congratulate you. “You did great! And you worked fast. We’re fifteen minutes ahead. We’re never ahead night one!”

The contestants still have filming to do without you, so you get to take a break. Hopefully a sitting-down break.

The crew disperses. Joel strides off without a word as soon as Eliza says you’re done. A few PAs start disassembling the outdoor lighting. Everyone else heads inside the Villa. There’s a big bedroom on the second floor that producers have set up as a green room, complete with a coffee maker, mini fridge and old leather couch. You make a beeline for the couch and sink down, barely suppressing a moan of relief. You want nothing more than to take off your heels, but you don’t think you have it in you to put them back on when the time comes.

Eliza perches on the other side of the couch. You feel as though you’ve been to war, but she’s still exuberant as ever. It’s probably because she gets to wear sneakers. She leans off the couch to open the mini fridge, extracting a water bottle and an energy drink, then hands both to you.

“Drink,” she orders, “We’re going to film until dawn at least.”

You drink, and the two of you sit in silence for a few minutes while you recover. Then Eliza checks her watch and sends the remaining crew members in the room to go find Courtney. She gets up herself to run and get "girl talk supplies", pausing on her way out.

“Just think,” she says, “one of these guys is your husband!”

You lay back on the couch once she’s gone. It’s the first real moment alone you’ve had since waking up this morning, and being America’s Dream Girl has tired you out. You close your eyes and try to practice dissociating from your feet so you can get through the upcoming cocktail party.

You hear the doorknob turn and open your eyes, expecting to go through cast photos with Eliza. But Eliza isn’t back yet. Instead, you see Joel slip into the room, something tucked behind his back. His gaze slides over you.

“Hey, Dream Girl.”

His voice is heavy, and you realize he’s nearly as exhausted as you are.

“Hey, Miller,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“I ain’t,” he grumbles. You hear him settle on the other end of the couch. “At least no more than I got to.”

You’re about to point out that he initiated this conversation and very much does not have to be talking right now when he speaks again.

“Open your eyes.”

You obey, and suddenly you realize what he was hiding behind his back. You sit up all at once.

“Joel.”

Shoes.

He brought you shoes. Flip-flops. Yours. He must have gone right to your hotel room after Eliza called for a break. You stare at him in wordless gratitude.

He meets your eyes and for an instant he’s smiling at you, really smiling. A warm band tightens in your chest. His expression stiffens and he drops his gaze. He hands you the shoes and stands up, walking over to the coffee pot.

“Don’t think this is me being nice to you or anything,” he says.

“Definitely not,” you agree, bending down to free your feet. “There is absolutely nothing kind or friendly about this heroic deed of yours.”

Joel scowls. The coffee in the pot is long-cold by now, but he pours himself a cup of dregs anyway and regards you steadily as he puts it in the microwave. “You were fucking up all my footage out there, hobbling around. No one’s gonna believe you’re in love, looking like that.”

“I’m not in love,” you say, glancing up at him, “I’ve known these guys for two minutes.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to press this point to Joel. Maybe because Eliza expects you to be so smitten already.

Joel doesn’t respond to this. He pulls his coffee from the microwave before the timer goes off and drinks it in silence, then turns to rinse the mug. You undo the last few straps of your heels, then ease your feet free with a soft sigh of relief. Warily, you eye your stilettos. Courtney or Eliza will almost certainly make you put them back on before filming.

As if he’s read your mind, Joel returns and bends to pick up the cast-off heels.

“Gotta get rid of the evidence,” he explains, his brown eyes dancing. “If Eliza complains about the change-up, tell her I said we’re done with full-body shots for the evening. Then mention that we’ll get behind schedule if you change your shoes.”

You nod, and he turns to leave the room. This is the second time Joel has helped you tonight. It makes you uneasy, owing him something. You try to think of the right way to thank him.

“It’s beautiful, by the way.”

Your words catch him as he’s reaching the door. He pauses, looks at you questioning.

“Your footage, that is,” you explain. You feel hot under his scrutiny. You think of the clips Eliza showed you, all the cracks in your composure that Joel somehow made beautiful. He can see right through you. The thought sets you on edge, and you speak to fill the quiet.

“I feel like you could take footage of a rock and make it tell a story.”

Joel’s expression is unreadable.

“If the rock’s still an option, I reckon it would be easier to work with,” he finally says, but there’s a tension in his voice. Is this what “pleased” looks like on Joel Miller? He tilts his head in your direction as he opens the door to leave.

“See you outside, Cinderella.”

Not your name, not “Dream Girl”. He probably just intends to poke fun at your missing shoes, but you wonder if he’s referencing Glass Slipper. Does Joel Miller, unapologetic asshole, sexy perfectionist and, apparently, part-time knight in shining armor, listen to your music?

#joel miller x reader #tlou fic #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #what you can't have fic #monored writes #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us au

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joels-shitty-puns · 2 years ago

Note

Could I make a request please?

Either a Joel or Pedro x Reader, where he is head over heels for the reader who is really bubbly and sweet and happy and a mom friend for everyone but who is oblivious to any romantic overtures whatsoever? And where Joel or Pedro catch them crying for the first time ever and they try and hide it and go back to cooking for the friend group or whatever and Joel/Pedro get the reader to open up about what made them cry and essentially it's that someone turned them down on a dating app and it's just further confirmation that the reader will never find love or actually be a mom? Plus-sized reader preferred but definitely not required? And your choice on if it's smutty or not.

I've been reading your plus sized reader x Pedro series and loving it!!! So much emotion and genuine positivity that I couldn't help but ask for more when I felt a bit down about this today.

All my best!

Dear @jenniferpendragon,

Hi!!! I've never had a request before, I didn't know what to do with myself. Thank you. And thank you so much for your kind words about my musician fic! I'm so glad people like it.

I'm sorry you were feeling down today. If by "this" you mean you experienced the dating app situation, I'm so sorry. Love is out there for you. I know how hard it is to wait, feeling like nobody wants you, but I know it'll happen. Hang in there. ❤️

I hope you like this fic! I liked your prompt and my mind ran wild. It's way longer than I thought it would be and also I'm unsure about it, but hopefully it makes you feel a little better.

___________

Cookies 'n Scream

Pairing: No-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Plus-sized!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! MDNI. Poor body image, fat shaming, food guilt, food mentions, unprotected P in V, oral, kissing, fingering, pregnancy mention, baby making sex (?), I think that's all of it but if I missed something let me know.

Other stuff: Reader is AFAB. In case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

This is the first smut I've ever written and published, yikes. Hope it's decent.

__________

"Look what I bought today," you chimed in a sing-song voice while waving the DVD in front of Joel.

"No way. Zombie Slayer 6?!" Joel and Tommy yelled in unison.

"Yep! You know it!" you beamed. "I say tonight we pop this bad boy in. Tomorrow's Halloween, it's perfect."

"YES!" chimed in Sarah and Ellie, Joel's daughter and adopted daughter, roughly the same ages in their early teens.

"Absolutely not! You two are too young for this gore, you'll be up for weeks." Maria pointedly gave an eyebrow to her husband Tommy. "You guys watch the movie, I'll take the kids and we have a girl's night. We can watch Practical Magic and make cookies. Then tomorrow we'll all go trick-or-treating." The girls were pleased with this compromise and began running up to their bedrooms, chatting frantically about their costumes and which houses were allegedly going to have full-size candy bars this year.

"Really? Zombie movies? They're just kids. They aren't old enough to deal with that kind of thing," Maria said to you, judging your lack of parenting skills.

"Sorry…" you said sheepishly.

Truthfully, Halloween was your favorite holiday and always has been. You loved the spooky aspect of it, but you also loved that you could be anyone you wanted, if only for a night. For once you weren't just "the fat girl" or whatever other mean things people thought about you. You could be Wonder-Woman, or Ariel, the Grim Reaper, or a ghost. You could even eat all the sugary snacks you wanted and nobody questioned it, because Halloween was a time to indulge in candy.

If there's one thing you're sad you didn't get to enjoy on Halloween, it was the thought of being with someone you love. You'd always wanted someone to dress up in a couples costume together. Or go to a pumpkin patch for a cute little date and pick pumpkins together. You'd even dreamed about someday having a little pumpkin of your own. Picking out a little baby costume, taking them out door to door while they tried to say "trick or treat" but didn't quite know how to say such big words yet. The thought of them getting spooked by a scary decoration and running back to their daddy's arms. Your handsome brave husband, holding them close and shushing them, rubbing their little back to make it all okay. Finally the three of you would go home, tuck the little one in, sort through the candy and maybe take some for the parent tax. Then you'd flop down on the bed together before sharing a different kind of treat.

Knocking you out of your daydream, the girls ran down the stairs, backpacks on their backs, still loudly chatting about Halloween. You sighed, Maria taking the kids out towards her house.

Tommy clapped his hands together excitedly and grabbed his phone and keys. "I'm picking us up a pizza. You two better not start this damn movie without me," he warned, gesturing with his fingers from his eyes to yours and then across to his brother's before ducking out the door. You laughed and headed towards the kitchen, starting to make a quick batch of cookies before Tommy returned. Joel stood awkwardly trying to help, but mainly was just sneaking bites of dough. "Knock it off Joel! There won't be any cookies left with you around." You elbowed him while he popped another glob into his mouth with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes while he argued with you. "Whatever. My brother doesn't need these cookies anyway. He doesn't deserve your bakin', darlin'." He ate more dough.

You couldn't help but feel your chest flutter with butterflies at his nickname, but you tried to ignore them. "Oh yeah, and what about me?" You pouted up at him. "Don't I deserve any cookies?"

He put his finger on his lip as if deep in thought. "Hmmm… I dunno darlin'. Not sure if I could handle you if you get much sweeter." He winked.

"But I guess you deserve some too.." he plopped a wad of dough into your mouth, running his finger on your lip as he pulled his hand away.

You smiled, cheeks feeling warm, and chewing the soft, sugary dough.

