#omgreally; joel miller/reader

[omgreally]

His / Joel Miller/F!Reader / 1.1k / E18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Smut from start to finish, possessive!Joel, oral (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, very unsafe PIV sex, breeding kink (no need to squint, it's there).

Summary: Joel finally loses control with you. —

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but sometimes, he just can’t help himself.

It’s a human fear, something different to the everyday worries of survival. Something he hasn’t needed to think about for a long time. With Tess he was careful - with you, it’s like he doesn’t want to be.

He wants you to be his.

He wants to rip your pants off and tear the crotch of your panties and fuck you until you know that you belong to him.

He wants to make love to you slow - until you’re panting, squirming like a pinned animal and begging for him to make you come.

He wants you on your knees, up against a wall, on the floor.

He wants to tell you how gorgeous you look, stuffed full of his cock. And he imagines how it would feel to thrust deep and hold himself there until the tremors of oncoming release takes him, his cock throbbing with his pulse as he fills the welcoming heat of your pussy with his come.

But he knows that as soon as his head stops spinning and clarity replaces endorphins, he’ll have to deal with the fallout of reality, so he controls himself. Somehow.

Until one night. One drunken night. A bottle of whiskey saved for a special occasion and your shirt unbuttoned, begging for the burn of stubble against your unmarked collarbone. Joel watches the flutter of your pulse in your neck and bites his tongue until he can taste blood.

There's no words. Just a moment where your eyes meet and you raise your eyebrow like you know what he's thinking - or maybe you're thinking the same.

Either way, it's not long before open-mouthed kisses and hands under clothes turns into to the heat of skin against skin, the taste of saliva and scotch.

Joel practically devours you once he has you naked - like he wants to taste every part of you. You're happy to oblige, parting for him like the sea, the salt of your sweat and the tang of your arousal bursting on his tongue. One hand on your hip, the other on your ankle to hold you still as he licks through your folds with lazy strokes that drive you wild, your teeth marking indents in your knuckles, the urge to cry his name swelling in your lungs.

When he starts on your clit with the single-minded aim of a sniper taking the shot you moan a broken, wounded sound that only spurs him on. Two fingers sliding home inside your pussy, crooked against the visceral clench of your muscles. You can feel his savage grin as he wrests the sounds from your throat. Victory sings in Joel's blood, an animal, instinctive victory, and he's too far gone in the immediacy of how fucking good you feel and taste to care if the neighbours hear you.

A deeper, darker part of him hopes they do. Hopes everyone in Jackson hears and knows that you're his.

Joel waits 'til your thighs are trembling and your toes are curling and you're leaking into his palm, ready to come - and then he pulls back. You gasp and swear at him, furious right up until he wrestles his jeans down his thighs to free his cock from his underwear. Then you're soft again, soft and pink and open for him and no one else, and the slide into the tight heat of your cunt feels like a homecoming.

He sits up, holding your thighs open with his hands on the insides of your knees, watching you stretch to take every inch. You're trembling, a sheen of sweat rendering your skin in gold. Joel leaves the outlines of his fingers on your skin, white pressure marks that take a moment to fill in, your inner thighs flushed red where his beard abraded the sensitive skin.

You watch him above you through hooded eyes, your hand on his wrist, nails pressing into his skin. Anchoring him to you. And you wrap your legs around his waist and lift your hips to meet his, bearing down on his cock, enveloping him whole in the intoxicating grip of your body.

And he knows then that you've claimed him as much as he is claiming you.

He draws out, thrusts back in, and you're so wet from the torture of his mouth that he can hear the soft, organic sounds of the impact. He grabs the outside of one thigh, lifting your knee into the crook of his elbow - your spine bows as he leans over you, spreading you open. He hits something deep enough inside you that you stop breathing and for a moment he's worried he's hurt you until he feels your fingernails in his shoulder and the gasp of "Joel, more," in his ear. He obliges, driven by the hungry clench of your pussy.

He's not going to last long. Whether it's the whiskey or the effect of your body, he's close. But you were close before too, and it only takes the squeeze of his hand in between your bodies, the brush of his calloused thumb across the plush, swollen nub of your clit before you're there. Your head thrown back, your mouth open, the column of your neck begging for the outline of his teeth, but Joel just watches as you come undone, feeling the tremble of your abdomen against his as he thrusts in deep and holds himself there and -

He's too close - he needs to pull out - he rears back but your thighs are locked in marble relief around his hips and you feel so fucking good squeezing his cock like a rippling vice -

Joel groans, deep in his chest, grinding into you as his dick throbs and he fills you spurt after spurt of his come. He presses down on your knees and opens you up so he can pull back a little, watching the jerking pump of his shaft, until it starts to overflow, pearly rivulets of spend staining your skin. He lifts your hips and thrusts back in to keep it all in there as long as he can, every drop of him, every inch.

He leans over you, spent, pressing his sweaty forehead into the mattress. In the clarity of the fading endorphins, Joel waits for regret; but instead he feels the touch of your hand on his face and your lips against his cheek -

"I've been waiting for you to do that for ages."

And he realizes you were his from the start.

—

tag list! ;

@stealyourblorbos @tortor-mcgee @aprilqueen84 @letsfuckshitup @whataenginerd @its-nebuleuse @inkededucatednnerdy @myloveistoolittle @harriedandharassed @jreads @awhiskeywithawinchester @gnpwdrnwhiskey @monkcastlelover

[wordywarriorwrites]

Pedro Scout Status

I've decided to keep a master post of my Scout activities for @pedroscouts!

Check out my status updates below the cut!

Took the Pledge: Took the pledge and became a Pedro Scout!

Joel Miller: I read @undercoverpena-fics Midnight Bedsheets. I gasped. I swooned. I experienced THE FEELS!

Fluff + Smut: For a story I wrote called Assignation.

Blocked a Porn Bot: I know we all have done had to do this...

I Set Sail on the Friendship: I asked @atinylittlepain for a go-to Pedro gif, and their choice did NOT disappoint. 🤣

Enemies to Lovers: So, I'm not sure if this is breaking the rules, but I'm going old school with @frannyzooey Listen fic, because DAY-UM. 🥵🥵

Played a Tag Game: I have played MANY tag games on Tumblr. Hahah

Friends to Lovers: I Like The Way You... by @undercoverpena is a damn fine example of this trope. Absolutely loved it from start to finish. 🥰🥰

Ezra Fic: I've been reading Adversity by @the-ginger-hedge-witch. Can't wait to see what happens next on their adventure!

Hurt/Comfort: Walls of Glass by @sixhours. So beautifully written. An emotional rollercoaster that you feel with every word.

Frankie Morales: Of course, we've got @frannyzooey out here, showing us how it's done with Drive-In. Oh, lawd!!

Giflet: The entire giflet masterlist by @morallyinept is epic, but I particularly enjoyed The Wolf & The Lamb.

AskNado: Completed!

One Bed: This isn't a "traditional" one-bed trope, but Squirming by @frannyzooey definitely has the same vibe because of the whole "share one sleeping bag" thing it has going on.

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels: Omg, I've read Palomino so many times. @fuckyeahdindjarin wrote such an epic romance that I just... ::: sigh:::

Fan Art: I've for sure loved and shared a lot of great fan art.

Slow Burn: I read Death and An Angel by @littlemisspascal and was hooked from chapter one. Binge-read the entire thing in one sitting, and was completely invested from start to finish. Such a beautiful and creative love story!

Crack/Dieter: I got a hilarious two-for-the-price-of-one with Low Hanging Gruit by @covetyou. This was another recommendation that definitely made me laugh out loud. Googled a Term: I can't tell you how often I've had to Google something fic-related. I'm old. I can't keep up with the "cool kids" anymore...

Got Silly in the Tags: It is rare for me to get really silly in the tags. I like to use my tags for organizing (type A much?) and I mostly get silly in the reblog with comments/gifs.

Marcus Moreno: Throwing it back to @frannyzooey and The Secret series, which was my fic intro to Marcus. Deliciously written. Chefs kiss (per usual).

Song Fic: It's not a "traditional" song fic, but I Hear a Symphony by @projectionistwrites is all centered around Joel's rediscovering his love for music.

Coffee Shop AU: Again, it's not 100% traditional, but Hot Coffee by @omgreally was a treat of a one-shot that gave me the jitters!

Rom-Com: Grays by @fuckyeahdindjarin made me laugh from the get-go. By fan-fic standards, it's probably considered an "oldie," but it's definitely a goodie.

Awakened a Kink: I have no children. I also have no desire to have children. But breeding kink fics sometimes makes my brain go "brrr." Especially if it's mixed with competency and the reader is taken care of/protected.

Forced Proximity: @goodwithcheese recently penned Girl Next Door and when I say I am UNWORTHY... I mean... Jesus H. Christ...

Dark Fic & Max Phillips: Blood & Tinsel by @morallyinept is a dark(ish), spicy, smutty mix that pulls you in from the first sentence!

Javi G: Care for a Little Golden Hour by @all-the-way-down-here is a Javi G. x Male Reader fic full of spice and care.

Sent a Horny Anon: I've sent them anon and not anon. LOL

Whump: Omg... Tonight You Belong To Me by @intheorangebedroom is the whumpiest-whump that ever whumped. If you're into angst and being all up in your feels, this is a fic for you!

Din Djarin: An oldie, but a goodie from @charnelhouse called In the Dark. It's the "we almost died" smut story we all know and love.

Soulmate: Again, Death and An Angel by @littlemisspascal was an amazing fic. A totally different take on the soulmate trope that had me hooked from chapter one. I absolutely loved it!

Fluff: Let Me by @polaroidpascal is a very gentle fic about taking care of your partner and giving them a bit of extra love - especially when they need it most.

Bookshop AU: The Book of Love by @undercoverpena is still one of my favorite Bookshop AU fics to read. Full of all the feels and fluff and flirting.

Mortifying Typo: I think we've all done this before. LOL

Marcus Pike: All the Time in the World by @whataperfectwasteoftime was a beautiful one-shot about a couple's first time together. Very romantic and full of emotion and so very, very gentle. I loved it!

Angst: Emergency Contact by @javiscigarette definitely hit me right in the feels. So much emotion packed into a one-shot!

Western: There are two that stick out in my head: Palomino and Adversity. Both are so amazing!

Dave York: Just read Second Sight by @goodwithcheese and literally had to dig my own grave because I perished. PERISHED, I tell you.

Booped: Oh, you know I booped. I booped my way to the top. lmfao

Oberyn Martell: Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace by @janaispunk didn't have to come for my throat like it did... :::ugly crying:::

[amywritesthings]

WIP Title Game

rules ; post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it

Ok I feel like I've been tagged in this a ton recently so now's the time to do it, thank you very much to @prolix-yuy / @huffle-pissed / @fuckyeahdindjarin / @saradika & the dearest @omgreally for the tags!!

