#post tlou

[romanarose]

The Ghost of You

Banner by my dear @commonmisery

Ghost!Joel Miller x fem!reader

TLOU 2 SPOILERS AHEAD! YOU"VE BEEN WARNED!

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Summary: After moving into Jackson, you're put up in a house that hasn't been lived in for years. Soon, you realize you aren't alone. Can you help Joel move on to the next life to be with his daughter? Or will you keep him here selfishly with you?

Warnings: TLOU 2 SPOILERS, ghost!sex, mentions of violence and the things Joels done and what happened to him. bittersweet ending. Body marking and blood but it v consensual. It's loving.

A/N: This is my goodbye to writing Joel. I've made a few statements on thi before and if you've followed me for a while you know why. I won't rehash it. But I wanted to write this idea I had talking to @multiversed-daydreamer as my goodbye. i won't say it my last joel forever but it is for along time. all other series are cancelled. I am also just largely essening my writing for p-boys but I'll still be around witing frankie and javi and marcus sometimes. You never know. My main focus rn is logan howlett, triple frontier, and my original content

This is my love letter to the Joel fandom that has given me so much love and friendship

Looking for something similar? Brother by @macfrog is Tommy saying goodbye, and The Devil's Wife is devil!Joel, similar theme of halloween by @noxturnalnymph

8.5 words

It was cold. That was annoying. How you’d wandered your fucking way out to Wyoming, you’ll never understand. One minute you were in Florida complaining about the heat, now you were being treated for frostbite in your toes.

You’d arrived in Jackson last afternoon, nearly frozen to death and had been crashing in the clinic bed ever since. The doctor, a nice older man, took care of you and a few nurses checked in overnight, and today you were cleared to get settled. Word of mouth had told you Jackson was the place to go, a safe haven, a community where people actually take care of each other. Maria Miller, the town founder, had just left your room saying she’d be outside doing paperwork whenever you were ready for the short tour. You’d get the full spiel eventually, but right now the frostbite made walking a little hard. She'd just show you her office, the mess hall, a few quick essentials and then take your to your new home.

That was when you heard shouting outside the door. One voice was Maria, the other you didn’t recognize. It was hard to hear, but you listened in with your ear pressed to the door. 

“It’s been 3 years Tommy. I know this is difficult for you but-”

“You don’t know shit!”

“Excuse me? Who was there for you when you drowned your feelings in moonshine for years? Who took care of Walker while you went off on pointless revenge missions!”

“Don’t you bring him into this. Don’t fucking do that shit, Maria, you know I had too.”

A beat of silence. “You had to do whatever you had to do to deal with what happened. We forgive you, we took you back here and the whole town in glad for it. But Tommy… Jackson is growing. We need the space-”

“You never fucking liked him! You never wanted him around! I bet you’re glad-”

The shouting began to overlap each other, voices raising until you were uncomfortable enough with the man’s temper you grabbed your gun and opened the door, pointing it at him.

“Settle down there, cowboy. Ain’t nice to yell at a lady.”

*

The next few minutes were embarrassing, to say the least. Maria explained that Tommy was her ex-husband. She didn’t go into the argument, but she assured you, not without gratitude, that firstly she could handle herself, and second that Tommy wasn’t a threat.

After Tommy left with a pointed ‘fuck you’ in your direction, you turn back to find Maria rolling her eyes. 

“He’s a good man. I promise. Good dad, works hard, takes care of his people. He just gets… well, there’s some sore spots. C’mon let’s get you home. I bet you’re tired.”

Settled into the house that felt way too big for just you, your thoughts drift to the man. He was older, 50’s maybe? Dark brown hair with a few streaks of gray and tired lines around his eyes, but handsome. He was so angry, and angry at you. What the hell did you do? You hadn’t even been here a day! Fucking unreal. Men were men no matter where you went, but their temper tantrums never ceased to amaze you. 

The house was pretty empty. You’d been given a few furnishings, but the house was stripped of all character, certainly taking apart everything the previous owner had. Had the place been occupied since the world fell apart? Or had someone who lived here died? You wondered how. You wondered if they had family, or if the town was their family. 

The kitchen had kindly been stocked up pretty well, and you’d been given some toiletries so after eating, you enjoyed your first warm bath in a long time. Running water, and it was warm? Fantestic. You boiled a pan of water and tossed it into the tub for some extra heat just how you liked it.

In bed that night, that’s when things got weird. You felt a coldness wash over your body, a shiver you didn’t expect under the warm blankets. Then the window unlatched and flew open. You gasp, fearful at first, but then justify that since it’s on springs, the latch must’ve been not done right and just sprung open. No big deal. But then you felt a hand on your cheek and you froze.