"Oh, Joel. You're too much.." you avoided his eyes, looking down at the mixer and pretending to be busy with the cookies.

Why can't I get a man like Joel? You thought to yourself.

Two years ago, you had moved into your new house and met your neighbors, Tommy and Maria, Maria still very pregnant at the time. The three of you became fast friends and it wasn't long before you met Tommy's brother Joel. You were instantly enamored with him. His curly brown hair, mixed with silvery gray streaks, and those deep, gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Although he could be a grump at times, it was mainly with his brother or his job, and he never showed it towards you. To you he was as sweet as the cookies you were eating.

You instantly developed a little crush on him and it seemed like he was over at his brother's house, or yours, more often than not. The two of you spent time together alone as well, watching movies, talking, doing whatever. Things felt so simple with him, and you knew he would always be there if you needed help with anything. With him, you never felt fat. You never felt ugly. You didn't feel self-conscious. You were just you. He was just him.

As your friendship progressed, your crush developed quickly into love. But you knew deep down there was no way he could ever feel the same. He was too handsome and charming to ever go for a woman like you, so you pushed down your feelings as best as you could, and even tried some dating apps to try and find someone else to fill the empty space in your heart.

What you didn't know was that Joel was absolutely head-over-heels, smitten with you, from the moment he laid eyes on you at his brother's backyard barbecue. Sure he loved his brother, but nobody wants to spend that much time at their sibling's house. He came over constantly, hoping to see you, until eventually you became close enough that he didn't have to make a scene at his brother's house to get your attention. He could just go to yours.

Tommy constantly teased him about it, and Maria couldn't help but notice the way you looked at Joel either. Even the kids could tell. The girls loved you like a mother, though you'd never see it. It seemed that it was obvious to everyone but you and him. Joel would flirt, try to gently touch you, be sweet, but you never picked up on it. Although you never pushed away his attempts, you never seemed to reciprocate either, so Joel just figured you didn't like him that way. But he couldn't help flirting, touching, staring at you. And if you didn't protest, he didn't plan to stop. He couldn't if he tried.

While the two of you talked, the cookies, what was left of them, baked in the oven. Finally Tommy came in, two large pizzas in hand. "Now I better not see that movie playing! I warned you two."

He noticed the black television screen and wandered to the kitchen. "Good. You waited for me- oh man! You made cookies? My favorite," he said with grabby hands towards the first pan, still cooling on the stove.

"Now, don't spoil your dinner. You just brought pizza home, let's eat." You shot a knowing look with Joel after the two of you were practically full already with cookie dough.

"Fine. Whatever, mom." Tommy took a plate from you, sliding a piece of pizza onto his plate and heading towards the couch.

_____

An hour into the movie, you were all full with pizza and dessert, Tommy in the sofa chair on the side, you and Joel settled into the love seat. You leaned towards his right side, his right arm over the back of your seat. A blanket covered the two of you, and his left hand was crossed over his lap on top of the blanket, hoping you would hold it if you got scared. Whenever a jump scare did happen, you didn't grab for him, but at the slightest flinch, he would palm your knee, rubbing his thumb over you to calm you down. Such a nice guy. I'm so lucky to have him as my friend.

Once when Joel did this, Tommy caught the sight out of the corner of his vision. He rolled his eyes and gave a gagging face. Joel gave him a quick angry brother stare that made Tommy turn back toward the film.

At some point, you felt your pocket buzz. Peering under the blanket at your screen, you saw the little heart notification, letting you know it was one of the dating apps you downloaded. Heart beating faster, you excused yourself saying you wanted to get a drink. Upon entering the kitchen, you quickly opened the notification with shaky hands. You had sent out at least a half dozen matches to people, all turned down the second they saw your profile. The most recent had sent a message as well. "Seriously? Ur gross. Good luck finding anyone to date you lmao." Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down at your body and pinched the fat of your stomach. You had four apps and had sent countless requests, matches, and swipes. Even guys who were big themselves had turned you down. You looked in the kitchen at the pile of cookies, the mostly empty pizza boxes, the bowl of Halloween candy. If the boys weren't here, you'd toss it all in the trash. You suddenly felt self-conscious. Your clothes were tight, your body was heavy and flabby, and you almost felt nauseous. The first sting of tears welled at your eyes, and you dashed off to your bedroom, hoping to quell these emotions before anyone would notice. You weren't ready to go back to the living room.

After a couple minutes, Joel had paused the TV to wait for your return. "She probably had to pee or something. Said she was gettin' a drink." Tommy nodded and the two of them talked. After about ten minutes had passed, Joel began to worry. Even Tommy began to wonder and finally said "where'd your girlfriend end up? It's been a while."

Joel shook his head at Tommy's name for you, but got up off the couch. "I'll go see what's up." He walked into the kitchen and didn't see you, so he kept walking through the house before finally starting upstairs. "Darlin'? You okay?" He still didn't see you, but upon approaching your bedroom door, he heard a soft sniffle.

He gently tapped on the door with his index finger's knuckle. "Sweetheart?" Your sniffling stopped and you quickly wiped your eyes, trying to hide your tears as he slowly opened the door.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys wait, I was just changing into some comfier clothes." He noticed you had switched from your favorite dress to some sweats and a baggy hoodie. You still looked beautiful to him, though he was a bit confused at the change. "I'll be right down, why don't you go start the movie again." He crossed the room to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to start the movie. What's wrong, darlin'?"

You pouted, trying to choke back more tears, but his gentle brown eyes made it hard to keep your emotions inside. Joel cupped your cheek, running his thumb gently under your eyes and catching a tear that made it past your walls. You'd never cried in front of Joel before. You made it a goal of yours to try and hide any sad emotions from people, especially him.

"I don't want to ruin the night, Joel. It's nothing. Let's just go back downstairs. I'll be right behind you."

Joel stood up and nodded his head, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him.

You didn't think he'd actually leave. But it shouldn't surprise you. Who wouldn't leave you?

An aggressive sob ripped through your chest.

_____

Joel walked downstairs, joining his brother.

"You find her?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah I did. Look, she's not feeling too good right now. I think it's best we call it a night."

"Ah, man. She sick or somethin'?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah somethin' like that. I'll stay and take care of her. Can you maybe keep the kids tonight?" Joel answered, ushering Tommy out the door. Tommy gave him a look, but nodded and walked out the door towards his own house.

Joel closed the door behind him and walked back upstairs, stopping to grab a glass of water for you on the way. He knocked gently again before entering your bedroom, and you turned around, surprised to see him. "Joel? I thought you were watching the movie?"

"Nah, darlin' I could never leave you when you're upset. I sent Tommy home and he's gonna watch the girls tonight. Here, I brought you some water." He sat the water on the nightstand. "Now, you wanna tell me why you're cryin'?" He sat next to you, rubbing your back gently.

You took a sip of the water, set it back down on the nightstand, and sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap which held your cell phone.

"Well, I uh…" you cleared your throat gently. "I recently joined some dating apps..."

Joel's heart took a slight stab, but he pushed it down. You're the one needing comfort, not him.

"I guess, I dunno… I know it's kinda silly, but I've been feeling kinda lonely and y'know... I'm getting older. I'm running out of time to have babies. But, I really just want someone to call mine. Someone to laugh with and go on dates with and…" you tapered off, not wanting to admit your desire for cuddles, kisses, and love-making.

"Oh, sweet girl," he held you in his arms. "That's nothing to feel shy or silly about. It's natural to want those things. But why are you cryin'? Did somethin' happen?"

"I just… I haven't gotten any matches. Everyone I've sent anything to has denied me, and-" you sniffled and Joel pulled you tighter. "Shh, shh, sweet girl, it's okay. Those people on those apps, they don't know what they're missin' out on. They don't see how beautiful and sweet y'are. They wouldn't know how to treat you right anyway. If they can't see how wonderful you are, they don't deserve to be with ya anyway."

"Thank you Joel…" you muttered. "But… it's not just that. I got a message when we were watching the movie and I went into the kitchen to read it, and-" you handed him your phone with a sniffle. Joel pulled away from you, holding the phone back a bit to read it with his bad vision. As he read it, his jaw and fists clenched. It may have been the first time Joel saw you cry, but it was also the first time Joel got angry when it was just the two of you.

"If I knew where this asshole little boy lived, I'd go over there right now and kick his ass for saying something like that to you" he seethed. "I can't believe anyone would say something like that to you."

You picked at a hangnail on your finger, still staring at your lap. Finally Joel took a breath and looked at you again. "Darlin'. You don't - you don't believe that guy do you?" He asked while rubbing your back again.

"Maybe…" you felt tears run down your cheeks. "I mean, he's right, isn't he? I'm not attractive or skinny. Nobody wants me, not even any of these guys on this app. Even the guys who aren't skinny don't want me either."

"Sweetheart. That's just not true. Look at me-" he lifted your chin with his left hand, right arm still holding you close. You hesitantly met his gaze, your wet eyes looking into his gentle browns. "Those men, if you even wanna call them that, they wouldn't know what beautiful was if it slapped them across the face. You're the most beautiful, sweet, funny woman I've ever met. Any man would be lucky to have you." He took a deep breath before admitting, "I'd be lucky to have you."

"What-?" You interrupted him.

"Darlin'... I never want to push your boundaries, but you don't see how often I flirt with you, tease you, and touch you? You don't see how smitten I am with you?" You frowned, brows furrowing as you picked through your memory. "I thought you were just a nice guy. Just a friend. I didn't… I didn't think you could ever like me as more than a friend, so I just ignored the butterflies I got around you."

You searched his eyes, waiting for a joke, or your alarm to go off and wake you up from this dream.

"Sweetheart, I've been in love with you since just about the time I saw you walk across my brother's lawn towards me. I just figured y'wasn't interested in me that way."

"Joel," you laughed. "I've felt the same way."