Din Djarin

PATPB: Chapter 16 - Clan of Three

PATPB: Chapter 17 - Friends, Old & New

PATPB: Chapter 18 - Separate Ways

Knives Out (unrelated bounty hunter x din short)

Joel Miller

Gibson Girl Universe: Hurt/comfort one shot

Gibson Girl Universe: Jackson reunion

Gibson Girl Universe: Meeting Ellie

Pre-apocalypse Joel x Neighbor

Escort!Joel miller

Misc:

Same Old Mistakes: Act 4 (Dieter Bravo)

Same Old Mistakes: Act 5 (Dieter Bravo)

I Said It. (Succession, dead dove don't eat)

Meet Me on the Other Side (Eddie Munson, finale chapter)

Anomaly (Marc Spector)

Sins to a Sinner (Billy Butcher)

Revolution in a Bottle (Kino Loy)

Religion in a Zone on Fire (Tess Servopoulos)

a finished original YA spy thriller novel (130K words) that i wanted to self publish one day but never got around to doing so!

dealer's choice! tell me what character you'd like to see me write

Ask box is open if you're interested - most of these are just outlines and/or pocketed ideas, but a couple of these have actual written out concepts or dialogue so I'm happy to share some of this with y'all!

np tags: @tarabyte3 @acourtofsnakes @marvelous-writer @luciwritesstuff @dearest-readers @againstacecilia

[bluestar22x]

Some Of My Favorite Pedro Character Fics

(pretty sure you've read at least some of these, but I'm doing a general fanfic recommendation for everyone who comes across this)

Smut/Reader Fics:

Common Thread by wildemaven (Frankie)

Pause by trulybetty (Tim Rockford)

Stranger At My Gate by leslie-lyman (Pero)

The Layover by goodwithcheese (Frankie)

Palomino - by fuckyeahdindjarin (Jack Daniels)

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop by oonajaeadira (Ezra)

You Found Me by yespokadotkitty (Zach Wellison)

Point Of No Return by the-blind-assassin-12 (Ezra)

The Gift by honeyedmiller (Javier P)

In The Woods Somewhere by eupheme (Joel Miller)

Look For The Light by cowgurrrl (Joel Miller)

Heat by notjustjavierpena (Javier P)

Close by omgreally (Din Djarin)

Star Gazing by absurdthirst (Frankie)

In Dreams by mishasminion360 (Marcus Moreno)

Rumble by ezrasbirdie (Din Djarin)

Frankie Morales And Dog Tags by moralesispunk (Frankie)

Untitled Drabble by thetriumphantpanda (Frankie)

Crush by softlyspector (Joel Miller)

All The Time In The World by whataperfectwasteoftime (Marcus Pike)

Yes by theewalkingdead (Javi G)

A Good Thing by mellowswriting (Marcus Pike)

Softer by campingwiththecharmings (Joel Miller)

Warm Glow by moonlight-prose (Joel Miller)

x

I love Read You Like A Book by the-ginger-hedge-witch (Marcus Pike) 'course you know Ren so this is for the non-franny people reading

Want to once again say I LOVE Silence and Short Days Long Nights Franny (Joel Miller). They also make my list.

x

Joel And Ellie Canon Centered Fics (TLOU On AO3 + Tumblr):

Walking In Lonely Places by Merakiae (Hurt!Joel)

I Think I Heard Someone Stirred by iusedtobeoctober

Tied Together By Grief by flannelfeelings

Star Gazing and Gift Giving by skoulsons

Never Let Me Down Again by swiftieispunk

x

Mine (the more popular ones):

Sweet Summer Series (Javi P)

Colors (Joel Miller oneshot)

The Rockford Files (Tim Rockford)

New fics:

The Outcast (Pero Tovar)

The Writing Contest (Javi G)

x

Non-Smut/Canon Based Fics (TLOU Fic):

The Tree

Generally:

My Masterlist

reblog/reply with your top rec’s 👀 — the ones you pass to your friends, the “beginner to fandom” ones you always rec, the ones you’ve been excited to read, the ones you think about, the ones you re-read, the ones that have your whole heart, etc — your own fics included! ❤️

[omgreally]

Hurried - Joel Miller/F!Reader - E 18+ - 660 words - Warnings: smut (duh), a light dusting of joel miller flavoured angst.

Joel’s panting against the side of your neck as if he's been running. Quick, edged with an urgency he thought had long since faded from his blood.

It's rare you get a moment, just the two of you. When it happens, it's usually fleeting, a snatched, fumbling encounter in some cramped, dark space away from prying eyes. This time feels the same, but you know you have time. Ellie's off somewhere with Dina tonight and Joel doesn't have patrol, for once. You have hours. But Joel is pawing at you as if you're both about to be attacked by Clickers.

Well. It wouldn't be the first time. But you're safe here in this little slice of civilization. You hope so, anyway, if only because you're not sure you would be able to get your clothes on in time if you weren't.

“I bet you haven’t got a condom,” you mutter against the press of Joel's mouth. He tastes like coffee and sweat and him.

“Didn't think about it,” he confesses when you break from him to breathe. You almost laugh. It's like he's surprised every time you sleep with him. As if he's mystified why you would choose him.

Sometimes you wonder how much you matter to him, but it's moments like these that remind you.

"For an old man, you sure do act like a much younger one sometimes."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Joel seems to take it as a challenge instead. He sweeps your wrists into his grip and pins your hands above your head, and this time, you do laugh. The mattress creaks beneath you, and you can only hear the quiet night noises of the house, but he shushes you with a warm finger against your lips anyway. You wait, patiently.

He slides into you unhurriedly, and this time it feels like he knows he’s got all the time in the world to make you feel good and he plans to savour it. You gasp at the sudden stretch of him, more than enough to crowd the breath from your lungs. Your heels settle against the small of his back as he comes to rest inside you, holding himself deep.

“Ah, fuck,” you gasp, a pathetic, punched-out whine. Joel agrees with a soft, deep noise as he pulls his cock out a little and plunges back in, quick enough to make your heartbeat skip. The frantic clench of your pussy welcomes him.

"Slow down," you whisper as he does it again, and again. You're dizzy, fuck-drunk and reeling already. The sharp, deliberate jab of his hips is threatening to push you over the edge before you're ready. Joel slows to a torturous in-and-out drag, pausing long enough to make you start writhing, and you catch the outline of his grin in the dark.

"Now you're just teasing m-"

He surges into you. Anticipating your moan - out of habit - he covers your mouth. You close your eyes, arching.

You’re already pretty sure you’re going to come by the time he reaches between you to gently and deliberately thumb your clit. That just confirms it.

You wanted to take your time, but Joel always feels like he's trying to beat the clock.

His rhythm is steady even when his breathing isn’t. You grab at the rippling bulk of his shoulders to ground yourself, but it doesn’t work. Your orgasm floods you with heat and endorphins and the rippling, uncontrolled pulse of your pussy around the thick of his cock.

He gasps as he feels it - “Jesus,” - pulling out just in time. He pulses warm, sticky white lines on your stomach, and groans deep in his chest.

“Christ,” you agree breathlessly, and Joel rests his forehead against yours, panting still.

“You're gonna be the death of me, Joel Miller,” you murmur, stroking his hair, kissing his chin.

You think it might be your imagination, but he seems to hold you a little tighter after that.

One day, you hope he'll realize that he's no longer living on borrowed time.

[omgreally]

Hot Coffee ☕️ / Joel Miller/F!Reader / 1.5k-2k ish / E18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: This escalated quickly. Angst; Banter; Sexual tension that is most definitely resolved; Consenting adults getting carried away; unprotected sex; smut, little bit of a breeding kink if you squint.

Summary: When is a coffee date not a coffee date? When it’s with Joel Miller, of course. It’s about time both of you got the hint.

—

Joel tries not to think about creature comforts much. The world ended so suddenly that most of them became a thing of the past in a single afternoon. By the time the next day dawned, he forgot about things like Sunday mornings and coffee and watching TV and playing board games; all that mattered was survival.

He often wondered why he bothered. There didn’t seem to be much to live for, after - after Sarah. Tommy kept him going a while, and sheer spite after that; anger at the whole world, anger that manifested itself through the impact of his fists or from the barrel of his gun. Bloody knuckles and the metallic tang of of gunpowder and copper the only taste left in the back of his throat. Things like coffee and pancakes? A thing of the past. Forgotten.

Tess cooled him down some, reminded him of something other than emptiness, but the space between her and Ellie coming along was too narrow, the grief too fresh, so he locked it away. He was pretty sure he’d never be close to someone like that ever again.

It was inevitable, though. Humans always sought out companionship; it was pack instinct more than anything else. At least, that’s what Joel tells himself as you sit across from him, drinking coffee.

He tells himself he isn’t getting comfortable or complacent, because if he let himself think that, then he’d start to think he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows where a thought like that ends. But he can taste something other than blood now, and he’s not sure why, but that scares him - more than his anger does.

Joel lets the silence stretch between you, and you seem comfortable with it. He imagines a time years ago when this would be a date. Now it’s just two humans sharing a space and a time where they don’t have to fight to survive. When he stops to think about it, he realises it feels…nice.

So nice he almost didn’t want to let you in when you came to his door, but you had a bag of coffee beans- real coffee beans - you pilfered on a patrol and you were offering to share them with him, no one else, him - and he’s not sure if it’s because he was the only person you knew who owned a coffee grinder in Jackson or not.

Joel’s not sure he can handle the implications otherwise.

“Finished already?” You raise a brow as he drains his chipped mug and sets it down on the table between you. “Jesus, Miller. You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls for hours. That shit’s Colombian.”

“Thirty-year-old Arabica beans,” he corrects, pointing a finger at you, making you smile. Making you smile is always easier than it should be. Easier with him than with others, he’s noticed. It worries him. “Probably full of more E. coli than caffeine.”

“You fail high school chemistry too?” You tease him often, because the man takes himself too damn seriously. Joel hates that he likes it, and he hates that you can tell.

“Okay, it’s oxidised,” he drawls, “It tastes like shit but it won’t kill me. Happy?”

“Only when you’re miserable,” you say brightly. He scoffs and shakes his head, and the quiet builds between you, its presence suddenly large and uncomfortable in the absence of more coffee. You sigh, and give up. “Ah, never mind. I should get going. Sorry the coffee was shit.”

You stand up and move towards the door. Joel catches your wrist, and you pause. Look down at the man. More greys than when you first met him, but his cheeks aren’t as hollow. Jackson suited him, even though he makes any excuse not to settle down.

Ellie’s happy here, so he doesn’t have a choice.

“Thanks,” Joel says, making eye contact. Your turn to look away. Too serious. “I haven’t had fresh-ground coffee in…” he pauses to think, going back. Too far back. “Ages,” he finishes. His fingers are still on your wrist.

“Well, you were the first person I thought of when I found it. Haven’t had a good supply run like that in ages. But it wasn’t fresh. I think you said something about E. coli?”

“Sorry. You know I-“ He fights for the words when you take his hand. You’ve never done that before. Flirted with him, sure, but you’ve never touched him unsolicited like this. You’ve got more boundaries, more walls up than he does sometimes.

“You remember coffee dates?” You smile at his frown. “You know, some asshole buys you a coffee, expects you to sleep with him after. Happened all the time to the girls I worked with at the bar, back before the world ended. Never to me though. So one day, I brought an asshole a cup of coffee. Know what happened?”

Joel shakes his head, mute. He’s stroking your wrist with his thumb, turned his body towards you. You could just sit right on his knee if you wanted. You could lean down and kiss him.

“We sat and drank coffee for twenty minutes and neither of us said a word.”

Joel lets you go like you’ve bitten him. He wonders if he’s blown it, and he’s surprised to find out he really hopes he hasn’t. You put up a lot but he’s always known it was inevitable he would ruin any chance at friendship - or more - with you by pushing you away. He’s been doing it for weeks, months even, ignoring your hints, responding with taciturn silence, expecting you to figure out it was habit drilled into him by years of only his own loneliness and anger for company.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says, not meeting your eyes. You touch his shoulder and then he looks up.

“Don’t be. Best coffee date I’ve had in ages.”

He tastes like bitter, burnt beans when you kiss him, and you imagine you don’t taste much better. But Joel reacts as if he’s drowning and you’re his only source of air - rising to his feet, his hands on your waist - he kisses you back like he never forgot how.

He didn’t know how much he wanted you until you were about to walk away.

Joel prays to god Ellie’s still out with that girl she likes because if she walked into their house right now she would see her surrogate father figure with his tongue down your throat and his hands in your pants. Your thoughts go down a similar road as you fumble with his belt.