It didn’t linger more than a second. The touch was fluid, but not wind, not air. There was a roughness to it, the distinct feeling of a large hand cupping your face… but you weren’t scared. Instead, you felt calmed. Relaxed.

It became routine, after a few weeks, you refused to go to sleep until you felt it, the touch of warmth on your face, and you felt safe. It didn’t take long for you to believe you had a ghost; after the cordyceps, ghosts were never far from disbelief, something you’d always been open to, but the question was who.

That would be answered soon enough. You could just ask, yeah, but you wanted to find out, in their own words. As the days progressed, you���d been given time to recover and adjust before working, so you spent a lot of time settling into your house. This was not without its encounters with the ghost. More and more, they seemed to get stronger, able to do more, communicate more. There were items shuffled around, bigger and bigger until the couch was moved.

“I don’t like it there.” You said out loud, pushing it back a few feet.

They moved it again.

“Come on, you’re being annoying.” You move, just for it to get moved back again.

You throw your hands up in the air. “Fine! At least be useful and carry the chair upstairs.” No response, no movement. “Dick.” A gust of wind through your hair and you giggle.

You scribble together a make-shift ouija board, a circle tied from some guitar string you found in a box the ghost knocked off a shelf that must’ve not been cleaned. 

Candles lit, you cross legged on the floor, you try to get information. Requests for the name came up empty, but the string moved to  “yes” when asked if they were a man.

“How old are you? Or- were you?”

5. 6.

“Old man.” You chuckle when wind brushes your hair. You’d learned this was his way of teasing.

“How did you die?”

D-o-n-t-g-o-g-o-l-f-i-n-g

“Don’t go golfing? What does that mean?”

No response.

“Was that a joke?”

Yes.

“Well, I don’t get it. You know that, right?”

Yes.

“Fine, don’t wanna talk about death I see. Fair enough, never been there myself but I heard it’s not fun. Uhhhhhh got any kids?”

2

“Go on.”

2 g-i-r-l-s. 1 d-e-a-d.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that… where is the other?”

I-d-o-n-t-k-n-o-w

“Shit, i’m sorry about that too. Must be confusing.” Not knowing where your daughter is must be hard. “Is your other daughter with you? In the afterlife I mean?”

e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g-i-s-d-a-r-k

That broke your heart. “Must be scary.”

Yes

Then, the string moved again.

N-e-w-t-o-p-i-c

a-b-o-u-t-y-o-u

For whatever reason, this makes you blush. You spend the evening telling him about yourself, sharing details and asking him the same. He didn’t like talking about his family, refused to answer any more questions. Wouldn’t say his name.

But it was the first time you’d been called beautiful over ouija board, you knew that much. 

Even after you began working, every evening you’d run home to spend time with this ghost of a man. The most people saw of you outside your day labor was a pop into the mess hall to take food home or the clinic as they checked you were recovering okay.

“Don’t see much of you.” The doctor commented. “You adjusting okay? I know it’s a lot to get used to.”

You blink in confusion. You were fine. Happy, even. Sure, you didn’t get to know anyone… but why would you? You did your part for the community, then you went home. Hell, you volunteered extra hours sometimes, picking up more than your fair share. You just didn’t want to get close, that’s all. People died, you’d learned that hard lesson early in life, and learned it over and over and over again. There was no point in making friends, falling in love. Not when it was all so fragile.

But you had your ghost man. He had already crossed that barrier, so there was nothing to fear. Nothing to lose.That night, you talked out loud to him about your day as you always did, he made little sounds knocking cabinets together or brushing a breeze on your skin to let you know he was listening. Sometimes winds rustled your hair when he thought you were funny. Then, the wind turned into a gust, and two firm hands pressed you down the hall, the message clear.

“Jesus! I’m going I’m going!” You follow the breeze bushing you. Fuck he was getting more powerful every day. Pushed to the kitchen, you’re face to face with the fridge.

“If this is a fat joke- hey!” Two distinct fingers pinched your cheek and you laughed. “Okay, tell me what you want!” A breeze, and you hear a fluttering between the fridge. When you bend down and dig around the dust bunnies, you find a piece of distinct photograph paper, and pull it out. On it was a picture of a man, 30’s, maybe 40’s if you were pushing it, his arm wrapped around a hung girl holding a trophy. They looked happy.

“Is this you?”

The picture ruffled in your hand. 

“And the girl, that your daughter?”