He smiled, once again tilting your chin, yet this time pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, but held so much love and meaning, that the two of you couldn't help but smile in the middle of it. He pulled away, "and by the way, y'aren't old either. If anyone's old here, it's me. But if you want babies, I'll give you all the babies you want. But you already got two girls who love you. Sometimes I think they even love y'more than me," he laughed.

You smiled at him and nodded "I do love those girls like they're my own. But I would still like a little baby someday too."

He kissed you again, more passionately this time, licking your lip until you opened up and let your tongues dance together. He pulled away, running his nose across your jaw before stopping at your ear. "Only one way to give you that, darlin'." He gently bit your earlobe before kissing down your neck.

You sighed. "Joel… please."

"Please, what darlin'?" He purred, kissing your clavicle through your baggy shirt.

"Please, make love to me" you answered breathlessly, tipping your head back so he could better access your neck.

"Take these baggy clothes off then, baby. Lemme see you," he gave you one last kiss on the lips before the two of you began undressing, stopping every few seconds to share grabby kisses. Once undressed, he pulled you into him and kissed you deeply, your hands on his chest. With a swift move, he tumbled the two of you sideways so that you were now on the bed, him on his back and you straddling his hips. You leaned down, kissing his lips, while the slight movement against his waist caused you both to moan at the feeling. "Baby I've wanted this for so long. Let me take care of you," Joel whispered, thumb stroking your cheek. He flipped the two of you over, slithering down towards your waist, where you spread your legs for him. He groaned, looking at how evident it was you wanted him, pumping his already hard cock a few times. Flattening himself on his stomach, he gently touched your thighs and began to kiss your legs. "Y'sure you still want this, baby?"

"Yes Joel, please" you answered, tense with anticipation. Without a beat, he tipped his head down, licking a stripe up your slit. You let out a sigh, hips bucking toward his face. "I know baby, I know." His low timbre vibrated through your core. He gave a quick peck to your clit before swirling his tongue around it and heading downwards, licking between your folds while his nose continued to put pressure on your clit.

His fingers slid through, touching your entrance in a questioning way. "Yes, Joel, please" you cried, wiggling closer, your hands tugging at his hair.

With your pleas, he inserted his finger, curling upwards before adding a second and finally hitting that spot inside you that made your breathing catch in your chest. He stroked, while still licking gently, occasionally sucking on your clit. Before long you were gripping the sheets with one hand, his hair in your other, as you finally tumbled into your orgasm. "So beautiful, baby" he coaxed, licking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Think you're ready for me?" He looked up at you over your plush tummy. "Yes, Joel, please I'm so ready."

He stalked over your body, kissing his way up. He kissed your vulva, "I love this," he purred. He kissed your stomach, running his hands across your sides. "I love this," he licked. "I love these," he massaged your breasts, kissing each nipple. "I love you" he finally looked you in the eyes, kissing you on the lips deeply.

"I love you too." You kissed him back, running your hands through his messy hair, down his broad shoulders and back. His hand snaked around, grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes through your folds until he was wet enough. Finally he pushed against your entrance, slowly entering you, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Your fingers clawed at his back as he finally pushed all the way in, the two of you sighing in relief.

Your body adjusted, and with a kiss to his nose, you prompted him to move. "Okay Joel, I'm ready."

Slowly, he began to thrust, pulling slowly out and gently pushing back in, eventually picking up to a pleasurable pace. He kissed you like his lips couldn't be away for longer than a few seconds, and it didn't take much before you were barreling towards your second release of the evening. "I'm almost there, Joel" you kissed, grabbing him around his back. "Me too, baby. Come for me." His thrusts were getting sloppy, but you could tell he was holding himself back for you. His fingers drifted over your clit, giving a few circular strokes and causing you to shudder around him, your eyes slamming shut with a moan. He followed right behind you, a couple messy strokes before pumping into you, filling you up and working you both through it. As the two of you came down from your high, he kissed you passionately, holding you like you were the only thing in the world.

The two of you lay on your sides, you snuggled into his chest, his chin resting on your head before eventually he became soft and slipped out of you. You both sighed at the loss, but held each other until you rolled out to use the restroom and clean up. When you returned from the bathroom, you asked if he wanted to stay and he said yes.

You lent him an extra toothbrush and the two of you stood side by side, brushing your teeth and stealing glances at each other in the mirror with matching lovesick smiles. Things felt domestic and comfortable as the two of you walked back to bed, sharing soft kisses snuggled to each other. Having completely forgotten why you were upset earlier, you fell asleep curled into his arms, full of love and hope for the future with a man you loved.

_____

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. You strolled down the stairs and saw Joel, wearing just his boxers and tee shirt, grabbing a slice of toast from the toaster.

At the sound of your steps, he turned and smiled softly. "Morning, baby."

"Good morning, handsome," you replied, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I could get used to that," Joel replied, squeezing your ass and pulling his face away to look in your eyes.

"Joel! You devil," you giggled, gently smacking his arm. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby" he nibbled your jaw.

After the two of you ate breakfast, you shared a shower, and he threw on a pair of extra clothes he keeps in his car. It would be hard to keep his visit a secret from his brother with his car still in your driveway, but as far as Tommy was concerned, you were sick and Joel was taking care of you.

The two of you made the walk over to Tommy's house to get the girls and participate in Halloween activities for the day. Walking in the door, Tommy pulled you into a hug. "Hey, we were worried about you! Are you feeling better? Were you sick?"

You looked up at Joel, sharing a knowing look. "I was just a little upset about something, but I'm feeling much better now," you smiled.

Tommy gasped. "FINALLY!!!!" He threw his hands in the air while Maria grinned.

"Cough it up Tommy!" Sarah held out her hand to her uncle. "You know I had October." He handed her a five dollar bill.

"You bet money on us?" Joel asked in disbelief, rubbing your back.

"Obviously. You guys have both been pining since you first met," Ellie answered, rolling her eyes. "It was too entertaining for us to interfere though," Sarah added with a smirk.

You stared down at your shoes, feeling embarrassed, but Joel grabbed your hand. You smiled up at him and it felt like everything was aligned. "Yep, we finally took the step. And now I get to do this whenever I want," Joel pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss.

"UGH. GROSS, DAD." Ellie and Sarah groaned, walking out of the room.

You both laughed, sharing a smile and heading towards the group to get ready for Halloween with your family.

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valeisaslut · 2 months ago

Note

is joel married? 😖

who is ellie's mother? what happend to her? was ellie even planned?!!! 😭😭😭😭

Is her official name ellie miller? is ellie williams just a pseudonym?!!

WOW LIDDY I LOVED THIS QUESTION!!!! i've been waiting to REALLY unravel ellies past and i was wondering when were yall gonna ask ab it lmao

COLLIDE ROCKSTAR!ELLIE'S BACKSTORY: DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY EDITION!

so!!! ellie was the product of one of joel’s wild rockstar one night stands. very much not planned. her mom dipped super early on—like, didn’t even try to stick around—and basically left her with joel, who, despite being a complete mess of a man, actually did raise her. but ellie always knew she wasn’t exactly “wanted” by either of them. not in the traditional, soft-family-photo-on-the-fridge kind of way. she never knew her mother, never wanted to. didn’t feel like she was missing anything and just didn’t care.

but the pain of her mom’s abandonment still lingers, quiet and buried deep in her mind, like a bruise she never touched but never actually healed.

joel and ellie had a really good relationship when she was younger. as good as it could’ve been. he wasn’t perfect—not super affectionate or emotionally open—but he showed up. he did his best. he taught her to play guitar, made pancakes every sunday morning, and called her “kiddo” like it meant something deeper than just a nickname. and she loved him for that. still does.

ellie grew up inside a damn rock music museum. joel’s mansion was less “home” and more shrine to his own legacy—walls lined with platinum records, grammys catching sunlight, mtv moonmen posted up like they were part of the family. every room had a poster of him at some legendary venue: madison square garden, glastonbury, the o2.

his name in lights. the biggest of the biggest musicians scribbled messages on his guitars, which he had over fifty of—lined up like they were sacred artifacts.

and yeah, he was a legend. ellie would sit on the stairs at night, listening to him blast his old albums on the surround system like he forgot she lived there too. sometimes she hated it. sometimes she’d mouth the lyrics and pretend she wasn’t proud. but mostly? it just made her feel like she’d never measure up. like no matter how loud she got, she’d always be chasing a ghost with a grammy in each hand.

joel never really understood ellie’s world. or her pain. and as she got older, things shifted. she started the fireflies. she got famous. she felt the weight of being “joel miller’s daughter” and her own person.

people had opinions about her—too loud, too angry, too queer, too much. and that pressure? that scrutiny? it ate at her. she started numbing herself very early on—drinking, using, pushing people away. joel tried to talk to her, tried to help, but it always came out sounding like disappointment. like judgment. and she couldn’t take that. so she pushed back. harder. until eventually they stopped talking. not because they didn’t care—because it hurt too much to try and fix it.

there was no final fight. no door slam. just a slow fade. calls unanswered. messages left on read. it’s one of those heartbreaks that doesn’t look like a heartbreak unless you know what to look for.

and still—she loves him. god, she does. but she carries so much shame now. so much guilt. and joel? he’s scared. scared of what she’s become, scared of saying the wrong thing, scared that maybe he already did. figures to the prologue, chapter two, four and specially five.

and the last name thing? yeah. “williams” just sounded good. she liked how it looked on a poster. people always assumed it was her mother’s last name or something deep but it really wasn’t. she just didn’t want to walk into every room and be immediately tied to joel. didn’t want to hear the whispers of “oh, that’s joel miller's kid.” didn’t want to live in his shadow, even if she still carries all of his fire, his temper, his sadness, in her blood.

it’s messy. it’s layered. but there’s still love under all that wreckage. even if they don’t know how to say it right now. even if the silence is louder than anything they ever screamed at each other.

and for everyone asking, yes. joel will make an appearance on chapter 8.