There’s no need for words or what-ifs between you; you don’t need to say anything because you both know it doesn’t matter. All that matters is now, the press of Joel’s mouth and tongue, the solid promise of his body.

Joel touches you at first as if he can’t believe you’re real, that this is happening. But he’s quick to grow bold, hands kneading at your breast, fingers pinching at the peak of your nipple when he finds out it you like it - rewarding him with a gasp. Joel grins that cheeky fucking grin you see on him sometimes, when he thinks you aren’t looking, and suddenly all that matters is the stubborn zipper of his fly, the buttons of your shirt, and your sneakers which you just can’t seem to kick off fast enough before either of you stop to think that this might not be the best idea after all.

Joel can’t remember the last time he had a good idea, but this doesn’t feel like a bad one. Not with the heat of your mouth at his throat, the firm, pliable curves of your body pressed against him. He knew you weren’t the shy type but he almost chokes when you palm the outline of his stiffening dick before you even get his zipper all the way down.

It’s like a spell the two of you are too reluctant to break by speaking. There’s just the combined sound of your breathing, the press of your mouths, the intoxicating buzz of caffeine mixed with arousal so painfully strong it’s like a cramp. You need to fuck Joel right now as much as you need to breathe. He seems to feel the same, if how hard he is is anything to go by.

When you finally free his cock the animal part of Joel’s brain starts snarling and clawing at the walls. He grabs a fistful of your hair and spins you around, bending you forward over the table. You manage to kick one of your sneakers off, your jeans hanging off one leg - he doesn’t even pull your panties down, just drags the soaked fabric aside to make room for him.

Everything up til now has been frenzied. Coffee cups and clothes all over the floor. But when he pushes into you, time slows; and for a moment there’s no apocalypse outside Jackson. There’s just the feeling of Joel feeding your pussy every inch of his cock, slow but steady, as if he already knows you can take it. And you can, and you do, holding your breath as your entire focus narrows to the delicious ache between your legs as Joel stretches you open.

Then you feel his warm, wide palm on your back, long fingers stroking almost soothingly down your spine. He doesn’t speak but you can almost hear the dark molasses of his Texas drawl, lifting the hairs on your neck - Relax. Breathe. So you do, and Joel rewards you by pulling out slow - and thrusting in again quicker, finding a new angle that has the blunt head of his dick striking some nerve inside you that has you seeing stars, and then he does it again. And again.

You want to sob his name and drag claw marks into the table but you just hold onto the edge of it and arch your back, closing your eyes. You haven’t been fucked like this in years - maybe ever - and it feels right that it’s now, that it’s Joel Miller.

Thank God for coffee dates.

Joel’s thighs slap into the back of yours, the table jumping beneath you. You can hear him panting like distant thunder. When your legs start to shake beneath you, he loops an arm around your hips and finds your clit in seconds with two fingertips, as instinctive as pulling a trigger. You know you’re not going to last much longer, and he seems intent on it.

You moan his name then - without meaning to, without your permission - and Joel’s pace stutters. He starts grinding into you, barely pulling out before surging back in again, almost lifting your feet from the floor. You’re so wet you can hear it with each impact but you don’t give a fuck and Joel loves it; the reaction of your body only spurring him on.

All too quickly, you’re quivering on a knife’s edge, straining towards it, and you let go of a sob when you come, and the sudden fluttering, wet clench of your cunt around his cock finally does Joel in.

He knows he shouldn’t but he just needs to be inside you, deep enough to bruise, to replace the taste of coffee with the taste of him in the back of your throat - an instinct he just can’t hold back. He snaps his hips forward one last time, the slick wet heat of you welcoming him home, and his vision goes white as his cock pulses rhythmically inside you, filling you with his come.

You twitch and shiver through it, moaning weakly, encouragingly. You push back against him with the grip of your toes on the floor, murmuring wordless little sounds in time with the aftershocks.

Joel’s knees feel weak when awareness finally returns. He leans over you, breathing hard as if he’s just been running from a pack of Clickers, pressing his forehead against the back of your neck.

You know you should be pissed that Joel Miller just fucking came in you, but, well, you let him - and you liked it. A lot. You wanted him to. In fact, the predominant feeling you have now is one of satisfaction. In more ways than one.

You reach back on instinct to touch his face, as if to reassure yourself he’s still there. Joel flinches - but then you feel his beard, his lips against your fingers, your neck, your temple.

Yeah. He wanted this too. Maybe even needed it, too, as much as he needed the coffee.

“Definitely the best coffee date I’ve ever had,” you croak when you can speak again. And you think you can feel Joel smiling against your neck.

[omgreally]

Midnights - E - Joel Miller/F!Reader - 2k words Warnings: Smut, Joel's good with his mouth, a very Happy New Year.

Joel pulls back, and the blown-pupil intensity in his eyes makes you clench. "That a challenge?" he wonders, fingering the waistband of your jeans.

"You got any better ideas on how to ring in the new year, Joel Miller?"

---

Celebrating a new year seems more than a little pointless to you these days.

It seems, to you, that each passing day brings with it only the promise of suffering. The world turns on whether it's celebrated or not, indifferent to the little tragedies that define the lives of those that still somehow live in it, so why bother?

The people of Jackson celebrate anyway, perhaps out of spite, or sheer bloody-mindedness. You've never met such a hardened group of people before; probably why you've stuck around for so long. Everyone seems to have that look in their eye - the one that tells you that, like you, they don't sleep sound even inside these walls - but tonight, that look is dulled by drinking, and dancing, laughter and companionship.

The world keeps turning, and so people celebrate. It's just the way of things.

You're at the bar, because where else is there to be tonight? You know you won't be able to sleep for all the noise. It's fairly low-key, of course, but you're so used to sleeping with one ear open that you know that the music, the muted roar of so many voices, and the tread of dancing feet are likely to reach your ears even in your little house a few streets away. These days, you can only sleep with silence or white noise, and this is neither.

You can feel your discomfort growing, so you grab yourself another drink. It dulls the creeping feeling up the back of your neck, the ingrained fight-or-flight response that tells you you're in danger, even though the more logical part of your brain knows you're not. There are just too many people, too many lights, and too much noise. Maybe you should just go home and -

"Awful, ain't it?" A voice right by your ear makes you jump - you're packed so tight in with these people that you failed to notice one of them is paying attention to you.

Your instincts might not be so finely honed as you thought.

You relax when you turn to confront the owner of the voice. Joel Miller. Fairly new to Jackson, brother to Tommy, father to Ellie, the sullen redhead usually lurking in his shadow. You don't see her anywhere tonight, but Joel's gazing off towards the dance floor even as he leans against the bar next to you, so you figure she's out there somewhere, learning what it was like to be a teenager once. At least these kind of gatherings are good for something, you think. Kids these days don't stand a chance.

You've been on patrol with Joel a few times, so you know him as the quiet sort. It surprises you that he's talking to you, but you figure Tommy and Maria are busy, and you're probably the only person he could spot that he knows. It's fine. You're not obliged for pleasantries with Joel; he's a brusque man, almost as cynical as you, so you can relax.

"You're not a fan of parties, Miller?" You ask him as you glance at the side of his face. He's handsome, you think, in a grizzled kind of way. Broad shoulders. Strong. Holds his own in a fight. Strange, how your criteria for attractiveness changed when the world ended.

"Too loud," he says, shaking his head, scowling. "If a pack of Clickers don't trip the outer alarms tonight, I'll be surprised."

"Should've volunteered for patrol if you're so worried," you reply, taking a swig out of your cup. The alcohol is home-brewed and awful, but strong enough to make Joel's proximity not so unwelcome. It's been so long since you were close to anybody - physically or otherwise - that another human being actually striking up a conversation with you that isn't out of necessity is almost kind of...nice.

Christ, you're not healthy.

"You ain't wrong. And if you ain't worried, you've had too much to drink."

"Sounds like you need to drink more," you tell him, feeling yourself relaxing by degrees - or maybe it's the alcohol. To your surprise, he smiles - a tug at the corner of his mouth but unmistakably, a smile.

"You ain't wrong about that, either. I'm guessin' you and me are probably the only sober idiots in here."

"Is that why you're talking to me?" You swirl the tepid remainder around in the bottom of your cup - made brave by the encroaching buzz, or maybe it's just boredom, you add with a raised eyebrow: "Or are you looking to change that?"

Joel looks like he doesn't know what to say for a second, like nobody's flirted with him before. Hell, for all you know, they haven't. But it's New Years' and if you aren't going to follow tradition by celebrating, you can certainly follow tradition by making a dumb decision or two.

He's weighing up the same thing, if you're any judge. Looking around the room, flinching at a particularly raucous bout of laughter, scowling at someone dancing too close and jostling his elbow. His jaw sets; he's decided.

"Lemme get you another drink."

---

"Well, this is me."

"I know."

You stand on your porch, fumbling for your key, breathing through clouds of evaporating breath. Joel stands close, looking around, always on watch - out of habit more than chivalry, you'd guess. You left early, the alcohol making you tireder than you expected. Although Joel's offer to walk you home didn't seem innocent at the time, he's had his hands in his pockets the whole while and is still barely looking at you.

The cold's sobered you a bit, but not enough. Maybe it's how close Joel is standing. You glance up at him, watching the snowflakes melt in his hair, the bob of his throat above the edge of his collar. Sensing your eyes on him, he looks away from the street and back to you. There's a strange intensity to his gaze. You don't know how old he is, but you know you're both too old to blush and hesitate like a couple of teenagers.

"You wanna come inside for some coffee?"

You've got the good stuff, an Arabica blend you brought on patrol once in a Thermos, and Joel drank half of it. You know he likes coffee. But he hesitates hesitates again, and you smile - understanding. "You've gotta get back to Ellie," you say before he can. "It's okay. Thanks for walking me home, Joel."

You turn back to the door with the key in your hand. You've only just fitted it to the lock when his hand touches your shoulder. You look up just in time to intercept the kiss.

It's sudden, clumsy, but not unwelcome. The tip of his nose is cold and he tastes like alcohol and smells like sawdust, sweat and horses. His hand migrates to the back of your head - the other still firmly wedged in his pocket - he didn't even bother to put his gloves on before walking you home, you realize.

Maybe he never planned on leaving you on your doorstep.

You don't remember opening the door, stumbling inside and shutting it behind you, but the next thing you know you're spun with your back against it and a wall of Joel Miller pressed against you, bringing new meaning to between a rock and a hard place. But it's a place you're more than happy to be right now.

Your jacket joins his on the floor. You don't even have time to hit the lights before he's working the buttons on your shirt, pushing your undershirt aside to mouth at your collarbone.

"This okay?" It takes a second for your short-circuiting brain to parse the words, but you hope to God he can sense your nod as he sucks on your neck. Fuck. Either it's been too long or Joel really knows what he's doing to get you going so quick. You'd wager it's a little of both.

You can feel your pulse between your legs as he shoves a knee in between them, and you smother an embarrassing noise with the back of your hand.

But then Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the door. "Ain't nobody who can hear us tonight, darlin'," and his drawl sends shivers down your spine from something entirely other than fear, "You be as loud as you like."

"Don't flatter yourself," you half-gasp, half-laugh, "You're gonna have to try harder than that for me to get any louder."

Joel pulls back, and the blown-pupil intensity in his eyes makes you clench. "That a challenge?" he wonders, fingering the waistband of your jeans.

"You got any better ideas on how to ring in the new year, Joel Miller?"

He grins, teeth awfully white in the dark, but you regret nothing when he starts peeling your jeans down your legs, underwear and all. He kneels, you think just to help you off with your boots, but then he goes and slings one of your legs over his shoulders and leans in and oh, you're more than glad now that you invited him inside for coffee.