The pictures motion was repeated. This looked like it was from before, from long ago… you assumed the girl was the daughter that died.

“It’s so cute…” You traced the picture of your ghost, having a face but no name still. Your feel warm, a blush creeping around your skin and a deep heat settling in your stomach. He was handsome. You’d never really pictured him,, besides a few wandering thoughts here and there, but nothing stuck. You put his picture on your fridge.

At night, the image of his face danced in your head, unable to sleep. It was weird, this friendship you had with the ghost in your house, but you didn’t really care. There were worse things in this world, darker ways to cope. So what if a dead man made you happy, made you blush and grin and giggle. So what if he was the reason your hand was currently being shoved into your PJ’s. 

You’d be lying if you hadn’t touched yourself that first night, but this was the first night you pictured his body on your, his face, that beard…

“Are you watching me?” You asked, panting. That was a first too. You knew there was a possibility he watched, but you didn’t really care. Never had. Now, you hoped he did.

A pause.

Then, the liquid touch of a hand on your face. He was here. He was watching.

“Good.” You assure him, hoping he stays. “Want you to watch.” Your fingers begin to pump in your cunt, and you kick off the covers. So what if it was cold, you wanted him to see you. You thought about what it would be like to feel his face buried between your legs, what his voice sounds like, how he’d touch you-

“You can touch me, if you want. Not just my face.” It was a bold statement. Things with you and him had been friendly, close, a little flirty… but nothing so far had suggested more. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t. Maybe he just watched to watch. Maybe you embarrassed him and he left.

Then his touch landed on your face, slowly trailing down, down, until you could feel hands on your breasts. The slightest brush on lips ghost the shell of your ear, your cheek, and your heart swells. He wants to kiss you. 

“You can kiss me. It’s okay.” It wasn’t as strong a touch a his hands, but he ridgid texture of chapped lips touch yours, and ripples of pleasure flow throughout the erogenous zones on your body, far ore reach than two hands ever could. It tickles, and it feels fucking good.

“Wish you were here….” You mumble, still fucking yourself as hips bucked against yoru fingers, sopping wet sounds fill the quiet bedroom. “Never connected to anyone the way I have you.” A squeeze on your leg reassured you, and soon your tits were being messaged in a way clumsy human hands couldn’t do. It was like the rolling ocean crashing and waving and peaking on the tender flesh, a surreal experience to your touch-starved body.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m f-fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-”

Then you hear it, clear as day, sharp and quick against your ear.

“Joel.”

His name. You cry it out as your pussy clenches down on your fingers.

*

After that, ghost sex was something you and Joel regularly engaged in. He couldn’t really speak much still, usually only getting out one word. Generally it was ordering you to cum, sometimes a single word compliment slipped through with a southern accent.

“Beautiful.” He whispered as you lay in bed, satiated and panting.

He thought you were beautiful when you came.

There was never another reason to go anywhere outside of your home other than to work or get food, and more and more you just got groceries and worked with what you had. You liked cooking with him ,you didn’t want to be away.

Today, as you tried to make soup, you couldn’t help laugh as he managed to speak “More seasoning” and lift a fuck ton of herbs up and into the pot. At least he was a helpful ghost.

“You can just make it next time!”

You expect to feel your hair rustle, but instead his voice speaks.

“Tommy.”

Then a knock on the door. You were so startled (people never visited you) you almost didn’t answer. No one outside that door could be worth time away from Joel, but he pushed you to answer, a desperation in his actions that matched the tone he spoke the name.

When you answered, you would have shut the door if you weren’t curious about Joel’s reaction.

There stood the man who got in a shouting match with Maria. Oh, yeah, Tommy, that’s right. But why was he here? Tommy was tall, but his posture at the moment was sunken, sheepish. When he looked at you, pink dusted his tan skin. “Can I talk t’yuh?”

You narrow your eyes. “Sorry, but the last time we spoke you weren’t exactly polite enough for me to feel like welcoming you inside, and every time I’ve seen you, you give me dirty looks.”

He nods. “I understand, that’s why I uh… wanted t’explain myself. I shouldn’t’ve done that, but I was angry. Ain’t right, still…”

“What could I have possibly done to you?”

His eyes were large, brown, and wet. “This was uh… my brother’s house. He died 3 years ago.”

*

5 Minutes later, Tommy was sitting on the couch with you, cup of soup in hand. You hadn’t felt or heard Joel, but this was your chance. Some answers.

“Funny.” He pats the couch. “This was his. Was right here for years, never moved it.”

“It’s uh… a good spot. Now, I think you had some explaining to do?”