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capnjackk · 9 days ago

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Lost in the Darkness | Masterlist

rockstar!joel au

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Joel Miller was a rockstar with the world at his feet, but after meeting Rosemary, an up-and-coming musician at a festival, the ground beneath him started falling away. Her delicate air and gentle humour had charmed him, sure. But something told him there was more to her story.

𓇢𓇡𓇢𓆸

warnings: meet-cute, fluff, mega slow burn (I’m talking >5 chapters of tension), idiots in love, hurt/comfort, angst, crying, panic attacks, gossip, drinking, little baby sarah, singledad!joel, girl-dad!joel, Joel is 31, Rosemary is 26, Sarah is 5, Ellie is 19 (she's like a daughter to him), Rosemary has secrets, Joel is kind about it, more tags will be added as we go.

a/n: Hi! I love a good au, and this idea has been on my mind for so very long, I really hope you guys dig it! Kisses to smut writers but I haven’t written smut for this, and probably do not intend to. If that’s not your jam please don’t hate. I’m pretending any songs I use in this fic are written by these characters unless stated otherwise. I will update as regularly as I can.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chapter One

Chapter Two

#joel miller #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #rockstar!joel miller #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrohub #perdro pascal fanfiction #joel miller au #the last of us fic #joel miller x original character

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cowgurrrl · 1 year ago

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Tall Boy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: I didn't go into writing this thinking I would write a little bit of spice so please be nice (poetry fr)

Summary: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

Warnings: consumption of alcohol, drunken shenanigans, Joel and Tommy being the only Texan men I would trust with my drinks, so much goddamn yearning, oh what's happening with Andie and Tommy??, Joel the Menace makes his return, smutty thoughts and actions (I've made them wait nine chapters they deserve to be a little horny. as a Treat.), getting caught, preparing you for Sleeping on the Blacktop

You don't get to cut loose very often as a teacher. You're almost always worried about lesson plans, grading, assignments, supplies, money (or lack thereof), politics, student's mental health, and a million other things that plague your mind when you try to sleep. Sure, you have a drink or two sometimes, but never anything close to like when you were in college and would end up back at your apartment at four in the morning just to get up three hours later for a lecture at eight. You weren't always going to be a high school teacher, and your past reflects that. And Andie has waited a long time to get a little bit of that spirit out of you again.

New Year's Eve starts easy enough with a nice dinner in downtown Austin with a glass of wine or two with the food. You and Andie got all dolled up in short, curve-hugging dresses and makeup and decided you would take yourselves out if nobody else was going to. "But we're not gonna get arrested like we did in high school, right?" You asked over dinner, but she just shrugged with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"We'll see where the night takes us."

You bounced from bar to bar, sipping drinks and half-flirting with whoever approached, hoping for a free drink. Lucky for you, nobody is immune to Andie's charm. You lose track of how much you've had to drink once the room starts spinning pleasantly, and you can barely hear yourself over the loud music. You dance with beautiful strangers, sing along to the music, and even steal a cigarette from a willing accomplice outside. It feels good to act like your own age and not everybody's mom.

By the time midnight rolls around for the Central Time Zone, you and Andie are drunk, leaning on each other and butchering the lyrics to Aud Lang Syne. "We should call an Uber!" Andie yells in your ear, and you nod. You stumble outside and squint at your phone, giggling at your fleeting thought.

"I've got a better idea than Uber."

You and Andie are sitting on the curb outside a gas station right off of Sixth Street, sharing a tall boy and following instructions to "stay put," when his truck pulls up next to you. Joel looks sleepy but not mad, while Tommy looks like he just walked up on a small miracle.

"I thought teachers weren't supposed to be fun!" He laughs as you hand Andie the beer and somehow get yourself to your feet.

"You, obviously, didn't have the right teachers."

"I reckon so." He says as you dig your keys out of your purse to hand to Joel. He nods gratefully as Tommy helps Andie off the curb. They start talking about something, but you can't hear them over the way Joel's looking at you. Like he did at the gallery, his eyes linger on every piece of exposed skin he hadn't seen before. Something akin to worry clouds his vision, but you catch him looking at your legs and smack his chest.

"Eyes up here, Mr. Miller," you call him out. "See somethin' you like?" You ask, and he chuckles at how southern you sound when you drink.

"You look very nice." He says, and you smile. For some reason, you step into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He's so warm, and you're tired and just drunk enough not to care about the rules. You feel him freeze for a moment before his hand comes up to your waist to help keep you upright. "Let's get you home, hm?"

Andie refuses to leave Tommy's side now that they've gotten into an argument about the best musician of all time, and she decides to ride in your car with him while you climb into the truck with Joel. The second you're alone in the car with him, you just start laughing to yourself. Joel laughs a little, too, as he turns the ignition over.

"What's so funny?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"Just you." You say, giggling a little more.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"What about me?"

"A few weeks ago, I thought I'd fucked you over, and now you're picking me up 'cause I got too drunk on New Year's Eve," it's not funny, but you laugh anyway. "You're a much better person than I am." You say. It's quiet in the truck as your words settle like dust on the dashboard. The only sound is the engine running and the distant sounds of fireworks popping in nearby neighborhoods. He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on your headrest to reach around in the backseat, producing his large jacket and pulling it over your body to protect you from the cold.

"I think you're a good person. Definitely a world better than me," he says as he puts the car in drive. "And, for what it's worth, you didn't fuck me over."

"No?" You ask, and he shakes his head, glancing at you as he pulls onto the road.

"No." He says, and you hum. You pull his jacket closer to you and cling to the smell of pinewood, leather, and hints of his cologne. If they sold this smell in a candle, you would go into debt just to have it linger in every room. The thought presses on a bruise you forgot was there, and in your inebriated, vulnerable state, you can't stop yourself from staring at his profile as yellow streetlights and bursts of fireworks reflect across his face.

You study him the way you've been dying to for months. Your eyes study how his eyebrows move with minute emotions and muscles. The way his big nose curves perfectly. The way his jaw clenches and unclenches when he's nervous or unsure what to say. You wish you had a piece of paper and a pencil to sketch his side profile as it comes into view between headlights. You don't believe in muses, but you believe in inspiration. Especially when you look at him.

"Thank you for comin' to get us. I know you'd rather be sleeping." You break the silence, and he nods.

"I'd rather know you're safe than anythin' else," he says. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," you groan, absentmindedly rubbing at your face and no doubt smearing makeup. "People kept buying us drinks, and I'm so fucking broke, I'm not gonna say no to a free drink."

"People? What people?" He asks, his interest suddenly piqued. You shrug and put your feet up on the dash. He glances at them but doesn't shove them off.

"I don't know. People. Men people." You say.

"Different men or the same guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," he says a little too quickly. "No, it doesn't matter. As long as you had fun." There's something off about his tone, but you can't place it. At least, not until he puts the final nail in his own coffin. "D'any of 'em try to get your number?"

"Oh, my God!" You squeal excitedly as you sit up and put your feet back down. "Are you jealous?"

"No! Why would I be jealous? We're friends."

"Yeah," you scoff. "'Friends.'" You say with intense finger quotes, and he furrows his brows as he looks at you.

"Are we not friends?"

"Joel, c'mon. I liked you from the second you walked into my classroom. We were never gonna be just friends." The confession comes loose before you can swallow it back down. It wiggles between you like a fish out of water, and you want to take it back. Not because it's not true but because you weren't ready to tell him. Things just got back to normal after the winter showcase. You're not ready to lose him again.

"You're drunk," he says softly as if he's reminding himself more than anything. Maybe he thinks because you've been drinking, you don't mean it, but you do. You really, really do. It's too late to take it back, but you can try to bring levity back. You can try to backpedal a little.

"You're drunk." You counter. He drives in silence for a few more miles, and the rumble of the car and the tequila weighing your mind down lull you to sleep— narrowly avoiding another hard conversation and worst-case scenarios.

You wake up on the first day of the new year hungover, sore, and in a bedroom you don't recognize. Bright sunshine bursts into the room and forces your eyes open in a squint. You almost jump up when you're greeted with a bottle of water and Tylenol on a nightstand that's not the white one on the right side of your bed. You sit up a little and look around at the cozy, if not a little cluttered, room.

The walls and the soft sheets are a nice, comforting blue. A few posters and pictures hang on the walls, and even a landscape painting hangs above the bed. Still, there's a little laundry strewn on the floor, and you recognize the closet full of flannel and button-up shirts next to you. You guess that's where your oversized, burnt orange Texas Longhorns shirt and black sweatpants came from. Snippets from the car ride and stumbling into the house fill your mind, and you groan in embarrassment.

You remember Tommy calling Joel and telling him Andie got sick on the way to your apartment, and he didn't want to drop you off alone where something could go wrong. They offered to take you to their house, and in your drunk and stupid state, you said yes. You remember gentle hands holding your face as a cold, wet makeup wipe swiped across your skin, and thank God for that. Otherwise, you would feel worse than you already do. You remember hearing Andie and Tommy's voices outside the bedroom door, but you don't remember how you got into the room or the shirt. A light knock on the door pulls you out of your memories, and Joel walks in with a cup of coffee and a sympathetic smile.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he says, the right amount of mocking. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." You say, and he laughs as he hands you the mug and sits on the bed.

"I figured. I've got breakfast goin' downstairs. You need all the food you can get to soak up the alcohol." He says as you take a sip of the bitter coffee. You sigh into the cup at the (somehow) magical effects it has on your body, and he smiles. "That good, huh?"

"Yes, thank you," you say. "Thanks for everything. I know it probably wasn't fun trying to wrangle us last night."

"You weren't lyin' when you said how much trouble you and Andie got into together." He says. You think you could crawl into a hole and die at the embarrassing gaps in your memory.

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"Well, first of all, she wouldn't stop talkin' to you bout Tommy even though he was right there, but it was all good things. Then, you almost fell asleep on the couch after demanding’ Whataburger, and I had to carry you up the stairs. And then, Andie locked us in here and told us to figure our shit out."