Joel nuzzles the crease of your thigh and crotch with the still-cold tip of his nose and you press your lips together to keep the sound in when his strong, broad fingers stroke up your thighs. It shouldn't surprise you, but he's as precise handling you as he is with handling a rifle.

You let your head fall back against the door with a thunk and close your eyes as he strokes either side of your labia with the calloused edges of his thumbs. "Christ, you're wet already," Joel mutters, the warmth of his breath curling your toes.

"I don't waste time," you inform him through clenched teeth, and he chuckles, a low sound like distant thunder before he leans in and licks a hot stripe through you that has you seeing stars.

"Neither - do you, apparently," you gasp, resisting the urge to fist your hands in his hair. You change your mind and do it anyway, and Joel answers with a soft grunt and a wide palm cupping your ass and using it to pull you deeper into the open heat of his mouth.

You forget all about not making any noise when he drags the tip of his tongue up and over the hood of your clitoris. He holds you still effortlessly even as your hips threaten to writhe away from him. You'd blame the alcohol for reacting so strongly, but the buzz has long since faded and anyway, who cares? You promised yourself a bad decision and so far, this one is paying off in a decidedly good way.

And how else would you celebrate a new year, anyway?

Joel slides one thick finger inside you without warning, and you're slick enough that it doesn't matter. Still, it almost makes you bend double, and you gasp his name as he seals his mouth over your clit and starts to suck gently, working it with his tongue, ceaseless and pinpoint-precise. You'd marvel at how damn good he is at this if you weren't already right on the edge. And when he adds another finger, pumping in and out with the regularity of a man who knows you're about to come all over his face, well, you have no choice but to give him what he wants.

You moan his name in delicious, relieved defeat, squeezing your eyes shut as the fluttering spasms spread heat from your pussy to your toes. You tense your thighs and arch your back into it, gasping, and Joel keeps your thighs open around his head, his mouth and fingers working ceaselessly, grunting his approval against your pulsing clitoris.

He senses when it's over, when you start to get too sensitive - pulling back, massaging your thighs with damp fingers. You lean against the door, spent, the back of your shirt soaked with sweat. Joel makes sure you can stand before he rises to his feet, and before he can move away you grab his collar to kiss him. Surprised, he grins against your mouth as you taste yourself on him, a renewed shiver strong down your spine.

"Happy New Year, darlin'," he murmurs when you pull back for breath.

"For me, maybe," you agree, and it's your turn to slide a leg in between his - gratified to press against the solid line of his erection, barely contained in his jeans. His turn to grunt softly and close his eyes, and you grin. "I think I owe you one."

Joel lifts an arm, in the half-darkness peering at the face of the cracked watch on his wrist. "Well," he drawls, looking back down at you as he loops his other arm round your waist, "It ain't midnight yet."

---

To be continued? Happy belated new year's folks!

[omgreally]

It’s Okay - Joel Miller/You - E 18+ - idk how many words, warnings: angst, established relationship, smut, unsafe sex, warm fuzzies.

Joel Miller has a bad dream.

—

Joel shivers from the memory of ghost fingertips cool on his brow. He wakes in a sweat, gasping - “Tess.”

Then, the pause. The one where he collects himself - remembers where he is. Who he’s with. He mutters, “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur back, sighing as you shift on the thin pillow. “I always know when she’s back in your dreams.”

“I’m sorry,” he offers after a moment, his hand heavy on your hip. Sheets still rucked down to your waist from last night. “I-“

“Joel.” You shut him down. “Stop. I already said it’s okay.” You rest your hand over his. “Now relax. You don’t have to talk about it. You can go back to sleep.”

He isn’t sure what he did to deserve you. It’s not the first time he’s woken up like this in the middle of the night. It’s worse when the dreams are of Sarah. But you’ve never blamed him for it, or judged. Offered an ear and a shoulder and, eventually, a bed. It happened with such swift intensity that only Ellie saw it coming, and would laugh at you both.

“Darlin’, I…” He gets extra Texan when he starts feeling things. And his voice gets deeper. He presses the line of his nose against the side of your neck. “Thanks.”

“Night, Joel,” you murmur fondly.

“Night.”

You wake to the feel of his breath on your neck, warm and even and deep. Fast asleep. You’re notched up against him now, back pulled to his chest, his arm across your ribs.

“Joel.” You shift your hips to try and wake him. It works - but only in a very localised way. “Joel,” you try again, as his hand shifts, slides downward.

“Mornin’,” he rumbles, the thickened quality to his voice lifting the hairs on your nape. “Sleep well?”

“Eventually.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he sighs, and so do you as the pads of his fingertips crest your clitoris. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“You better,” you manage just as coherent thought leaves you the same time two of Joel’s fingers enter you, slow and deep. You gasp, contracting. He grunts distantly and you feel the slide of warm, hard flesh against your ass. You arch back toward him.

“Shit,” Joel says again, in a different tone of voice this time, an almost reverent one. He slides his fingers out of you to down and angles his dick into the space between your thighs, the thick head pressing against the slick notch of your pussy, squeezing in slow.

“Language,” you chide distantly as your nerves light up like a Christmas Tree on the Fourth of July. “Oh - don’t stop,” you add, toes curling.

“What, the language?” Joel teases, infuriatingly - perfectly. “Or this?” He grabs your hip and pulls you in close, lodges all the way inside you, forcing an expletive out of you that makes you hope your voice won’t carry. “Now who’s talkin’,” he adds on a chuckle and you nudge him with your elbow, hissing when he angles his hips in a particular way and shifts inside you.

“Shut up and fuck me, Joel Miller.”

He covers your mouth before he obliges, driving you down hard against the mattress. Your breath leaves you as he thrusts in deep and holds his cock there, keeping you pinned, squirming like a caught butterfly.

You grab his wrist for grip on the next devastating withdrawal and equally punishing heave of his hips. Then he does it again, and again, his fingers pressed tight to your lips, thankfully smothering your more embarrassing sounds. His other hand works you over, two fingertips pinpointed to that spot along the hood of your clit, incessant.

Joel only wavers when you start to get tight, to go quiet and still like you’re about to pounce. Then you release all at once - a jerking, weeping mess as your orgasm rips through you. He groans as you contract around his cock and it doesn’t take long for him to lose his composure - he shoves two fingers in your mouth and slides in deep one final time before his cock starts to throb inside you, filling you with warmth.

“Fuck. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to - “

You reach back and touch your fingers to his lips as his hand lowers gently from yours. “Joel,” you croak, grinning, still panting a little “It’s okay. I mean it.”

And you always do.

[omgreally]

You got something in the noggin' for Joel's first time with someone since Tess? Maybe he has a difficult time with how much guilt it brings up? Does it turn him into a mess? Does it become an angry f*ck? Only you can tell us!

Boy howdy, do I!

Touch Memory - Joel Miller/f!reader - E18+ - 500ish words - Warnings: smut with a touch of feels

Joel’s heart forgot, but his body didn’t.

He remembers the soft warmth of Tess’s skin. The comfort of her - of each other - a little shared nice thing in a world defined by cruelty. He let himself have that, once. Just once. And then Tess was gone, and he needed to think about Ellie.

Joel still needs to think about Ellie, but Jackson is safe. Safer than out there, at least. And then you - you came along with the force of a hurricane and swept him on up.

He never thought he’d let himself have something like this again, but here he is.

Here he is; his hands moulded to your breasts, your thighs. His fingers sliding into the heated clench of you. His mouth fastened to your nipple, panting around it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s hair and moan; you can do little else. Your jeans are across the room, your shirt on his nightstand. Underwear around your ankles, gone when Joel whips them off and kneels between your legs.

“Fuck,” you mutter, when he seals his lips and clever tongue to your pussy; “That’s the plan,” he pauses to say, deadpan as you laugh and nudge his shoulder with your foot.

“Miller, you better learn when to shut u-hhhnnn,” Your words dissolve into an unintelligible moan as he adds a third finger and your ability to form coherent sentences leaves you entirely.

You hold onto Joel’s wrist, fingernails digging into the thick cords of muscle through his forearm. You come with a garbled cry, pinned and writhing like a caught butterfly. Joel’s mouth and fingers keep moving even as your thighs close on his head and you buck your hips into his face through the furious apex of your orgasm, gasping.

“Jesus Joel, where’d the hell’d’you learn to do that-“ you manage after a moment, breathless. He kisses your astonishment away.

What he remembers fades quick against the immediateness of you. For a moment, it’s just now. He rolls you over and you tug a pillow beneath your body, pressing your forehead to the mattress as Joel lines himself up and squeezes in slow. His cock is girthy enough that you have to widen your knees and tilt your hips up and back a little more to accept him in all the way.

He wastes no time setting a rhythm, pulling out, sliding back in, splaying his wide handspan over your hips to pull you back onto him at the same time. Your breath exits you in a quick, surprised exhale, that familiar flutter starting up deep in your gut.

Joel tugs you up and back against him with an arm around your waist. He’s panting in staccato bursts against the side of your neck, the rhythm of his hips stuttering when he feels you start to go off. You clamp down on his cock in rolling waves, open-mouthed and gasping in his arms. You can feel him plunge into you one last time before he stops, holding you bruisingly tight as his cock jerks inside you and Joel fills you with his come.

“Shit. I’m sorry - did I hurt you?” Always so chivalrous, is Joel Miller. You shake your head, smiling. He slides out of you and produces a towel a minute later, which you accept gratefully. Then he does something you don’t expect. He pulls you into his arms.

After a moment, you let yourself relax, and so does Joel - some tension he didn’t even know he had leaving him now.

He let himself have this, once. But the memory of Tess isn’t quite as strong as the feel of you now.

So Joel lets himself have this, just once more. For now.

[omgreally]

omgreally? a masterlist?

E18+, MINORS DNI!

For my back catalogue of Pedro Pascal fandom fic, go here

For the rest:

— The Last of Us Joel Miller/F!Reader

Comfortably Close / E18+ / 2.1k / Huddling for warmth; first time / Warnings: PIV, unprotected sex

Midnights / E18+ / 2.1k / New Year's Eve; first time / Warnings: oral (f receiving)

It's Okay / E18+ / 750 / Morning sex; Established relationship / Warnings: PIV, unprotected sex

Hurried / E18+ / 670 / Quickie; Established relationship / Warnings: PIV, unprotected sex

Touch Memory / E18+ / 620 / After Tess; first time / Warnings: oral (f receiving), PIV, unprotected sex

Hot Coffee / E18+ / 2.1k / Coffee date; first time / Warnings: PIV, unprotected sex

His / E18+ / 1.1k / Possessive!Joel; Established relationship / Warnings: oral (f receiving), PIV, unprotected sex

[omgreally]

Comfortably Close

Joel Miller/You, E for Smut™, 2.1k You and Joel share a couch. The classic Huddling for Warmth with Joel Miller smut trope, yet another take.

-

It’s cold in the dilapidated old house you and Joel hunker down in, and the blizzard screams outside as if it has a personal vendetta against the two of you.

You haven’t known Joel long. The quiet, grizzled man might have struck you as scary if years of surviving hadn’t blunted you so much to the savagery of others. He’s polite enough, and he keeps his hands to himself.

Decades ago your standards might’ve been higher for the company you keep. But that was then, and this is now. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught out on a patrol together, and it probably won’t be the last. Joel’s had your back long enough that you trust him more than most, but that isn’t saying much; you’re one of the ones that’s had a harder time settling into this new life of safety and warmth. Maybe that’s why you get along so well. You don’t take things too seriously, and he discounts your flirting as good-natured harmlessness.