“Right…“ Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. “The house has been empty since he died. My wi- ex wife, I guess, kept it empty out of courtesy but she was right. It was time to move on.”

“Did he die in here?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Tommy explained it to you. The revenge that was enacted on his brother for saving the girl, Ellie. You wondered if that was his daughter he mentioned, but Tommy just referred to her as his kid. How the woman and their group killed him, Tommy saw his brother's head bashed in, brain matter on the walls. 

The golf joke still didn’t make sense, but you’d figure it out. You learned more about Joel too, that he was from Texas, that his daughter, Tommy niece, died on outbreak day. Joel’s birthday. Joel played the guitar, he liked to swim, was an overbearing brother and loving dad. He was married once. He learned to cook to get Sarah to eat veggies so he was pretty good at it. Was a good man. The best, the way Tommy spoke.

“I know it ain’t right the way I’ve treat’n yuh. And I know it’s not your fault. I just hadn’t been handling his death well, you know? Lost my wife, almost lost my son… I ain’t been the man he raised me to be. I now you don’t… do anything. In town. That’s probably my fault and I’m so-”

“You think I stay home because I’m avoiding you?” You nearly bark out a laugh, his eyes growing in confusion. “Brother, I ain’t scared of no man, if I wanted to go to the movie nights I would have!”

Tommy processes this information, sipping on the last of the soup broth. “Oh… I guess I just assumed...”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming. Make’s an ass out of you and me. Here, gimmie.” You take his mug, walking to the kitchen to rinse it and still giggling.

Tommy follows you. “Well I’m sorry! I guess I just figured, the time’n ‘n all.”

You throw a look over your shoulder. “I stay home because I like it here. Because I’ve been alone for years, so I’m fine with it.”

“But why not-” He stops in his tracks. “Where did you get that?”

You follow his line of view and realize your mistake. “Uh. I uh. I found that while cleaning the kitchen, by the fridge. I guess I thought it was nice, so I hung it up… why? Who is it?”

You knew the answer before he even spoke Joel’s name. You had to pretend to be surprised, but even worse, you knew what you needed to do.

“Keep it.” You say, pushing the picture closer to him, breaking you a bit. You had to hide every emotion, because there was no reason for you to have any attachment to it. He didn’t know what you and Joel shared with each other. Who he was to you. It didn’t matter, because Joel was his brother. The girl was his niece. He deserved the picture.

“That’s her. That’s Sarah.” Tommy continued, confirming your suspicions as his finger trailed over the girl. 

“She’s adorable.”

“Yeah… she was. Great kid too.”

Tommy helped you wash up the dishes from making soup, you and him talking more. He was nice when he wasn’t yelling. You could understand why he was so upset at the time, and you forgave it.

You told as much as he stood in your doorway. “I don’t hold it against you. I promise.”

He nods, smiling and looking more at ease. “Promise you’ll come to the next movie night, it’s tomorrow. It’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“What’s playing?‘

“Scream 2!”

You roll your eyes. “Not the first one?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tommy says with a tease. “Is fucking scream 2 at the end of the world not enough for you?”

You shove him out of your door, laughing. “Fine! I’ll fucking come. But only to see Timothy Olyphant.”

You shut the door, and turn around still laughing. But what you see shocks you so bad, you’d have screamed if you didn’t cover your mouth.

It was Joel. Faint. Barely there. A dead eyed stare. Much older than the picture and his hair was longer. But it was him.

“Joel?” You say, tentatively walking towards him. He wasn’t looking at you, instead, he was looking at the door, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. Your hand passes through him and when his form dissipates, you fall to the ground and cry.

*

“Are you mad at me?” You ask. He was strangely quiet the rest of the day, only a few little touches here and there. No ghost sex that night. When you are getting out of work clothes and putting something warm on for the movie, you bring it up.

“No.”

“Well, you’ve hardly talked to me. Is it because I asked Tommy as those questions about you? I’m sorry, it’s just easier that way and I wanted to know what happened to you-”

“I miss him.”

Three whole words. 

“You’re getting stronger. Did you mean to appear to me yesterday?”

“You saw me?”

“Yeah, and I hear you really good now.” You grin. “I can’t believe you’re talking this much. Maybe I’ll skip the movie, I don’t wanna lose-”

“No. Go.” a brief pause. “Please.”

“Joel Miller,” You tease him. “Are you having me check on your baby brother?” He rustles your hair.

*

So, you started hanging around Tommy more. It started as filling Joel in on his life, but really, you liked being around Tommy. He was easy to talk to. 