"I'm gonna fucking kill her."

"I'm pretty sure she almost fell asleep in the hallway waitin' us out. Tommy parked her in Sarah's room and slept on the floor in case she needed somethin'." He says. You knew the Miller men were kind and selfless, but this is a whole new level. You owe them a fruit basket or your kidney or something. You rub your temples and take another sip of coffee before taking two Tylenol.

"And where did you sleep?"

"You don't remember?" He asks, chuckling. At least he's not mad. If he was, you think you'd climb out the window and walk all the way home. "I tried to sleep on the floor, but every time I tried to lay down, you laid down next to me. You wouldn't even close your eyes unless I was next to you, so I built a little pillow wall and slept in bed."

"Are you serious?" You ask, and he nods. You can vaguely recall getting into a hushed argument with him about kicking him out of his own bed and falling asleep against his chest, vindicated and content. You groan and bury your head in your hands. "Please tell me Ellie isn't here."

"She spent the night at Dina's house, none the wiser." He says. You almost say something about Ellie spending a lot of time with Dina recently, but keep your mouth shut. If something's going on, you doubt she wants her teacher to snitch on her to her dad.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Joel."

"Don't be sorry. It was funny. I didn't know teachers partied so hard," he says, and you laugh a little. "Besides, it made me feel better knowin' you two were safe." You look up as he speaks and take a deep breath at how sweet he is. He smiles, and you scoot close enough to him to cuddle into his side. He welcomes you by tucking you under his arm and resting his head on yours.

Your head is pounding, and your stomach is in knots, but the coffee and his presence help ground you. His hair is a little damp and smells like Ellie's shampoo. The thought of them sharing products makes you smile, and you rest a hand on his chest. Worn in, soft fabric cushioning your fingers as they rest over his heart.

"Can we add this to our list of inappropriate secrets?" You ask quietly, and a puff of air leaves his nose in a laugh. He lifts his head from yours and looks down at you fondly. He doesn't look particularly well-rested, and you're sure that's your fault, but you also can't get over how beautiful he looks in the morning. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his beard is a little unruly, and his shirt is crumpled, but the light streaming in makes his brown irises look amber and the grey in his hair silver. He's beautiful like this. He's beautiful all the time.

"Course," he mumbles as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek, and your hand slides from his chest to his shoulder to keep him close. "D'you get a New Year's kiss, at least?" He asks. You purse your lips as you stretch your memory back.

"'M pretty sure I kissed Andie."

"Nice." He says, too impressed, and you push at his shoulder.

"What about you? You get a New Year's kiss?" You're walking the wrong side of the line, and you both know it. He smirks anyway.

"I was a little busy takin' care of these two drunks."

"One time," you say. "I go out one time, and suddenly I'm a drunk."

"That's all it takes." He shrugs, and you laugh.

"Apparently," you say. "Well, I'm sorry again. Didn't mean to ruin your chances of getting kissed."

"Nah, you didn't."

"No?"

"No," he shakes his head as he leans in and kisses you, tilting your face up to him so he can control the angle. Two months. It's been two months since you last kissed Joel, and you can feel all sixty days of want in the searing kiss. He's not shy like he might've been in the past— waiting for you to make this first move— he's commanding and steals your breath out of your lungs when his tongue slides against yours. It's different, and so, so good. You wind your hand into his hair and lightly tug when his hands roam down your body and grab at your hips. You take the signal and throw a leg over his hips to straddle him, gasping when he presses into the small of your back and pushes you against him.

Now, you're awake. Fuck the coffee.

You're dizzy when his mouth dips from your lips to your jaw, biting the sensitive skin there, and his hands wander below the fabric of your (his) shirt. His fingers are soft when they graze against your sides, skimming up your body until he squeezes your breasts. Both of you groan as you arch into his touch. He's barely touched you, and you're already soaked.

"Missed you." He whispers as his lips blaze a trail down your neck while his fingers lightly pinch your nipples. You grind your hips into his, desperately searching for friction, and he hisses like you hurt him. His hips canting up reassures you you didn't. "You gonna disappear on me again, sweetheart?" It doesn't come across as mean, but there's a new authority in his voice that you're not used to hearing. The dam isn't just broken. It's in fucking shambles at the bottom of the river.

"'M not going anywhere." You breathe. "I promise." You think you mean it. You think you want to mean it. You think you're done caring about optics and what's "right." You want him, and based on the way the bulge in his sweatpants prods under you, he wants you too. He pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again, wraps an arm around your back, and lays you on your back on the mattress.

You tug at the back of his shirt and greedily let your hands roam over his chest and back when he throws it across the room. He's all broad shoulders and strong arms, and you can finally feel the muscles and warm skin you've thought about since way before that night in the bar. When his fingers trace patterns into your inner thighs, you moan into him and grip his forearm hard. "Joel, I need-"

"What? What d'you need, baby? Tell me." He asks, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you want him. It'd be so easy for him to slip his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants and feel how desperate you are, but he hesitates. "C'mon, use your words."

"Fuck, I-" You start to say when the door creaks open.

"Joel, do you want— woah!" Tommy yells before you hear the door slam shut again and his feet rushing down the hallway, no doubt to tell Andie about what he just saw. Joel groans and buries his face in your neck, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."

"I'll help you hide the body."

"Finally!" Andie yells from downstairs, and this time, you do laugh.

"They're never gonna let us hear the end of this, are they?" You ask.

"Probably not," he says. He's unmoving over you, and you sigh as you kiss his cheek. He lets his body weight drop into you, and you play with his hair while he rests his head on your chest. His hands rest under your body and press you closer to him, smothering you together. His broad shoulders expand and contract with every breath, and you count them as you scratch his scalp. "I have to go get Ellie soon." He mumbles into your chest.

"Then, we should probably go." You say. He groans and kisses your sternum before pushing onto his forearms. He kisses up your chest to your neck, forcing a shaky breath from you when he nibbles at your earlobe.

"I want you in my bed all the time," he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. "Wearin' my clothes, makin' all those pretty sounds, not havin' to worry bout Tommy or anybody." His chest rumbles against yours as he speaks; all you can do is squirm under him. His fingers picking up their previous patterns don't help either. "Wanna feel you come over and over again. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my cock. Wanna make you feel so good." His middle finger rubs against your clothed pussy, and your nails dig into his shoulder as you try to suppress a surprised sound. You're so wet, you'd be surprised if he couldn't feel the damp spot on your underwear. "You gonna let me make you feel good, baby? Huh?" He bumps your nose with his, subtly asking for attention when all you can focus on are the lazy circles he's drawing over you.

"Please." You whimper, but you're not sure what you're begging for.

"I know, I know," he murmurs. You know you can't get away with anything with Tommy and Andie waiting for you downstairs but you want him to make good on his promise. You want him. You have for so long it's burning you from the inside out. And yet, he pulls away from you with a smirk. "I'm gonna take all the time in the world with you next time." He says as he rolls off of you, and you're left lying there, shocked and flushed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, sitting up, and he just shrugs as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"I've gotta go get Ellie."

"Don't pull the Dad Card right now." You sound a little petulant, but honestly, you don't care. He worked you up to just walk away? This is cruel and unusual punishment. He presses his knee into the mattress and leans over you again, kissing you chastely.

"You'll have to get me back later." He says, and you sigh, shaking your head at the amused look in his eyes.

"I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

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peachglazewrites · 3 months ago

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as a little teaser for fwb part 2, I'm gonna drop what everyone is doing in this modern au!! I just ironed out all the details and think I'm pretty happy with it :)

Reader: Manager of a cafe called Brew & Bloom! It's a privately owned shop, and she's on track for continual promotions within the business :) Abby: Medical School dropout. Works at a private boxing studio in the city as a personal trainer, and also does the occasional fight on the side when she's feeling up to it. Ellie: Small indie musician, mainly playing gigs at local events and putting music up online. She has financial support from Joel (living at home for free, meals and utilities paid for), but works for Miller Construction wherever they need a hand for her main income source. Dina: Social Worker! She works for a non-profit that primarily focuses on LGBTQ+ children/teens. She has a couple of clients that she works with one-on-one, but also works with small groups. Jesse: Works on his mom and dad's ranch an hour and a bit outside of the city. Mainly works with the horses, but helps out where they need it. Mel & Nora: Both doing their residencies! They were both working towards becoming Surgeons, but Mel switched to Pediatrics. Owen: Went straight into a Mechanic Apprenticeship right out of high school, and is now a Marine Technician! Though he's been thinking more and more about pursuing his art... Manny: His day job is Security, working for the local stadium on game days and during concerts, but the real money comes from his freelance photography. Wedding season brings in enough cash that he probably doesn't even need his security gig anymore, but he likes the stability of it.

#tlou modern!au #tlou headcanons #the last of us headcanons #the last of us modern au #abby anderson x reader #peachpit #abby anderson #ellie williams

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justagalwhowrites · 2 years ago

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Yearling - Ch. 9: Hold

You and Joel go on your first patrol alone. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-8 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only

Length: 6.8k

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Hey Bambi!” Tommy jogged up Joel’s front steps and leaned against a post, examining you. You were tucked into a corner of the porch, your back against the front of Joel’s house, guitar on your lap. You stopped playing, looking up at him as he smirked a little at you. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here. Didn’t know you played!”

“Oh Miller,” you sighed. “I imagine the things you don’t know would fill several libraries.”

“See, Bambi, this is why I’m glad I’m not goin’ out on patrol with you anymore,” he clutched his heart, mockingly wounded. “You’d just try to kill me out there without Joel to hold you back.”

“You really think Joel could stop me if I wanted to kill you?” You teased, brows raised.

“You really think I’d try to stop her?” Joel was standing inside the doorway, arms crossed, the screen door the only thing between him and the outside. “She’s tryin’ to kill you, you probably deserve it.”