He’s wrong, of course. Your standards aren’t so high these days, after all, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Life’s too short, you tell him once - it can turn on a dime, and everything can change in a heartbeat. Or the lack of one. And Joel, with a low murmur, agrees. 

You’ve both lost people. That much is evident, in the fierceness of the way he protects his girl, the wary little redhead you’re pretty sure could kill you despite appearances. You’ve seen Joel talking to her once or twice, quietly intense before leaving on a patrol, and she always looks like she wants to tell him not to go - but she holds herself back.

It’s sad how quick kids have to grow up these days.

You sigh at the dark thoughts creeping in through the cold, shifting beneath the mouldy carpet draped uselessly over your shoulders to try and keep you warm. The creaking walls don’t hold heat well, so there’s no point in starting a fire. You watch your breath gather in frosty white clouds, obscuring your face, as Joel does the same from the couch.

“Least if I freeze to death before morning that’ll save me the ride back,” you mutter. The horses are huddled together in the garage, but you can’t say you’re fond of your uppity mare. She may be just a horse, but you can tell she doesn’t like you. 

“You really hate ridin’ that much?” Joel drawls, and you glance up at his hunched form.

“Horses? Yes. They’ve got minds of their own. Machines and men, on the other hand..”

Joel’s chuckle, warm and unexpected, forms a quickly-dissipating fog. You resist the urge to glance over at him. He always brushes you off, like he does most in Jackson; you’re lucky to get conversation out of him most of the time. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and he asks about other people even less. Keeps you at arms length - safer that way, you know, but it makes you curious. Only natural, you tell yourself; you tell yourself it doesn’t make him any more intriguing, any more interesting than anyone else. But there’s something about that look in his eye, sometimes, and you wonder about him, more than you should.

“You cold?” Joel asks, as a particularly nasty shiver wracks you. You look up, raising your eyebrows.

“Sweltering,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure they’re close to frozen in their sockets. “Sure we can’t start a fire? I hear horse fat burns pretty well.”

“You sure do have a sick sense of humour when you’re cranky,” Joel obbserves, perhaps the most personal thing he’s said to you. You try not to let it sting, but maybe he means it as a compliment - you can’t tell.”C’mere.”

“You try being in a good mood when you’re freezing your tits off - what?” you add, as your freezing, sluggish brain catches up with what he said. “Where?”

Joel looks at you and lifts the edge of his threadbare blanket. “Come. Here. I ain’t gonna let you freeze to death, girl.”

“Girl? I’ve got more grays than you,” you gripe, but you don’t leave yourself to hesitate too much while your fingers and toes are busy going numb. You discard the useless carpet and climb up onto the couch. It’s a big, old, moth-bitten thing that creaks under your weight as you add it to Joel’s, but there’s enough room to curl up next to him, back to his chest. He drops the blanket unceremoniously over you and tucks an arm over your waist, far too familiar.

“I never noticed,” he murmurs in your ear, and you feel the hairs lift on the back of your neck. You shiver, but it’s not from cold this time.

It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone - even this near, with clothes on. Despite your propensity for flirting, the follow-through was the problem; Jackson was a small community, after all. But Joel is very warm and solid at your back. Then he starts rubbing the outside of your arms with broad palms and you suddenly realize how much you’ve missed human touch.

Joel must feel some kind of tension in you, for he stops pretty quick. “You okay?” he wonders, his chest a rumble against your spine, hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a tight nod, pillowing your head on your folded arm. It’s too cold to be thinking like this - you have to think about conservation of body heat, about survival, like Joel is. So you breathe out and let the tension go and say, “You still wanna take first watch? I’m beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“‘Kay.” You close your eyes, force yourself to breathe, to think of something other than the fit of Joel’s body against yours. “And Joel…Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes your shoulder. And eventually, your breathing evens out into sleep. 

—

You wake with an arm wrapped around your torso, the sensation of breath hot against your neck. The tip of your nose is cold but the rest of you is warm with the body pressed against yours. 

Sometime during the night Joel must have nodded off, wrapped himself around you like a serpent. Your ass resting firmly in the notch of his hips you can tell the very natural reaction his body’s had in sleep - the firmness pressed against your cheek definitely not that of a weapon holster.

You wonder if you should wake him, but you don’t need to pee yet and the blizzard has quieted outside and quite frankly, this is nice. You haven’t had anyone hold you quite like this for a very long time, so you close your eyes and arch back against him a little, pressing your thighs together for a little friction, a little stretch through your muscles that feels good.

His hand migrated from your shoulder to your ribcage, long fingers tucked under your arm, fanned out underneath the swell of your breast. You don’t mind it. Even as compromising as this position is he hasn’t gone for a full grope, which you appreciate. A gentleman, despite his baser natures.

Rare, these days.

Joel shifts with your stretch, his breath hitching into a wakeful rhythm, but you try not to let on that you’re already awake - to try and preserve the moment for a little longer. You resist the urge to sigh in disappointment when his hand draws back, only to flinch in surprise when you feel those long fingers move the hair away from your neck.

“Mornin’.” He doesn’t move his hips either toward or away from you, belying the fact he’s probably quite aware of his current state of arousal. The intention of the lack of movement makes something in your stomach drop in hopeful anticipation. “I know you’re awake. You ain’t snoring.”

Not very romantic, but you can work with that. “I know you’re awake, too,” you point out, shifting back against him - again, he doesn’t move, but his hand settles on your hip and your stomach swoops this time. “So much for taking watch.”

“I dozed off for a second,” he says,  and you feel him shrug, “You make a nice pillow.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” But your voice has no real venom in it. Not when he’s thumbing the edge of your waistband like that.

“Girl? Thought you had more grays than me?” Joel teases, and you feel the strong bridge of his nose nudge beneath your ear, beard a rasp and lips against your neck. 

Then, infuriatingly, he stops. “Let me know if I’m oversteppin’ here, or readin’ things wrong…” 

Such a fucking gentleman.

“Shit, Joel,” you breathe, resisting the urge to turn over to smack him, “I was beginning to wonder if you could read at all.”

“See? Cranky,” he rumbles, the chuckle you feel to your bones. He’s efficient from there - stripping your jeans and panties to your knees with one big hand. He gets his other arm beneath you, fingers under your shirt, callouses ghosting the puckering flesh of a nipple. “Glad you didn’t freeze these off,” he murmurs in your ear.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” you observe as you arch back against him. His groan rumbles satisfyingly against your back. Then you feel him move back, and hear the quick rasp of his zipper. Your gut - and lower - flutters with powerful arousal. 

“Been a while since I woke up to somethin’ nice.” A strange, warm feeling in your chest, one you’re afraid to examine, is quickly replaced by thigh-tensing anticipation as you feel the blunt head of his cock drag down squeeze in between the V of your thighs to notch against the already weeping clench of your cunt. 

“Joel Miller, I definitely ain’t nice.”

“You feel nice,” he corrects, as he pushes in. He loops his arm back around your waist and pulls you close- so suddenly you struggle to adjust to the sudden intrusion of his full length inside you. “Fuck.”

You echo the sentiment as his long, clever fingers work between your legs. Two fingertips find the hood of your clit and you know you shouldn’t be surprised at how precise he is - it isn’t quite the roughness you may have expected. 

No, it’s better.

You’re almost embarrassed by how good it feels. 

The thick, pulsing weight of Joel’s cock as he pulls back and slides in again, much more slowly this time. Slow enough that you can feel every vein and ridge of his shaft as he drags it through you. 

“Your turn to take watch,” his mouth, hot at your ear, his voice a deep buzz. You shiver even as you shove your hips back against him with the next thrust. 

“Your turn to sleep, then,” you tease back. His fingers on your clitoris roll slow, lazy circles into the swollen nerve. 

“Not til I’m done with you, darlin’.” Darlin’ - that’s a new one, you think, even as your eyes threaten to roll back next time he fills you. 

There’s no words after that. Just his groans, like faint, occasional thunder - when you clench up, and your pussy starts to ripple around his cock. You gasp his name as you come, clamping down, squeezing your thighs together to cling to the feeling as it floods you, floor to scalp. You’re wrung out, sweaty and gasping as you feel Joel pull out, feel his come splash across your ass. 

“Sorry,” he pants, and hearing his voice like that nearly breaks you all over again - husky and breathless, not from running from a Clicker. “Lemme get you cleaned up.”

“A gentleman to the end,” you say when you eventually turn onto your back. Joel looks good like this - cheeks flushed, jaw tight, hair and eye wild as he gets himself back under control. He raises his eyebrow at you. 

“Oh, I’m not,” he assures you, after a quick check of the room. “We still got time.“ And a crease appears on his bearded cheek as he leans down and descends on you with, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

[gracie7209]

This was so good 🥵

Hot Coffee ☕️ / Joel Miller/F!Reader / 1.5k-2k ish / E18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: This escalated quickly. Angst; Banter; Sexual tension that is most definitely resolved; Consenting adults getting carried away; unprotected sex; smut, little bit of a breeding kink if you squint.

Summary: When is a coffee date not a coffee date? When it’s with Joel Miller, of course. It’s about time both of you got the hint.

—

Joel tries not to think about creature comforts much. The world ended so suddenly that most of them became a thing of the past in a single afternoon. By the time the next day dawned, he forgot about things like Sunday mornings and coffee and watching TV and playing board games; all that mattered was survival.

He often wondered why he bothered. There didn’t seem to be much to live for, after - after Sarah. Tommy kept him going a while, and sheer spite after that; anger at the whole world, anger that manifested itself through the impact of his fists or from the barrel of his gun. Bloody knuckles and the metallic tang of of gunpowder and copper the only taste left in the back of his throat. Things like coffee and pancakes? A thing of the past. Forgotten.

Tess cooled him down some, reminded him of something other than emptiness, but the space between her and Ellie coming along was too narrow, the grief too fresh, so he locked it away. He was pretty sure he’d never be close to someone like that ever again.

It was inevitable, though. Humans always sought out companionship; it was pack instinct more than anything else. At least, that’s what Joel tells himself as you sit across from him, drinking coffee.

He tells himself he isn’t getting comfortable or complacent, because if he let himself think that, then he’d start to think he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows where a thought like that ends. But he can taste something other than blood now, and he’s not sure why, but that scares him - more than his anger does.

Joel lets the silence stretch between you, and you seem comfortable with it. He imagines a time years ago when this would be a date. Now it’s just two humans sharing a space and a time where they don’t have to fight to survive. When he stops to think about it, he realises it feels…nice.

So nice he almost didn’t want to let you in when you came to his door, but you had a bag of coffee beans- real coffee beans - you pilfered on a patrol and you were offering to share them with him, no one else, him - and he’s not sure if it’s because he was the only person you knew who owned a coffee grinder in Jackson or not.

Joel’s not sure he can handle the implications otherwise.

“Finished already?” You raise a brow as he drains his chipped mug and sets it down on the table between you. “Jesus, Miller. You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls for hours. That shit’s Colombian.”

“Thirty-year-old Arabica beans,” he corrects, pointing a finger at you, making you smile. Making you smile is always easier than it should be. Easier with him than with others, he’s noticed. It worries him. “Probably full of more E. coli than caffeine.”

“You fail high school chemistry too?” You tease him often, because the man takes himself too damn seriously. Joel hates that he likes it, and he hates that you can tell.

“Okay, it’s oxidised,” he drawls, “It tastes like shit but it won’t kill me. Happy?”

“Only when you’re miserable,” you say brightly. He scoffs and shakes his head, and the quiet builds between you, its presence suddenly large and uncomfortable in the absence of more coffee. You sigh, and give up. “Ah, never mind. I should get going. Sorry the coffee was shit.”