You lay on your side in bed, trying to picture his face as you’d done every night for months as you talk to him. Joel’s voice was clear, fully communicating with you now. Every now and then you could see a glimpse of him in a mirror or the faint frozen picture of him standing somewhere, usually after Tommy was over. 

“Walker is doing really well.” You tell him about his nephew you’ve met a few times. For a few years, Tommy was barely around after Joel’s death, most of the time he was drunk. There was an incident several months ago where Tommy passed out of the couch and Walker tried to start the stove, resulting in a small kitchen fire, and Tommy effectively lost custody of his son. Not that family court existed here, but Tommy knew he couldn’t be there. This was shortly after you moved in, and was the reason Tommy finally got sober. Things were going better now, and he’s repairing that relationship.

“You met him?”

“Yeah, he’s quiet. But he’s very polite.” Tommy said he takes after Joel. Walker and Joel had been very close before he died, Tommy adored the little boy. The little boy in question was now 8, growing up.

He sighs. “Yeah, he was a good kid. I never had a son, figured raise’n Tommy was close enough. But when I was with him… Sometimes I think back to when Sarah died, how hard Tommy fought to keep her alive… yuh know, after she died I was just, I was drowning in my sadness. There was no room for Tommy’s grief, I guess. He’s stronger than I gave him credit for, because he was always there for me. If I had lost Walker… I dunno if I could have been that strong.”

A few days later, you invite Tommy and his son over for dinner, and as you stare at Walker eating his food and laughing you can see Joel. He’s no longer a still picture, he’s moving, and smiling, and laughing too. No one else can see or hear him.

But he looks right at you.

*

You can see him now, laying on the pillow beside you as the pair of you talk. Sometimes he’s tangible, hands touching your face and you can see his tan skin through your peripheral. Sometimes it’s more faint, like he’s using all his strength to be see and he can’t materialize his touch. You don’t know how it works, but you’re happy to see his face. Joel has kind eyes, a softness in a world of blood and violence.

“You're beautiful.” And it’s your voice whispering it to him, because he is. Every line on his face, the scar on his forehead, the tired darkness under his eyes as if an eternity to sleep wasn’t enough. Every little freckle you could map on his face on days he was more clear. It was perfect. It was him. 

A sadness crosses over those pools of brown. “I really don’t deserve you…” When you open your mouth to protest, he continues. “I’ve killed people.”

That wasn’t a shock. Who hasn’t? “I have too.”

But Joel shakes his head, curls staying in place as if gravity is now inconsequential, as if he’s frozen in time with a single lock on his forehead. “No, I’ve killed innocents. A lot. Me ‘n Tommy, before… and protect’n Ellie…”

You thought about this for a while, a chill of cold reminiscent of when he first came to you makes you shiver, but when you look at him, you don’t feel the repulsion you know he expects. “You kill children?”

“No.” He says firmly, a glimmer of sadness crossing his eyes. You didn’t think so, knowing he knew what that loss was. “But that don’t make it much better.”

“Did rape anyone? Kill people for fun? Get off on it?” 

Disgust mares his features. “No, never.”

You nod. “You kill any innocent people since coming to Jackson? Settling here?”

Again, a shake of his head doesn’t knock loose a single hair. “No, but before-”

“I’m not worried about before.” You voice is soft, and you tentatively reach a hand out to caress his face. His skin was soft, softer than a man in his 50’s would be, but that’s what happens when you aren’t fully there. “I don’t care about that. Really, I don’t. You deserve a second chance just as much as anyone does. The world out there-” You vaguely whisk your hand around. “Does things to us. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re not a rapist, didn’t kill kids, not one of those really, really bad people… I think you deserve to leave that all outside the gates of Jackson.”

His eyes soften, affection pooling with something more. “Thank you, darl’n I mean it. I wasn’t always forgiven in that life. Nice to know someone does in this one,”

Your heart aches for him, so you try to ease his pain. “Tommy forgives you, I know it. You heard how he talks about you.”

But he’s still distant. “Maybe. But maybe he just misses me. That’s different. Besides, there’s someone I know hasn’t.”

“Ellie?”

He nods. “She…. well, we just started talk’n, right before I died. Didn’t have the chance to find out if she ever would, you know? Now I never will.”

“She does, Joel. It’s been years, I know she does.”

But he didn’t believe you.

*

Joel’s words stuck with you, simmering in your head like the soups he helps you make. Today you were on patrol with a fairly quiet partner, so you had nothing left to do but think, think, think. Why did his words affect you so much? He was so stuck on forgiveness, even though he’d never know-

Oh.