You smiled a little, liking the small intimacy of the front door of Joel’s home sitting open when you were there. In the weeks you’d been playing guitar at Joel’s, you’d made a lot of progress. Once you’d mastered Bad Moon Rising and House of the Rising Sun you started going through the CDs at your house, finding songs you used to know and refreshing your memory. You practiced chord progressions on the handles of shovels in the stables and hummed the melodies as you worked with the horses. When the work was done, you’d get cleaned up and go to Joel’s.

You’d never explicitly said you would be coming by all the time but he quickly grew to expect it, often meeting you on the porch with the guitar in hand before you even had a chance to knock on his door.

He usually left you to it, disappearing back into his house - always reminding you that you were welcome to come inside any time you wanted - but he sometimes would sit on the porch with a book or a cup of tea, politely looking toward the horizon to not make you uncomfortable. You still caught him glancing your way every few minutes but you never said anything.

“I want to hear you play,” you said one night when he met you on the porch.

He laughed a little.

“Promise you don’t, Bambi,” he held the guitar out to you but you didn’t take it, hands in your back pockets.

“Yes I do.”

He sighed and shook his head but smiled a little.

“Please?” You asked, thumbs anxiously rubbing the seams of your pockets. You didn’t want to make joel do anything he didn’t want to do but something in you desperately wanted to hear him play. Since he’s said he wanted to be a musician you’d wanted to hear him play, be able to see and know that side of him.

Music had always felt strangely intimate to you. It was the only way you really felt comfortable expressing your feelings and you’d never really understood how people could just get up and perform for hundreds or thousands. The closest you’d ever come was playing violin for the damn beauty pageants your mother made you do as a girl, until you figured out that if you said “fuck you” during the question and answer portion they wouldn’t allow you to come back. But you knew Joel listened to you playing. Sometimes he was more obvious about it. Other times, he quietly opened a window just a bit and didn’t say anything, like he thought you wouldn’t notice. You never bothered to correct him.

You felt oddly OK with Joel listening to you play. It felt like he already knew so much of you, listening to your music wasn’t going to change any of it. You wanted to know him that way, too. Wanted to be closer to him that way since being physically near him made you nervous.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Ain’t played for anyone in a while so don’t expect me to be some rockstar.”

You scoffed.

“Rockstars are boring assholes anyway,” you said. “Asked to hear you play.”

He shook his head and quirked is jaw but sat on the top porch step anyway. You sat on the bottom one, back against the railing, and looked up at him.

“Remember you asked for this,” he said, arranging the guitar on his legs.

He’d downplayed it so much that you were almost expecting it to be bad or, at best, mediocre. But Joel was… good. Really good.

It took you a moment to recognize the song. It had been a while since you’d heard Springsteen and Joel’s version of I’m On Fire was slower and gentler than the original. But you liked it that way, you realized.

Joel’s version felt a little less insistent, less verging on being out of control and more like quiet longing, the ache of wanting something you couldn’t quite reach but you wanted it so bad you had to at least try. It made your chest tighten and your stomach knot to hear it, made you start to feel warm enough that you were fidgeting in the coat. There was a pull in you to want to be a part of anything to do with him, be alongside him, make something with him. You wanted to fall into him and get comfortably lost there, going along with everything that made Joel who he was, no matter where that took you.

You were silent until the last of the notes had faded and Joel sat there, looking down at the guitar in his hands, the uncertainty pouring off him in waves.

“Well, that’s…” he began but you cut him off.

“You’re amazing.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours as he frowned slightly.

“You are,” you said quickly. “I like your version better than Springsteen’s. No one tell the Boss that, though.”

He smiled a little, just enough that you could see the dimple on his cheek and you smiled back.

You were more comfortable being closer to the house after that day. You spent a few days playing on the bottom step, then moved to the top. Now, you always sat in the corner of the porch, your back protected by touching Joel’s home. You liked it there.

The comfort had made it easier to relax while playing, too. Now, you were back where you were before the outbreak, playing whatever song you could hear in your head without much trouble, experimenting with the different ways you could pull sound out of the instrument and how you could weave it together into a melody. That’s what you’d been doing when Tommy came up - what you did most of the time that you were at Joel’s now - toying with things in a way that was melodic but not really a song, just whatever music you felt like making in the moment.

“What brings you by?” Joel asked, opening the screen door.

“Need to talk to the two of you, actually,” he said. “This saves me a stop. Want to come inside, Bambi?”

Before you had a chance to reply, Joel spoke for you.

“She doesn’t like bein’ inside,” he said, stepping outside and going to stand near you. You got up and perched on the porch railing near him, close enough that your knee brushed his side, still holding the guitar. “We can talk on the porch if it’s all the same to you.”

“We’re workin’ Bambi into the patrol rotation,” he said. You nodded, frowning. This wasn’t a surprise. It had been more than a week since you’d finished your training. That didn’t warrant a visit from Tommy. “And we discussed it and we think it’s best if you two stick on patrol together instead of sending her out with someone new….”

“I can handle myself,” you protested. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you. “I don’t need Joel to baby sit me, I can patrol with anyone…”

“Never said you couldn’t,” Tommy said gently. “But we got another new person comin’ in and I’m gonna go out with him at first for a while. You two work well together, watch each other’s backs well. And… Well, Bambi, not to put too fine a point on it but… You’re not comfortable with most people. Seem comfortable enough with me n’Joel, no reason to make you uncomfortable in a situation that’s already dangerous enough.”

You felt your face get hot as you looked at the ground, not able to face Tommy. You didn’t like that people made you uncomfortable and you tried to hide it. Apparently you didn’t do that good a job.

“First patrol is in two days,” he said. “We’re gonna get Olivia to run the stables that day, it’ll just be a day long shift, no overnight. Sound good?”

“I’m good with that,” Joel said. His eyes were still on you.

“Works for me,” you said, looking up toward Tommy again.

“Good,” he smiled a little and gave a single nod. “Then I’m gonna get home before my wife bites my head off.”

He turned to go but turned around, a cocky smile on his face.

“Hey Bambi?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you play Freebird?”

You glared at him for a second, arranging the guitar on your lap again, planting a foot solidly against a spindle of the porch railing so you wouldn’t fall.

“I’m just kid…” He began but you cut him off with the first notes of the solo from Freebird.

You had to watch your fingers to play it and not think too hard about it, just let your hands and mind go. If you focused too hard, you’d fuck it up. But you played the whole damn thing, the whole four minutes and 24 seconds of it - a little faster because you always rushed it. You were a breathless when you were done and looked up at Tommy who was staring at you, open mouthed.

“Don’t know why men always want to hear fuckin’ Freebird,” you rolled your eyes. “Allen Collins is great, don’t get me wrong, but I mean Joan Jett is right there. And no one ever asks for All Along the Watchtower which, Hendrix? I mean come on. Y’all are such simple fuckin’ creatures…”

“Jesus, Bambi,” he said, almost reverently. “Where the hell’d you learn that?”

“My bedroom when I was a teenager because I figured out men don’t take girls who play seriously unless we can play shit like that,” you replied. “Lemme know when your taste develops and you wanna hear some Heart.”

“Well I’m gonna get outta here before I make an even bigger fool of myself,” Tommy smiled again, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “Good luck patrolling with that one.”

“I’ll do better than you,” Joel called after him and you laughed a little, shaking your head, before going back to toying with the guitar. You only played for a minute though. Joel didn’t go back inside. Instead he just leaned against a post, watching you silently. You stopped playing.

“Can I help you?”

“Do you not want to patrol with me?” He asked. It wasn’t accusing or even hurt. His face was soft and open, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You frowned.

“Why d’you think that?”

“Seemed like you didn’t want to be paired with me,” he shrugged. “It’s OK if you don’t, we…”

“I do,” you said quickly. “I want to patrol with you.”

He frowned a little, like he was doubting you.

“I do,” you said again.

Because you did. You’d found yourself wanting to do things with Joel - everything, really - since you’d started patrolling with him the first time. He made you more relaxed than anyone else did, even Ellie. You started standing outside the mess hall and waiting for him to get there before going inside to eat. He’d started beating you there and waiting for you instead. You liked when you heard the soft thud of him opening a window when you played guitar and he tried to listen without disturbing you. You liked that, when he got back from patrol and it was the end of the day, Joel would help you get the horses settled and walk with you to his place to play guitar.

You’d been spending so much time with Joel, people had started to notice. Or, at least, Ellie had.

“What the fuck, Bambi?” She demanded the morning after your last patrol with Joel. You winced, her voice loud, your head pounding after drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison the night before.

“Good morning, Ellie,” you said, hauling a bucket of feed to the next stall. “I’m doing fine, thank you for asking…”

“Oh fuck off,” she stomped up next to you, her eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking Joel?”

“What?” You almost dropped the bucket into the stall.

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, volume isn’t the issue here, kid,” you set the bucket down next to your feet before you took a deep breath and crossed your arms over your chest. “What do you mean am I fucking Joel?”

“I mean,” she snapped. “Everyone saw you fucking dancing with the guy last night. I know you’re over at his house all the time - I live out back in case you fucking forgot. Are you fucking him?”

“Who is and isn’t between my legs is none of your damn business…”

“It is if it’s Joel,” she cut you off. “I said he could use a friend, not…”

“I’m not fucking anybody,” you said. “But if I were it wouldn’t be your business, regardless of who it was.”

“Joel’s different.”

“And you still won’t tell me what your issue with him is,” you said, picking up the bucket again. “Doesn’t seem fair that I should need to ask your permission to fuck the man if you won’t even tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“So you do want to,” she said.

“Ellie,” you sighed. “Want to tell me what your actual problem is? Because something tells me it doesn’t have shit to do with whether or not I’m sleeping with anyone.”

She clenched her teeth for a moment and glared at you even harder before she sighed.