You stand up and move towards the door. Joel catches your wrist, and you pause. Look down at the man. More greys than when you first met him, but his cheeks aren’t as hollow. Jackson suited him, even though he makes any excuse not to settle down.

Ellie’s happy here, so he doesn’t have a choice.

“Thanks,” Joel says, making eye contact. Your turn to look away. Too serious. “I haven’t had fresh-ground coffee in…” he pauses to think, going back. Too far back. “Ages,” he finishes. His fingers are still on your wrist.

“Well, you were the first person I thought of when I found it. Haven’t had a good supply run like that in ages. But it wasn’t fresh. I think you said something about E. coli?”

“Sorry. You know I-“ He fights for the words when you take his hand. You’ve never done that before. Flirted with him, sure, but you’ve never touched him unsolicited like this. You’ve got more boundaries, more walls up than he does sometimes.

“You remember coffee dates?” You smile at his frown. “You know, some asshole buys you a coffee, expects you to sleep with him after. Happened all the time to the girls I worked with at the bar, back before the world ended. Never to me though. So one day, I brought an asshole a cup of coffee. Know what happened?”

Joel shakes his head, mute. He’s stroking your wrist with his thumb, turned his body towards you. You could just sit right on his knee if you wanted. You could lean down and kiss him.

“We sat and drank coffee for twenty minutes and neither of us said a word.”

Joel lets you go like you’ve bitten him. He wonders if he’s blown it, and he’s surprised to find out he really hopes he hasn’t. You put up a lot but he’s always known it was inevitable he would ruin any chance at friendship - or more - with you by pushing you away. He’s been doing it for weeks, months even, ignoring your hints, responding with taciturn silence, expecting you to figure out it was habit drilled into him by years of only his own loneliness and anger for company.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says, not meeting your eyes. You touch his shoulder and then he looks up.

“Don’t be. Best coffee date I’ve had in ages.”

He tastes like bitter, burnt beans when you kiss him, and you imagine you don’t taste much better. But Joel reacts as if he’s drowning and you’re his only source of air - rising to his feet, his hands on your waist - he kisses you back like he never forgot how.

He didn’t know how much he wanted you until you were about to walk away.

Joel prays to god Ellie’s still out with that girl she likes because if she walked into their house right now she would see her surrogate father figure with his tongue down your throat and his hands in your pants. Your thoughts go down a similar road as you fumble with his belt.

There’s no need for words or what-ifs between you; you don’t need to say anything because you both know it doesn’t matter. All that matters is now, the press of Joel’s mouth and tongue, the solid promise of his body.

Joel touches you at first as if he can’t believe you’re real, that this is happening. But he’s quick to grow bold, hands kneading at your breast, fingers pinching at the peak of your nipple when he finds out it you like it - rewarding him with a gasp. Joel grins that cheeky fucking grin you see on him sometimes, when he thinks you aren’t looking, and suddenly all that matters is the stubborn zipper of his fly, the buttons of your shirt, and your sneakers which you just can’t seem to kick off fast enough before either of you stop to think that this might not be the best idea after all.

Joel can’t remember the last time he had a good idea, but this doesn’t feel like a bad one. Not with the heat of your mouth at his throat, the firm, pliable curves of your body pressed against him. He knew you weren’t the shy type but he almost chokes when you palm the outline of his stiffening dick before you even get his zipper all the way down.

It’s like a spell the two of you are too reluctant to break by speaking. There’s just the combined sound of your breathing, the press of your mouths, the intoxicating buzz of caffeine mixed with arousal so painfully strong it’s like a cramp. You need to fuck Joel right now as much as you need to breathe. He seems to feel the same, if how hard he is is anything to go by.

When you finally free his cock the animal part of Joel’s brain starts snarling and clawing at the walls. He grabs a fistful of your hair and spins you around, bending you forward over the table. You manage to kick one of your sneakers off, your jeans hanging off one leg - he doesn’t even pull your panties down, just drags the soaked fabric aside to make room for him.

Everything up til now has been frenzied. Coffee cups and clothes all over the floor. But when he pushes into you, time slows; and for a moment there’s no apocalypse outside Jackson. There’s just the feeling of Joel feeding your pussy every inch of his cock, slow but steady, as if he already knows you can take it. And you can, and you do, holding your breath as your entire focus narrows to the delicious ache between your legs as Joel stretches you open.

Then you feel his warm, wide palm on your back, long fingers stroking almost soothingly down your spine. He doesn’t speak but you can almost hear the dark molasses of his Texas drawl, lifting the hairs on your neck - Relax. Breathe. So you do, and Joel rewards you by pulling out slow - and thrusting in again quicker, finding a new angle that has the blunt head of his dick striking some nerve inside you that has you seeing stars, and then he does it again. And again.

You want to sob his name and drag claw marks into the table but you just hold onto the edge of it and arch your back, closing your eyes. You haven’t been fucked like this in years - maybe ever - and it feels right that it’s now, that it’s Joel Miller.

Thank God for coffee dates.

Joel’s thighs slap into the back of yours, the table jumping beneath you. You can hear him panting like distant thunder. When your legs start to shake beneath you, he loops an arm around your hips and finds your clit in seconds with two fingertips, as instinctive as pulling a trigger. You know you’re not going to last much longer, and he seems intent on it.

You moan his name then - without meaning to, without your permission - and Joel’s pace stutters. He starts grinding into you, barely pulling out before surging back in again, almost lifting your feet from the floor. You’re so wet you can hear it with each impact but you don’t give a fuck and Joel loves it; the reaction of your body only spurring him on.

All too quickly, you’re quivering on a knife’s edge, straining towards it, and you let go of a sob when you come, and the sudden fluttering, wet clench of your cunt around his cock finally does Joel in.

He knows he shouldn’t but he just needs to be inside you, deep enough to bruise, to replace the taste of coffee with the taste of him in the back of your throat - an instinct he just can’t hold back. He snaps his hips forward one last time, the slick wet heat of you welcoming him home, and his vision goes white as his cock pulses rhythmically inside you, filling you with his come.

You twitch and shiver through it, moaning weakly, encouragingly. You push back against him with the grip of your toes on the floor, murmuring wordless little sounds in time with the aftershocks.

Joel’s knees feel weak when awareness finally returns. He leans over you, breathing hard as if he’s just been running from a pack of Clickers, pressing his forehead against the back of your neck.

You know you should be pissed that Joel Miller just fucking came in you, but, well, you let him - and you liked it. A lot. You wanted him to. In fact, the predominant feeling you have now is one of satisfaction. In more ways than one.

You reach back on instinct to touch his face, as if to reassure yourself he’s still there. Joel flinches - but then you feel his beard, his lips against your fingers, your neck, your temple.

Yeah. He wanted this too. Maybe even needed it, too, as much as he needed the coffee.

“Definitely the best coffee date I’ve ever had,” you croak when you can speak again. And you think you can feel Joel smiling against your neck.

[wordywarriorwrites]

His / Joel Miller/F!Reader / 1.1k / E18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Smut from start to finish, possessive!Joel, oral (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, very unsafe PIV sex, breeding kink (no need to squint, it's there).

Summary: Joel finally loses control with you. —

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but sometimes, he just can’t help himself.

It’s a human fear, something different to the everyday worries of survival. Something he hasn’t needed to think about for a long time. With Tess he was careful - with you, it’s like he doesn’t want to be.

He wants you to be his.

He wants to rip your pants off and tear the crotch of your panties and fuck you until you know that you belong to him.

He wants to make love to you slow - until you’re panting, squirming like a pinned animal and begging for him to make you come.

He wants you on your knees, up against a wall, on the floor.

He wants to tell you how gorgeous you look, stuffed full of his cock. And he imagines how it would feel to thrust deep and hold himself there until the tremors of oncoming release takes him, his cock throbbing with his pulse as he fills the welcoming heat of your pussy with his come.

But he knows that as soon as his head stops spinning and clarity replaces endorphins, he’ll have to deal with the fallout of reality, so he controls himself. Somehow.

Until one night. One drunken night. A bottle of whiskey saved for a special occasion and your shirt unbuttoned, begging for the burn of stubble against your unmarked collarbone. Joel watches the flutter of your pulse in your neck and bites his tongue until he can taste blood.

There's no words. Just a moment where your eyes meet and you raise your eyebrow like you know what he's thinking - or maybe you're thinking the same.

Either way, it's not long before open-mouthed kisses and hands under clothes turns into to the heat of skin against skin, the taste of saliva and scotch.

Joel practically devours you once he has you naked - like he wants to taste every part of you. You're happy to oblige, parting for him like the sea, the salt of your sweat and the tang of your arousal bursting on his tongue. One hand on your hip, the other on your ankle to hold you still as he licks through your folds with lazy strokes that drive you wild, your teeth marking indents in your knuckles, the urge to cry his name swelling in your lungs.

When he starts on your clit with the single-minded aim of a sniper taking the shot you moan a broken, wounded sound that only spurs him on. Two fingers sliding home inside your pussy, crooked against the visceral clench of your muscles. You can feel his savage grin as he wrests the sounds from your throat. Victory sings in Joel's blood, an animal, instinctive victory, and he's too far gone in the immediacy of how fucking good you feel and taste to care if the neighbours hear you.

A deeper, darker part of him hopes they do. Hopes everyone in Jackson hears and knows that you're his.

Joel waits 'til your thighs are trembling and your toes are curling and you're leaking into his palm, ready to come - and then he pulls back. You gasp and swear at him, furious right up until he wrestles his jeans down his thighs to free his cock from his underwear. Then you're soft again, soft and pink and open for him and no one else, and the slide into the tight heat of your cunt feels like a homecoming.

He sits up, holding your thighs open with his hands on the insides of your knees, watching you stretch to take every inch. You're trembling, a sheen of sweat rendering your skin in gold. Joel leaves the outlines of his fingers on your skin, white pressure marks that take a moment to fill in, your inner thighs flushed red where his beard abraded the sensitive skin.

You watch him above you through hooded eyes, your hand on his wrist, nails pressing into his skin. Anchoring him to you. And you wrap your legs around his waist and lift your hips to meet his, bearing down on his cock, enveloping him whole in the intoxicating grip of your body.

And he knows then that you've claimed him as much as he is claiming you.

He draws out, thrusts back in, and you're so wet from the torture of his mouth that he can hear the soft, organic sounds of the impact. He grabs the outside of one thigh, lifting your knee into the crook of his elbow - your spine bows as he leans over you, spreading you open. He hits something deep enough inside you that you stop breathing and for a moment he's worried he's hurt you until he feels your fingernails in his shoulder and the gasp of "Joel, more," in his ear. He obliges, driven by the hungry clench of your pussy.

He's not going to last long. Whether it's the whiskey or the effect of your body, he's close. But you were close before too, and it only takes the squeeze of his hand in between your bodies, the brush of his calloused thumb across the plush, swollen nub of your clit before you're there. Your head thrown back, your mouth open, the column of your neck begging for the outline of his teeth, but Joel just watches as you come undone, feeling the tremble of your abdomen against his as he thrusts in deep and holds himself there and -

He's too close - he needs to pull out - he rears back but your thighs are locked in marble relief around his hips and you feel so fucking good squeezing his cock like a rippling vice -

Joel groans, deep in his chest, grinding into you as his dick throbs and he fills you spurt after spurt of his come. He presses down on your knees and opens you up so he can pull back a little, watching the jerking pump of his shaft, until it starts to overflow, pearly rivulets of spend staining your skin. He lifts your hips and thrusts back in to keep it all in there as long as he can, every drop of him, every inch.

He leans over you, spent, pressing his sweaty forehead into the mattress. In the clarity of the fading endorphins, Joel waits for regret; but instead he feels the touch of your hand on his face and your lips against his cheek -

"I've been waiting for you to do that for ages."