That’s why he was trapped here, wasn’t it? Joel’s ghost remained behind because he didn’t have the closure he needed. Tommy and him had made up, but Joel died not knowing if Ellie ever did. Years of estrangement for taking her from the hospital, for saving her, for lying, and he wasn’t sorry, he told you himself. But he needed Ellie’s forgiveness. He needed to know Tommy didn’y hold resentment. He needed to know they were safe, that they were okay.

Joel couldn’t talk to Tommy. For some reason, you could hear him speak when Tommy was around, see him, but Tommy never reacted. Joel couldn’t even move things or create a breeze when he was around…

If Joel got what he needed, the forgiveness, the resolution he longed for, he could move on. You knew it. He was getting stronger every day, his appearance crystal clear, his touch more and more solid, less fluid than before. You wanted little more than to have him like that, as close to a real person as he could get, at your home you shared with him every single day, every hour, sleeping next to him, cooking with him, fucking him… part of your mind told you that you could do it.

But that wasn’t right. He’d be little more than a housewife, a sex doll, a captive. You could keep him there, to be your only friend outside of occasionally seeing his brother, the person who knew you best, someone always there to talk because what other options did he have? 

That wasn’t you. The rational part won out, and your knew what you had to do.

*

Tommy’s face was one of worry when you told him you’d seen the ghost of his brother. You’d spilled it all out, sparing the ghost sex details, but instead of shock, he just asked you if you ere okay.

“Yes! Tommy I’m fine-”

“I dunno, you’re kinda a weird person to begin with, see’n shit wouldn’t be that new-”

“Tommy!” You stand abruptly from his couch,  pulling at your hair. “I’m not seeing- I’m not hallucinating him! You don’t understand, I see him, I see him every fucking day that’s why I don’t go anywhere!”

A sympathetic look crossed his face. “Honey, maybe you’re seeing him because you’re alone every day.”

“I’M NOT CRAZY!!” You shout at him, and he softens. 

“I know, I know.” Tommy stands. “Maybe… maybe you should stay here a few days, maybe this is a yellow wallpaper situation, you gotta get fresh air, a new environment-” he reaches for your arm but you yank it away.

“Does the term ‘don’t go golf’n mean anything to you?”

Confusion crosses his face. “Not really, why?”

A deep breath. “He… I asked how he died, with a ouija board i made and he just said don’t go golfing. Never explained.”

Tommy’s skin paled, the freckles on his face a stark contrast against him. His face a deadly calm. “How did you know that.”

You can’t help but groan. “I told you, he-”

“ENOUGH GAMES!” The sudden shout shocks you, and you step back. Tommy must’ve realized he was scaring you, so he calmed down just a bit. “I’m serious. This isn’t fucking funny.”

Tears of frustration and sadness filled your heart, begging him to believe you. You didn’t think Tommy would hurt you, but the distress he was in was clear. “I wouldn’t joke about this… he- he said it was a joke I wouldn’t get, and I don’t. Tommy please, I’m being serious…”

Then, the realization dawned on him, clear as day. He believed you. “Holy shit. You’re telling the truth…”

“I am.” You sob. “Tommy I swear I’m telling the truth. He needs help, he’s trapped here… we need to help him…”

He was shaking. “C-can I see him?”

It broke your heart to say no. He can only appear to me, I think…He’s tired when you are over…“

Dizzy, Tommy sits down. “He was round… whenever I was over, wasn’t he? That’s why I always feel so calm there…”

You nod. “He calms me too. I don’t know how.” You join him on the couch again. “Tommy, what does don't go golfing mean?”

His face is buried in his hands, and you think he’s crying. It’s a lot, you know, it’ a lot to spring on someone, especially that he can’t hear or see him still, his own brother so close and yet so far. But you were doing this for him, so that he could move on, so that he could see his Sarah in the afterlife.

When Tommy finally looked up, his face and hands were soaking wet.

“He was killed with a golf club. We never told anyone about that.”

*

Joel stood behind you, clear and crystalline, his body practically human. He was cold, but he brought you comfort. “Something on your mind, darl’n?”

You don’t wanna lie to him, but you can’t tell him what’s happening, not yet. You want a few more days without this hanging over you both.

“Tommy left for a few weeks. Just worried.” You didn’t tell him he went to find Ellie, to go back to the farmhouse she lived in with Dina and see if she’s there, if Dina knows where she lives kows anything. To try and convince Ellie that this woman she’s never met his eeing her dad as a ghost and they need to help him move on. But hes gonna try.

A week later, the town was in a ruckus, Tommy returning to Jackson with the prodigal daughter, her girlfriend, and a little boy.