“You were my friend first,” she said. “And if you start doing… that,” she gestured to your torso and you tried not to laugh. “You’re going to be his… whatever the fuck you’d be. Be friends with him, fine, whatever, but I really don’t want you to ditch me because I’m not speaking to him and you’re fucking him.”

“Ellie,” you smiled a little. “First of all, I’m not anybody’s anything. That’s wouldn’t change even if I were fucking someone. Second of all, you really don’t need to worry about me fucking Joel or anybody else. Not only is it not your business but it’s not… I’m not… It just isn’t gonna happen, OK? So don’t get worked up over shit that isn’t happening and isn’t your concern.”

She relaxed a little but looked like she didn’t entirely believe you.

“Need me to bring a horse out to the paddock for you to work on drawing?” You asked, brows raised.

“Maybe.”

She didn’t look too happy about that fact. You smiled a little.

“C’mon kid,” you said, going to get Shimmer. “We’ll get you all set up.”

You were glad she hadn’t pushed you too hard about Joel or any of the rest of it. You didn’t want to tell her why fucking anyone felt totally out of the question. Or how you wished that weren’t the case because at least that would explain part of the strange draw you had to Joel, this growing longing to be close to him, one that was outweighing your fears.

“Bambi,” Joel said gently. “It’s OK…”

“Will you stop acting like you’re some leper I don’t want to see?” You looked at him, incredulous. “I just… I don’t want the fact that I’m… antisocial to make problems for people, alright? I want to patrol with you. You’re about the only fucking person I’d want to patrol with. But I can do it with other people. It’s my shit to deal with, not Tommy’s, not yours, not the people who figure out patrol rotations, mine. I’m tired of being a fucking burden all the goddamn time…”

“You’re not a burden,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him. “You’re not. Everyone’s got their shit now. It’s the end of the world, that’s how it goes. We work around it. You’re not a burden.”

You nodded slowly, running your fingers over the fretboard of the guitar.

“If you don’t want to patrol with me, I’d understand,” you said, forcing yourself to look at him. “You can…”

“I want to patrol with you, Bambi,” he cut you off. “Meant what I said before. I like bein’ the one to look out for you.”

“OK,” you said, giving him a single, definitive nod.

He smiled a little.

“OK.”

Joel walked you home that night after you went to the mess hall for dinner but asked to stop by his place first to grab something. He came out with something wrapped in paper tucked below his arm but didn’t say anything about it until you were at your front porch. Joel always came to your front door now, always waiting for you to get safely inside and turn off the light before going to his own house again.

“This…” He held out the package, awkwardly cupping the back of his neck, not looking at you. “Thought you might like this.”

You frowned and took it, untying the string around the paper. Inside was a long sleeved shirt, light weight and far too big for you. You looked at him for a second, confused.

“Well, you said the thing you liked about the coat was the smell,” it was like he was trying to look at anything but you, too uncomfortable to meet your eyes. “And… well, it was my coat and I think that means it smelled like me which, you know… That makes sense, seein’ as I was the one who brought you here, you were passed out on me for a few hours and smell is supposedly tied to memory… anyway… It’s too hot for the coat now, you’re gonna get yourself hurt tryin’ to do everything you need to do in that heavy thing and that shirt is a lot cooler and I wore it for a while.” You looked down at it, running your thumbs over the fabric for a moment before bringing it to your nose and breathing deep. It smelled warm and safe. It smelled like Joel. You smiled a little. “Only wore it when I was clean and shit, wasn’t out doin’ anything crazy…”

You looked up at him for a second before you slowly, cautiously pressed yourself against him. Joel froze for a second and you just stood there, your face in his chest, your arms clutched to your torso, the shirt still in your hands. You closed your eyes and breathed him in for moment, calming and centering yourself on him. He gently put his arms around you, holding you to him. You could hear his heartbeat, feel his breathing, absorb his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“Course,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t… Wasn’t weird?”

“No,” you laughed a little into his chest. “At least, not to me.”

When you went inside that night, you raced around to your back windows and watched what you could see of the street behind your house, the shirt held to your chest, following his darkened silhouette with your eyes as he walked home.

You found yourself looking forward to patrolling with Joel. It would be nice to see him without other realities of life in the way. Just infected and the looming threat of raiders. That was easier to navigate than a pissed off teenager. But you were nervous, too. Less about the patrol itself - you’d done almost the exact same patrol with Joel and Tommy for weeks and almost nothing happened - and more about being alone with Joel for that long.

It wasn’t safety you were worried about anymore - even though the knot in your stomach wasn’t about to let you into Joel’s house anytime too soon - but more the kind of company you were now. You hadn’t been alone like this with someone in so long. What if the person who made you feel the closest you came to OK didn’t want to spend time with you anymore after going out there with you? You wouldn’t blame him, you were barely functional in society as it was. But you didn’t want to lose him, either.

You hardly slept the night before you left for your first patrol alone with Joel and when you did sleep, you dreamed.

You were in a snow covered forest, the trees stretching out for miles in neat little rows, the ground white. You didn’t leave footprints and neither did the little girl beside you even though you could hear the crunch of snow under both your feet. There were shadows in the distance, shadows shaped like men but they were too far away to recognize. But you could feel that they were a threat, that they wanted to close in, that they wanted to rip and tear and take.

“I don’t want to do this.”

The little girl looked up at you with wide, doe-like eyes, her hair clipped back from her face, a gun that was far too big for her in her small hands.

“I know,” you said quietly. “But we have to.”

“Why?”

“Because,” you nodded to the shadows on the horizon. “There are things in this world that want to hurt you and you need to know how to hurt them first.”

“But you’re here,” she said. She was so young, so small. You brushed her hair back.

“You still need to know how,” you said. “I will do everything I can to protect you but I might fail. You need to know how to destroy them before they destroy you because they will. They will destroy every part of you they can touch if they have the chance. Don’t give them the chance.”

Her small mouth formed a grim line but she lined up the shot anyway.

“Does it hurt?” She asked, looking up at you.

You reached down at cupped her cheek.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “Yes, it does.”

You didn’t remember the dream when you woke up. You only felt the hollow ache of loss as you got ready to meet Joel at the stables.

***

You were wearing the shirt.

It was the first thing Joel noticed when he saw you at the stables, your forehead pressed to Renaissance’s own, your eyes closed.

He cleared his throat and you jumped a bit, away from the horse, your body tense for a moment before you saw it was just him and you smiled a little.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

You were wearing the shirt. His shirt. He hadn’t been wrong, he was the thing you liked about the coat.

His heart beat a little faster.

Joel felt like he was in some kind of delicate dance with you. He had since the night at the Tipsy Bison, when you’d touched him without flinching away. Instead, you’d melted into him, all soft warmth and gentle breaths as you moved together. It was a wonder you didn’t ask him what the fuck his problem was, the way his heart was racing in his chest as your head rested against him as the two of you swayed on the dance floor. He’d been touching you, holding you, feeling you.

It was somehow more than he’d expected it to be.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He had feelings for you, there was no point in denying it. If he was at all honest with himself, even for a second, he’d had feelings for you from the day he met you. Even half dead, there was something in you that he was reaching for. It had just grown in the months he’d known you, watched you with the horses and with Ellie and even his nephew, William. Grown as he’d listened to you relearn the guitar, playing until he had to clean blood off the instrument before putting it away at night. Grown as he watched you grit your teeth and face deeply held fears, trying so hard to fold yourself back into humanity you were willing to tear yourself apart to do it. It had grown so much that, when you moved closer to him in the dim light, he was overwhelmed by it. Like everything else fell away and it was just you and him and the slow, haunting music.

If you’d been any other woman, he would have taken your face in his hand and tilted your lips toward his own and kissed you that night and fuck, did he want to kiss you. He wanted to feel the soft give of your mouth against his, wanted to taste you, wanted to breathe the same air as you.

But he couldn’t do that with you. You were so delicate in this way. He could trust you to claw a man’s face off but couldn’t trust what you might do if he were to touch you the way he so desperately wanted to. And nothing - not even feeling you the way he longed to - was worth the risk of hurting you.

He went home that night and made himself come so hard in the shower he almost collapsed with it, thinking about nothing but the way your body felt cradled against his own as you moved with him on the dance floor.

That night had tipped something in him over the edge. He had to fight to stay away from you, make a conscious effort to not seek you out at every opportunity. All he wanted was to be beside you and, when he wasn’t, he wanted to know that you were OK, wanted to know what you were doing, wanted to know what you feeling. He wanted to take care of you in whatever way he could and the shirt was something he could do for you.

Joel just felt like a bit of a jackass doing it, though.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” he’d muttered to himself as he put the shirt on after he was freshly showered and getting into bed one night. Because he felt like a fucking idiot, assuming that the smell you mentioned had fuck all to do with him. How self absorbed could he possibly be?

But he wore the shirt, anyway. If he was right - if the smell you felt safe with was him - then he should help you. It was worth the risk of looking like a goddamn moron if there was even a chance that it could make your life a little easier. He slept in the shirt for a few nights before he wrapped it in paper. It glared at him from the top of his dresser for two days before he was sitting at the mess hall with you and you made some smart ass remark and he caught a glimpse of you, laughing, relaxed and happy. If he could do anything to make the world feel safer, make that version of you closer to the surface, he would.

And you were wearing the shirt.

“Ready to endure a day of patrol with just me?” You asked, smiling a little.

“Better than a day with just Tommy,” he smiled back, going to saddle up his horse.

The patrols all left at the same time and Joel took the lead with yours, following a trail that he’d come to know well through the years. It was the same patrol he’d been on with Tommy when he’d found you months before.

He wasn’t going to mention that part.

“Where’d you find your guitar?” You asked after the two of you had been riding for a while.

“There’s a city, few hours ride away,” he said. “Found it there. Why?”

“No reason,” you shrugged. “Just… wondered if I might be able to find one of my own. Figured you were probably tired of me comin’ around all the time.”

“Not tired of it,” he smiled a little. “Come by as often as you want. I… I like it when you come by.”