And he realizes you were his from the start.

—

tag list! ;

@stealyourblorbos @tortor-mcgee @aprilqueen84 @letsfuckshitup @whataenginerd @its-nebuleuse @inkededucatednnerdy @myloveistoolittle @harriedandharassed @jreads @awhiskeywithawinchester @gnpwdrnwhiskey @monkcastlelover

[prolix-yuy]

Ohhh Joel honey, you can definitely have it more than this one time. I love how you paint this picture of what came before and what he's living in now, and how that harbors its own ache in his heart. The fact that he holds her? I got all teary-eyes just thinking about it. Lovely story, thank you for sharing!

You got something in the noggin' for Joel's first time with someone since Tess? Maybe he has a difficult time with how much guilt it brings up? Does it turn him into a mess? Does it become an angry f*ck? Only you can tell us!

Boy howdy, do I!

Touch Memory - Joel Miller/f!reader - E18+ - 500ish words - Warnings: smut with a touch of feels

Joel’s heart forgot, but his body didn’t.

He remembers the soft warmth of Tess’s skin. The comfort of her - of each other - a little shared nice thing in a world defined by cruelty. He let himself have that, once. Just once. And then Tess was gone, and he needed to think about Ellie.

Joel still needs to think about Ellie, but Jackson is safe. Safer than out there, at least. And then you - you came along with the force of a hurricane and swept him on up.

He never thought he’d let himself have something like this again, but here he is.

Here he is; his hands moulded to your breasts, your thighs. His fingers sliding into the heated clench of you. His mouth fastened to your nipple, panting around it.

You thread your fingers through Joel’s hair and moan; you can do little else. Your jeans are across the room, your shirt on his nightstand. Underwear around your ankles, gone when Joel whips them off and kneels between your legs.

“Fuck,” you mutter, when he seals his lips and clever tongue to your pussy; “That’s the plan,” he pauses to say, deadpan as you laugh and nudge his shoulder with your foot.

“Miller, you better learn when to shut u-hhhnnn,” Your words dissolve into an unintelligible moan as he adds a third finger and your ability to form coherent sentences leaves you entirely.

You hold onto Joel’s wrist, fingernails digging into the thick cords of muscle through his forearm. You come with a garbled cry, pinned and writhing like a caught butterfly. Joel’s mouth and fingers keep moving even as your thighs close on his head and you buck your hips into his face through the furious apex of your orgasm, gasping.

“Jesus Joel, where’d the hell’d’you learn to do that-“ you manage after a moment, breathless. He kisses your astonishment away.

What he remembers fades quick against the immediateness of you. For a moment, it’s just now. He rolls you over and you tug a pillow beneath your body, pressing your forehead to the mattress as Joel lines himself up and squeezes in slow. His cock is girthy enough that you have to widen your knees and tilt your hips up and back a little more to accept him in all the way.

He wastes no time setting a rhythm, pulling out, sliding back in, splaying his wide handspan over your hips to pull you back onto him at the same time. Your breath exits you in a quick, surprised exhale, that familiar flutter starting up deep in your gut.

Joel tugs you up and back against him with an arm around your waist. He’s panting in staccato bursts against the side of your neck, the rhythm of his hips stuttering when he feels you start to go off. You clamp down on his cock in rolling waves, open-mouthed and gasping in his arms. You can feel him plunge into you one last time before he stops, holding you bruisingly tight as his cock jerks inside you and Joel fills you with his come.

“Shit. I’m sorry - did I hurt you?” Always so chivalrous, is Joel Miller. You shake your head, smiling. He slides out of you and produces a towel a minute later, which you accept gratefully. Then he does something you don’t expect. He pulls you into his arms.

After a moment, you let yourself relax, and so does Joel - some tension he didn’t even know he had leaving him now.

He let himself have this, once. But the memory of Tess isn’t quite as strong as the feel of you now.

So Joel lets himself have this, just once more. For now.

[i-like-to-read-13]

Wooo!! My first reaction pic to a fic (hey that rhymed.) Anyway, this was Hot As Hell and I will be taking a very cold shower, thank you very much. On a different note, do you happen to know where I can borrow a Joel Miller? Asking for a friend.....

Comfortably Close

Joel Miller/You, E for Smut™, 2.1k You and Joel share a couch. The classic Huddling for Warmth with Joel Miller smut trope, yet another take.

-

It’s cold in the dilapidated old house you and Joel hunker down in, and the blizzard screams outside as if it has a personal vendetta against the two of you.

You haven’t known Joel long. The quiet, grizzled man might have struck you as scary if years of surviving hadn’t blunted you so much to the savagery of others. He’s polite enough, and he keeps his hands to himself.

Decades ago your standards might’ve been higher for the company you keep. But that was then, and this is now. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught out on a patrol together, and it probably won’t be the last. Joel’s had your back long enough that you trust him more than most, but that isn’t saying much; you’re one of the ones that’s had a harder time settling into this new life of safety and warmth. Maybe that’s why you get along so well. You don’t take things too seriously, and he discounts your flirting as good-natured harmlessness.

He’s wrong, of course. Your standards aren’t so high these days, after all, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Life’s too short, you tell him once - it can turn on a dime, and everything can change in a heartbeat. Or the lack of one. And Joel, with a low murmur, agrees. 

You’ve both lost people. That much is evident, in the fierceness of the way he protects his girl, the wary little redhead you’re pretty sure could kill you despite appearances. You’ve seen Joel talking to her once or twice, quietly intense before leaving on a patrol, and she always looks like she wants to tell him not to go - but she holds herself back.

It’s sad how quick kids have to grow up these days.

You sigh at the dark thoughts creeping in through the cold, shifting beneath the mouldy carpet draped uselessly over your shoulders to try and keep you warm. The creaking walls don’t hold heat well, so there’s no point in starting a fire. You watch your breath gather in frosty white clouds, obscuring your face, as Joel does the same from the couch.

“Least if I freeze to death before morning that’ll save me the ride back,” you mutter. The horses are huddled together in the garage, but you can’t say you’re fond of your uppity mare. She may be just a horse, but you can tell she doesn’t like you. 

“You really hate ridin’ that much?” Joel drawls, and you glance up at his hunched form.

“Horses? Yes. They’ve got minds of their own. Machines and men, on the other hand..”

Joel’s chuckle, warm and unexpected, forms a quickly-dissipating fog. You resist the urge to glance over at him. He always brushes you off, like he does most in Jackson; you’re lucky to get conversation out of him most of the time. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and he asks about other people even less. Keeps you at arms length - safer that way, you know, but it makes you curious. Only natural, you tell yourself; you tell yourself it doesn’t make him any more intriguing, any more interesting than anyone else. But there’s something about that look in his eye, sometimes, and you wonder about him, more than you should.

“You cold?” Joel asks, as a particularly nasty shiver wracks you. You look up, raising your eyebrows.

“Sweltering,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure they’re close to frozen in their sockets. “Sure we can’t start a fire? I hear horse fat burns pretty well.”

“You sure do have a sick sense of humour when you’re cranky,” Joel obbserves, perhaps the most personal thing he’s said to you. You try not to let it sting, but maybe he means it as a compliment - you can’t tell.”C’mere.”

“You try being in a good mood when you’re freezing your tits off - what?” you add, as your freezing, sluggish brain catches up with what he said. “Where?”

Joel looks at you and lifts the edge of his threadbare blanket. “Come. Here. I ain’t gonna let you freeze to death, girl.”

“Girl? I’ve got more grays than you,” you gripe, but you don’t leave yourself to hesitate too much while your fingers and toes are busy going numb. You discard the useless carpet and climb up onto the couch. It’s a big, old, moth-bitten thing that creaks under your weight as you add it to Joel’s, but there’s enough room to curl up next to him, back to his chest. He drops the blanket unceremoniously over you and tucks an arm over your waist, far too familiar.

“I never noticed,” he murmurs in your ear, and you feel the hairs lift on the back of your neck. You shiver, but it’s not from cold this time.

It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone - even this near, with clothes on. Despite your propensity for flirting, the follow-through was the problem; Jackson was a small community, after all. But Joel is very warm and solid at your back. Then he starts rubbing the outside of your arms with broad palms and you suddenly realize how much you’ve missed human touch.

Joel must feel some kind of tension in you, for he stops pretty quick. “You okay?” he wonders, his chest a rumble against your spine, hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a tight nod, pillowing your head on your folded arm. It’s too cold to be thinking like this - you have to think about conservation of body heat, about survival, like Joel is. So you breathe out and let the tension go and say, “You still wanna take first watch? I’m beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“‘Kay.” You close your eyes, force yourself to breathe, to think of something other than the fit of Joel’s body against yours. “And Joel…Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes your shoulder. And eventually, your breathing evens out into sleep. 

—

You wake with an arm wrapped around your torso, the sensation of breath hot against your neck. The tip of your nose is cold but the rest of you is warm with the body pressed against yours. 

Sometime during the night Joel must have nodded off, wrapped himself around you like a serpent. Your ass resting firmly in the notch of his hips you can tell the very natural reaction his body’s had in sleep - the firmness pressed against your cheek definitely not that of a weapon holster.

You wonder if you should wake him, but you don’t need to pee yet and the blizzard has quieted outside and quite frankly, this is nice. You haven’t had anyone hold you quite like this for a very long time, so you close your eyes and arch back against him a little, pressing your thighs together for a little friction, a little stretch through your muscles that feels good.

His hand migrated from your shoulder to your ribcage, long fingers tucked under your arm, fanned out underneath the swell of your breast. You don’t mind it. Even as compromising as this position is he hasn’t gone for a full grope, which you appreciate. A gentleman, despite his baser natures.

Rare, these days.

Joel shifts with your stretch, his breath hitching into a wakeful rhythm, but you try not to let on that you’re already awake - to try and preserve the moment for a little longer. You resist the urge to sigh in disappointment when his hand draws back, only to flinch in surprise when you feel those long fingers move the hair away from your neck.

“Mornin’.” He doesn’t move his hips either toward or away from you, belying the fact he’s probably quite aware of his current state of arousal. The intention of the lack of movement makes something in your stomach drop in hopeful anticipation. “I know you’re awake. You ain’t snoring.”

Not very romantic, but you can work with that. “I know you’re awake, too,” you point out, shifting back against him - again, he doesn’t move, but his hand settles on your hip and your stomach swoops this time. “So much for taking watch.”

“I dozed off for a second,” he says,  and you feel him shrug, “You make a nice pillow.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” But your voice has no real venom in it. Not when he’s thumbing the edge of your waistband like that.

“Girl? Thought you had more grays than me?” Joel teases, and you feel the strong bridge of his nose nudge beneath your ear, beard a rasp and lips against your neck. 

Then, infuriatingly, he stops. “Let me know if I’m oversteppin’ here, or readin’ things wrong…” 

Such a fucking gentleman.

“Shit, Joel,” you breathe, resisting the urge to turn over to smack him, “I was beginning to wonder if you could read at all.”

“See? Cranky,” he rumbles, the chuckle you feel to your bones. He’s efficient from there - stripping your jeans and panties to your knees with one big hand. He gets his other arm beneath you, fingers under your shirt, callouses ghosting the puckering flesh of a nipple. “Glad you didn’t freeze these off,” he murmurs in your ear.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” you observe as you arch back against him. His groan rumbles satisfyingly against your back. Then you feel him move back, and hear the quick rasp of his zipper. Your gut - and lower - flutters with powerful arousal. 

“Been a while since I woke up to somethin’ nice.” A strange, warm feeling in your chest, one you’re afraid to examine, is quickly replaced by thigh-tensing anticipation as you feel the blunt head of his cock drag down squeeze in between the V of your thighs to notch against the already weeping clench of your cunt. 