Turns out Ellie went back to Dina, begged for her back on hands and knees, and they’d been living alone out in the country for years raising JJ. They all looked good, healthy, happy… Ellie was skeptical but she agreed to come as a favor to Tommy. Everything was planned for tomorrow, but as you lay in bed with Joel for the last time, you can’t bring yourself to tell him.

You wanted one last night.

Joel kissed you, languid and soft, his hands roamed your naked and prone body and for the first time, you noticed something. A tent in his pants. A ghost had gotten an erection for you.

“Joel…” You moan, feeling him rutt against you.

“I know, I feel it too.” His voice is husky against your ear, and chills flow throughout your body as you realize what this means. Joel was firm, his body fully here and he was hard. Joel could fuck you.

He went feral after that, yanking down your PJ shorts so fast your barely had time to lift your hips, but it didn’t matter. You spread your legs to welcome to fingers the plumged into your body, absolutly dripping for the man laid beside you. Joel’s breath was hot, growling and grunting as e finger fucks you open, preparing you to take his cock for the first time. 

“You’re always s’fucking wet.” He says between sucking kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he left hickies on you, you were just beyond ecstatic that he was strong enough to leave marks. You wanted him to be with you in some way permanently. “Been wish’n I could feel you since that first day, so sweet, so beautiful, always so ready for my touch.”

You paw at him, groping his body and trying to just get his massive form on top of you. “Need you.” You beg like a needy young thing, like you’d never been fucked properly before, like you needed to be filled and taken and ravaged. 

“I got yuh, darl’n…” Joel murmur, rolling over on top of you, his cock heavy- when had his clothes come off?

Knelt before your body, Joel was magnificent. His body was broad, thick, not quick as barrel chested as his brother, he held it more in the shoulders. Down his chest and stomach held scares, fat, and a trail of hair leading down, down, down to where his cock hung thick and leaking and cut. You forgot he was a ghost; he didn’t feel like one, he felt real. He felt here. Tears filled up in your eyes, and Joel leans over, his body covering yours in his cool skin. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks in a gentle voice, thumbing away a stray tear. “I hope yuh ain’t scared’a me? Are yuh?”

You’ve never been more sure of saying no in your life. “Ain’t scared.” You whisper. “I just… I love you so much…” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. You did love him. But that wasn’t why you were crying, not really anyway. No, you cried because this was goodbye.

Joel’s eyes, black pupils swallowing the beautiful brown with lust, grew wet themselves as he smiles down at you. “I love you too. So damn much.”

Your nails did into his back, relishing in the firm, solid feel of him. This was real. He was real. “Fuck me, please. Make love to me. I want to feel you, really feel you…”

Plush lips kissed you as he slid inside, a wave of calm relaxed your body, allowing you to take his considerable length inside you. He was big, stretching you open slowly while you accommodate him. 

“Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me…” He moans in your ear, desperate like he’s falling apart at one stroke. But he doesn’t. When he fucks you, it’s with more vigor, more energy than you’ve ever felt from a living person, a slap of skin from his hips meeting your thighs, his balls heavy and slapping against your ass, his fingers digging, digging digging so deep inside as you wished he’d bruise you, wished he’d cut you open and crawl inside so he could never leave you, two souls as one. To know and to be known at the deepest level. Souls and bodies barred to each other. Nothing left to hide.

He couldn’t do that, so as Joel slammed his cock into you, you begged for something else. “Mark me.” You whimper, getting a reaction of confusion from your lover, so you take his hand and dig his nails into your tender hips. “I need to know this is real. All of it.” The tears come again when you can see him want to deny you. “This isn’t forever, you know this can’t before but I- Joel I need something to be forever! We can’t get married, you can’t leave me pictures or presents or- or kids, Joel, I need to be able to remember you.”

His movements slow. “Oh, pretty baby…” He murmurs lowly. “I’ll give anything if it means you can’t forget me.” he kisses you deeply, sucking in your tongue and before he pulls away he nips your lip. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

But nothing of Joel could be too much.

A shape gasp as he dug into you, left hand bracing himself on the bed as he never stopped fucking you, rolls of pleasure coured your body like it had tha first night, swirling over your clit and dragging you screaming to the edge. And screaming you were.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You shout so loud you don’t care who hears you. Half the town thinks you’re fucking Tommy anyway. Don’t stop fucking you, don’t stop marking you, don’t, don’t, don’t go.

You could keep him to yourself. Tell Ellie and Tommy you lied, or that he went away and you can’t see him any more. Anything so that he doesn’t get what he needs, that he stays with you forever.