“Also thought it would be nice to play with you sometime,” you said, not looking at him, your voice strained. “Not sayin’ we should start a fuckin’ band or anything but… You’re good. I’d like to play with you.”

He smiled wider.

“I’d like that, too,” he said.

The two of you were getting close to where Joel had first found you when you frowned, your eyes narrowed at a spot on the trail. Joel’s chest got tight. Did you remember more than either of you realized? Did you recognize something?

“See that?” You asked, nodding at a branch low on the tree.

Joel frowned.

“No.”

You rolled your eyes and guided your horse to it. You pointed out a splotch of mud on the branch as well as some on the side of the trunk at about knee height.

“Someone climbed this tree,” you said, touching the mud spot on the branch. “It’s dry, been a few days at least but someone climbed this tree. There are people out here.”

“Alright,” Joel nodded slowly. “Lead the way, let’s see what we can find.”

You found a few other signs of people - all at least a few days old - as the two of you worked your way further off the usual path. There were some cabins marked on the map close by and Joel wasn’t particularly surprised when the trail led to them.

You dismounted before he had a chance to say anything, your sidearm held low in your hands as you went up to the first door. Joel jumped off his horse before it fully stopped moving, barely reaching you before you threw the first door open.

The one room cabin was empty, just some old sheets and towels on the floor, the air damp with mildew.

“Bambi,” Joel said, voice low. “We should…”

“Just gonna check,” you replied, looking through the room quickly, yanking up blankets to check below them for something. You made a frustrated sound.

“What are we lookin’ for?” He asked, looking at the hearth in the corner of the cabin. The ash in it was cold, at least a few days old.

“Any sign of there being women or girls here,” you said, lifting the mattress on the floor with your toe. “And any sign of where they might have gone.”

Joel didn’t say anything. He just let you take the lead, knowing you were going to be disappointed. This was a raider camp. It wasn’t like they were going to have left a roadmap to where they were headed next, it wasn’t like there was going to be shit like hair brushes lying around to prove there were women with them.

You went to the next cabin and found more of the same. The largest cabin had more beds but the same disarray. Finally, there was one cabin that you seemed to latch on to.

At first it seemed like the others but you spotted something against the wall quickly. You went to it, kneeling slowly before you picked it up. It was a chain, bolted to the wall. Joel’s stomach turned as you ran your fingers over it to the cuff on the end. You pulled out your flashlight and shined it on the metal, delicately tracing the inside of it before you pulled your hand away.

“It’s dried but there’s blood,” you said, straightening up and shining the light at the ground before you found a stain on the floorboards. You knelt again, running your fingers through the dirt and blood there, examining it. You sighed and hung your head. “Doesn’t matter, looks like they killed her anyway.”

You turned off the flashlight and stuck it back in your bag before brushing past Joel and stalking outside. He followed. You’d stopped next to the fire pit, staring down into the pile of ash, the thumb of your right hand absently tracing the inside of your left wrist.

“Bambi,” he said gently, but you cut him off.

“How often do patrols come out this way?” You asked. “And do they ever make it this far?”

“They come out on the route we’re on every other week,” he said. “But don’t make it all the way out here except every few months, just to check in.”

You nodded slowly.

“They were probably watching for people like us then,” you said. “If they knew the pattern, they took off days ago.”

“I don’t think we can follow them, Sweetheart,” he said gently.

You nodded.

“I know,” you said softly. “Don’t think there’s a reason to right now, anyway.”

“Bambi…”

“Let’s go,” you said, not looking at him as you stalked over to Renaissance.

“If you want…”

“I just want to get the fuck away from here,” you snapped. “So can we please move on?”

Your eyes met his for the first time since you��d found the cabins and the barbed wire was back but it was wrapped around so much pain it hurt to look at you.

“Course,” he said. “Let’s get back.”

The first few hours of the trip back were quiet until you slowed on the trail and waited for Joel to come alongside you.

“Can you do me a favor and not say anything about that?” You asked. “At least, leave me out of it as much as you can? Folks here should protect themselves of course but…”

“Not going to say anything,” he said, watching you. The barbed wire was gone now. Instead, it was just hurt, an aching, screaming pain behind your eyes. He wondered, for a moment, if that’s what he looked like in the time after he’d lost Sarah. If that’s what Tommy had looked at for weeks if not months.

You nodded.

“Thank you.”

About an hour out from Jackson, Joel started humming. You glanced over at him when he did but he pretended not to notice. It was The Chain, the first song he’d ever heard you sing. He was trying to remember the pacing you used, trying to match it. When he finished it, he just started it up again.

“Listen to the wind blow…” Your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but you sang it all the same. Joel kept humming.

By the time the two of you were back to Jackson, you seemed a bit more like yourself. You leaned forward on Renaissance and scratched her neck, draping yourself over her mane.

“Thanks for that,” you said, opening your eyes and looking at Joel, your cheek still pressed against the horse’s neck. “I needed it.”

“Course,” he said.

Joel was exhausted, the diversion to the cabins adding a few hours to an already long day, and he was ready to write a brief report about what the two of you saw on patrol and get a hot meal when the gates opened as they rode up to town. But Ellie came running out to meet you, her eyes wide and afraid.

“Thank fuck you’re OK!” She looked back and forth between the two of you. Joel looked at you and you gave him a small shrug before you both dismounted.

She threw herself at Joel first, her small body hitting him with so much force that it shocked him. He hesitantly put his arms around her and held her close, her arms tight around his neck.

“I was so fucking scared,” she said, her voice wet.

“What happened Baby Girl?” He frowned. Patrols ran a bit long all the time, it wouldn’t cause her to freak out, not like this. Not when she’d so much as glanced his way in months.

“Other patrols got attacked,” she pulled away from him before going to you, giving you a big but shorter hug. You gave her a squeeze back.

“By what?” Joel asked. “Is everyone OK?”

“Raiders,” she said, stepping back and looking between the two of you, a frantic look in her eyes. “The people all made it back alive. Looks like Jody might lose her arm but she got the worst of it…”

“Fuck,” Joel swore, shaking his head.

“Ellie,” you said. “Do me a favor, grab Joel’s horse and come with me back to the stables so Joel can go handle that?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, squaring her jaw. “Yeah, I can do that.”

You gave Joel a single nod and he watched the two of you head for the stables for a moment before he went to find Tommy.

There wasn’t much he could do, however. The council was already meeting and Tommy filled him in on the worst of it as he nursed a knife wound on his leg.

Half the patrols that had gone out that day had been overrun, one large group of raiders catching them at a crossover point on their routes. The raiders had either been extremely lucky or they’d been watching their patrols and knew where they’d be when.

They’d managed to kill a few raiders and no humans from Jackson had died before fighting off the others. But a total of five horses had been lost in the attack, including Samson.

“Shit,” Joel said, looking toward the stables, where he knew you would be.

“I’ll let you know what else happens,” Tommy said gently, jerking his head toward the door. “Get outta here.”

Joel looked at him for a moment before pulling him into a tight hug, clapping him on the back as he did.

“Glad you’re OK,” Joel said, his voice thick.

“You too, man,” Tommy said. “Go take care of your girl.”

“She’s not…”

“I said what I said,” Tommy cut him off. “Get your head outta your ass, man.”

Joel just shook his head and took off for the stables, looking for you.

He found you there, curled up on the floor, your arms wrapped tight around yourself, your knees against your chest. You were sobbing, your whole body shaking with it. The sight made Joel’s heart ache.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Joel said quietly, approaching you slowly,.

“G-g-go away,” you managed. “Don’t w-w-w-want your pity.”

He ignored you, getting down on the floor next to you.

“It OK if I touch you?” He asked softly. You nodded through a wracking sob. He lay down behind you and put an arm around you. He delicately, slowly, pulled you back against him, putting his other arm below your head so you weren’t just lying on the cold concrete. You pressed yourself back into him and he buried is face in your hair. “I’m so sorry…”

“N-n-never lost this many at once,” you choked out. “And S-s-s-s-samson wouldn’t have been out at all if it wasn’t for me, it was my fault…”

“Wasn’t your fault,” he kept his voice calm and even. “If it wasn’t him, it would have been another horse. Not your fault, Sweetheart. Promise you, it’s not.”

“It’s probably dumb for m-me to be so upset about the horses,” you sounded like you could at least breathe now. “When there were p-p-people who…”

“Not dumb,” Joel said gently. “The people will live and you worked with these horses every day. Course you’re upset, Sweetheart.”

“What are we gonna do?” You asked, taking a shaky breath. “Jackson, without the horses, we need them to patrol, what…”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Right now, you just breathe. You had a long, awful day. You need to breathe.”

Joel brought the hand that was below you to your forehead, brushing your hair back. Your head dropped back against him, your whole body pressed to his. He just held you like that, feeling your breathing calm and your sobs slow.

“Can I stay here?” You asked quietly. “Don’t wanna go home, just wanna be here…”

“Course you can,” he said gently, his hand finding a gentle rhythm on your hair. “Want me to stay with you?”

“Would you?” You asked, voice shaky again. “Because I… I just… Just want you to hold me…”

“Course I’ll stay,” he said quietly, his hold on you tightening. “I’ll do whatever you want, Sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

Next Chapter

A/N: GUYS

THEY LIKE... FULLY HUGGED AND CUDDLED IN THIS ONE.

This is probably the slowest burn slow burn I've done and I can tell because I get SO EXCITED when they like... barely touch lmfao. I hope you're enjoying it, too.

I'm still doing the tag list thing and I promise I will start up an updates blog soon. I just have not had the time this week! If you want to be added to the tag list and see what the Tumblr Gods will allow, comment below.

Thank you so much for being here and for spending your time with these characters! I so appreciate it, it makes sharing this story so worthwhile. Love you all so much!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf@daniegraceg@partyofone3413@cumberpegg@noisynightmarepoetry.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #slow burn #yearling

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