“Joel Miller, I definitely ain’t nice.”

“You feel nice,” he corrects, as he pushes in. He loops his arm back around your waist and pulls you close- so suddenly you struggle to adjust to the sudden intrusion of his full length inside you. “Fuck.”

You echo the sentiment as his long, clever fingers work between your legs. Two fingertips find the hood of your clit and you know you shouldn’t be surprised at how precise he is - it isn’t quite the roughness you may have expected. 

No, it’s better.

You’re almost embarrassed by how good it feels. 

The thick, pulsing weight of Joel’s cock as he pulls back and slides in again, much more slowly this time. Slow enough that you can feel every vein and ridge of his shaft as he drags it through you. 

“Your turn to take watch,” his mouth, hot at your ear, his voice a deep buzz. You shiver even as you shove your hips back against him with the next thrust. 

“Your turn to sleep, then,” you tease back. His fingers on your clitoris roll slow, lazy circles into the swollen nerve. 

“Not til I’m done with you, darlin’.” Darlin’ - that’s a new one, you think, even as your eyes threaten to roll back next time he fills you. 

There’s no words after that. Just his groans, like faint, occasional thunder - when you clench up, and your pussy starts to ripple around his cock. You gasp his name as you come, clamping down, squeezing your thighs together to cling to the feeling as it floods you, floor to scalp. You’re wrung out, sweaty and gasping as you feel Joel pull out, feel his come splash across your ass. 

“Sorry,” he pants, and hearing his voice like that nearly breaks you all over again - husky and breathless, not from running from a Clicker. “Lemme get you cleaned up.”

“A gentleman to the end,” you say when you eventually turn onto your back. Joel looks good like this - cheeks flushed, jaw tight, hair and eye wild as he gets himself back under control. He raises his eyebrow at you. 

“Oh, I’m not,” he assures you, after a quick check of the room. “We still got time.“ And a crease appears on his bearded cheek as he leans down and descends on you with, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

[badbishficrecs]

Yes please!

Comfortably Close

Joel Miller/You, E for Smut™, 2.1k You and Joel share a couch. The classic Huddling for Warmth with Joel Miller smut trope, yet another take.

-

It’s cold in the dilapidated old house you and Joel hunker down in, and the blizzard screams outside as if it has a personal vendetta against the two of you.

You haven’t known Joel long. The quiet, grizzled man might have struck you as scary if years of surviving hadn’t blunted you so much to the savagery of others. He’s polite enough, and he keeps his hands to himself.

Decades ago your standards might’ve been higher for the company you keep. But that was then, and this is now. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught out on a patrol together, and it probably won’t be the last. Joel’s had your back long enough that you trust him more than most, but that isn’t saying much; you’re one of the ones that’s had a harder time settling into this new life of safety and warmth. Maybe that’s why you get along so well. You don’t take things too seriously, and he discounts your flirting as good-natured harmlessness.

He’s wrong, of course. Your standards aren’t so high these days, after all, but he doesn’t have to know that.

Life’s too short, you tell him once - it can turn on a dime, and everything can change in a heartbeat. Or the lack of one. And Joel, with a low murmur, agrees. 

You’ve both lost people. That much is evident, in the fierceness of the way he protects his girl, the wary little redhead you’re pretty sure could kill you despite appearances. You’ve seen Joel talking to her once or twice, quietly intense before leaving on a patrol, and she always looks like she wants to tell him not to go - but she holds herself back.

It’s sad how quick kids have to grow up these days.

You sigh at the dark thoughts creeping in through the cold, shifting beneath the mouldy carpet draped uselessly over your shoulders to try and keep you warm. The creaking walls don’t hold heat well, so there’s no point in starting a fire. You watch your breath gather in frosty white clouds, obscuring your face, as Joel does the same from the couch.

“Least if I freeze to death before morning that’ll save me the ride back,” you mutter. The horses are huddled together in the garage, but you can’t say you’re fond of your uppity mare. She may be just a horse, but you can tell she doesn’t like you. 

“You really hate ridin’ that much?” Joel drawls, and you glance up at his hunched form.

“Horses? Yes. They’ve got minds of their own. Machines and men, on the other hand..”

Joel’s chuckle, warm and unexpected, forms a quickly-dissipating fog. You resist the urge to glance over at him. He always brushes you off, like he does most in Jackson; you’re lucky to get conversation out of him most of the time. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and he asks about other people even less. Keeps you at arms length - safer that way, you know, but it makes you curious. Only natural, you tell yourself; you tell yourself it doesn’t make him any more intriguing, any more interesting than anyone else. But there’s something about that look in his eye, sometimes, and you wonder about him, more than you should.

“You cold?” Joel asks, as a particularly nasty shiver wracks you. You look up, raising your eyebrows.

“Sweltering,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure they’re close to frozen in their sockets. “Sure we can’t start a fire? I hear horse fat burns pretty well.”

“You sure do have a sick sense of humour when you’re cranky,” Joel obbserves, perhaps the most personal thing he’s said to you. You try not to let it sting, but maybe he means it as a compliment - you can’t tell.”C’mere.”

“You try being in a good mood when you’re freezing your tits off - what?” you add, as your freezing, sluggish brain catches up with what he said. “Where?”

Joel looks at you and lifts the edge of his threadbare blanket. “Come. Here. I ain’t gonna let you freeze to death, girl.”

“Girl? I’ve got more grays than you,” you gripe, but you don’t leave yourself to hesitate too much while your fingers and toes are busy going numb. You discard the useless carpet and climb up onto the couch. It’s a big, old, moth-bitten thing that creaks under your weight as you add it to Joel’s, but there’s enough room to curl up next to him, back to his chest. He drops the blanket unceremoniously over you and tucks an arm over your waist, far too familiar.

“I never noticed,” he murmurs in your ear, and you feel the hairs lift on the back of your neck. You shiver, but it’s not from cold this time.

It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone - even this near, with clothes on. Despite your propensity for flirting, the follow-through was the problem; Jackson was a small community, after all. But Joel is very warm and solid at your back. Then he starts rubbing the outside of your arms with broad palms and you suddenly realize how much you’ve missed human touch.

Joel must feel some kind of tension in you, for he stops pretty quick. “You okay?” he wonders, his chest a rumble against your spine, hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a tight nod, pillowing your head on your folded arm. It’s too cold to be thinking like this - you have to think about conservation of body heat, about survival, like Joel is. So you breathe out and let the tension go and say, “You still wanna take first watch? I’m beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“‘Kay.” You close your eyes, force yourself to breathe, to think of something other than the fit of Joel’s body against yours. “And Joel…Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes your shoulder. And eventually, your breathing evens out into sleep. 

—

You wake with an arm wrapped around your torso, the sensation of breath hot against your neck. The tip of your nose is cold but the rest of you is warm with the body pressed against yours. 

Sometime during the night Joel must have nodded off, wrapped himself around you like a serpent. Your ass resting firmly in the notch of his hips you can tell the very natural reaction his body’s had in sleep - the firmness pressed against your cheek definitely not that of a weapon holster.

You wonder if you should wake him, but you don’t need to pee yet and the blizzard has quieted outside and quite frankly, this is nice. You haven’t had anyone hold you quite like this for a very long time, so you close your eyes and arch back against him a little, pressing your thighs together for a little friction, a little stretch through your muscles that feels good.

His hand migrated from your shoulder to your ribcage, long fingers tucked under your arm, fanned out underneath the swell of your breast. You don’t mind it. Even as compromising as this position is he hasn’t gone for a full grope, which you appreciate. A gentleman, despite his baser natures.

Rare, these days.

Joel shifts with your stretch, his breath hitching into a wakeful rhythm, but you try not to let on that you’re already awake - to try and preserve the moment for a little longer. You resist the urge to sigh in disappointment when his hand draws back, only to flinch in surprise when you feel those long fingers move the hair away from your neck.

“Mornin’.” He doesn’t move his hips either toward or away from you, belying the fact he’s probably quite aware of his current state of arousal. The intention of the lack of movement makes something in your stomach drop in hopeful anticipation. “I know you’re awake. You ain’t snoring.”

Not very romantic, but you can work with that. “I know you’re awake, too,” you point out, shifting back against him - again, he doesn’t move, but his hand settles on your hip and your stomach swoops this time. “So much for taking watch.”

“I dozed off for a second,” he says,  and you feel him shrug, “You make a nice pillow.”

“You sure know how to compliment a girl.” But your voice has no real venom in it. Not when he’s thumbing the edge of your waistband like that.

“Girl? Thought you had more grays than me?” Joel teases, and you feel the strong bridge of his nose nudge beneath your ear, beard a rasp and lips against your neck. 

Then, infuriatingly, he stops. “Let me know if I’m oversteppin’ here, or readin’ things wrong…” 

Such a fucking gentleman.

“Shit, Joel,” you breathe, resisting the urge to turn over to smack him, “I was beginning to wonder if you could read at all.”

“See? Cranky,” he rumbles, the chuckle you feel to your bones. He’s efficient from there - stripping your jeans and panties to your knees with one big hand. He gets his other arm beneath you, fingers under your shirt, callouses ghosting the puckering flesh of a nipple. “Glad you didn’t freeze these off,” he murmurs in your ear.

“You’re in a good mood this morning,” you observe as you arch back against him. His groan rumbles satisfyingly against your back. Then you feel him move back, and hear the quick rasp of his zipper. Your gut - and lower - flutters with powerful arousal. 

“Been a while since I woke up to somethin’ nice.” A strange, warm feeling in your chest, one you’re afraid to examine, is quickly replaced by thigh-tensing anticipation as you feel the blunt head of his cock drag down squeeze in between the V of your thighs to notch against the already weeping clench of your cunt. 

“Joel Miller, I definitely ain’t nice.”

“You feel nice,” he corrects, as he pushes in. He loops his arm back around your waist and pulls you close- so suddenly you struggle to adjust to the sudden intrusion of his full length inside you. “Fuck.”

You echo the sentiment as his long, clever fingers work between your legs. Two fingertips find the hood of your clit and you know you shouldn’t be surprised at how precise he is - it isn’t quite the roughness you may have expected. 

No, it’s better.

You’re almost embarrassed by how good it feels. 

The thick, pulsing weight of Joel’s cock as he pulls back and slides in again, much more slowly this time. Slow enough that you can feel every vein and ridge of his shaft as he drags it through you. 

“Your turn to take watch,” his mouth, hot at your ear, his voice a deep buzz. You shiver even as you shove your hips back against him with the next thrust. 

“Your turn to sleep, then,” you tease back. His fingers on your clitoris roll slow, lazy circles into the swollen nerve. 

“Not til I’m done with you, darlin’.” Darlin’ - that’s a new one, you think, even as your eyes threaten to roll back next time he fills you. 

There’s no words after that. Just his groans, like faint, occasional thunder - when you clench up, and your pussy starts to ripple around his cock. You gasp his name as you come, clamping down, squeezing your thighs together to cling to the feeling as it floods you, floor to scalp. You’re wrung out, sweaty and gasping as you feel Joel pull out, feel his come splash across your ass. 

“Sorry,” he pants, and hearing his voice like that nearly breaks you all over again - husky and breathless, not from running from a Clicker. “Lemme get you cleaned up.”

“A gentleman to the end,” you say when you eventually turn onto your back. Joel looks good like this - cheeks flushed, jaw tight, hair and eye wild as he gets himself back under control. He raises his eyebrow at you. 

“Oh, I’m not,” he assures you, after a quick check of the room. “We still got time.“ And a crease appears on his bearded cheek as he leans down and descends on you with, “I ain’t done with you yet.”