He’s impossibly deep inside, but in your leaking, dripping channel and into your hip. The cut of his nails goes further than they should go, but you don’t question it. Instead, you focus on the feeling of him marking your flesh, of him making your insides as his as he cums deep in your stomach. Your cunt pulses around him as your draw out whatever he’s filling you with, you don’t care. It’s him. 

“More, more” You cry into his shoulder, but he’s already slowing his thrusts.

“I’m as deep as I can go, baby…” He stays bottomed out inside you, but his hands withdrawal from your side as you come down. His bloody hand cups your face, dripping with your own warmth.

You sob against his cold skin, Joel wrapping you into a hug as the overwhelming emotion of what happened floods you, and it’s too much. You need more, but it’s not him deeper, not him scaring you, and not him filling you up.

It’s more time.

*

You wake up with blood on your face and your wounds cleaned and bandaged, with Joel’s body gone, as it usually is in the morning. It took until the afternoon for him to appear again.

“Sorry baby.” He apoligized, hugging you. “I dunno why I can’t control coming better.” He poked your side, and you knew he meant a double entendre but you didn’t have it in you to laugh.

“It’s okay. Last night used a lot. You probably needed to rest.”

“Yeah…” He touched the bandage he’d put on your hip with soft intent. “How you feel’n bout this?”

You smile. “Great. But Joel…” You turn around to face him, his face frowning with worry. “I gotta tell you something… I told Tommy about you…” Before he has a chance to ask questions, you spill it out. “And he went and found Ellie, she’s hear. I think… I think if you reconcile with her, with Tommy, once the air is cleared… you can move on.”

For a long moment, he stares at you, unmoving, unblinking, frozen as the picture that used to hang on your door. Then he speaks. “You know… that means I can’t see you again, right.”

Damn the tears the spring forth, damn the well of emotions overflowing your body, a trickle of a leak in the damn, then it cracks, and it all breaks. You begin to sob in his arms. “I know, I know… but it’s not right for me to keep you here! You- you said it’s dark, and you’re scared.”

“I ain’t scared when I’m with you…”

“But you won’t always be with me! I need to help you move on! It’s unnatural, it’s wrong, you need to be with Sarah, you need to be at peace knowing Sarah and Tommy love you, that they forgive you!”

He lets you cry, holding you close in strong arms as he realized what was happening. He’d see Ellie again. You were willing to give him up just so he could get his happy end.

His voice in your ear.

“Ellie.”

*

She was skeptical, understandingly. Pretty, short, in her 20’s with brown hair cropped into a pixie and looking annoyed. She sat next to Tommy with her arms crossed and practically glaring at you. 

“I’m gonna need more proof than some golf joke.”

“It was enough to get you here, wasn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I owed Tommy for every fucking time he saved my damn life, that’s why I’m here.” She turned to her uncle. “We’re even, by the way.”

“Sure as shit are.” He sighs, then looks at you. “He here?” 

You gesture to the couch. “Yeah he’s sitting right- hey!”

Ellie swung her hand over where you said Joel was sitting, doing nothing but annoying Joel who tried in vein to smack her away, telling her to cut the shit.

“I don’t fucking feel anything.”

“That’s not how it works Ellie!” Tommy flicked her arm. “Relax.”

With a huff, she crossed her arms again. “Fine.”

Tommy looked to you, then to Joel, then back to you. “Tell her something only Joel would know.”

When you turn to Joel, he’s looking at Ellie with sadness. She looks different, a lot older, yet she’s still Ellie to him. He doesn’t turn to you. ‘David.’ He instructs, and you turn to her.

“Do you know a David?” And suddenly her skin blanches. Ever so slightly, she’s shaking, but then she turns to Tommy. “Did Joel fucking telling you that!?”

From beyond Tommy’s protests that he doesn’t know who Daivid is, did she mean David Turner, who was a local here, or David Sanchez, who died last month in a raid? Joel insists he’d never tell that to anyone, but Ellie can’t hear him.

You try to calm them. “He says he was someone you met after leaving Jackson the first time, that you did the right thing by killing him.”

“Yeah! I fucking did!”

“He says if he goes to hell, David is the first person he’s finding.”

She stops, information processing in her head that there was no way Joel wold have told whoever David was to Tommy. “David tried to rape me when I was 14.” She grits out. “I stabbed him to death and let his body burn up.”

Tommy turns to her, horrified but doesn’t speak.

You nod. “Good.”

And then, she sinks into the couch. “Whenever I had nightmares… Joel always told me David was the first person he’d find in hell. He was convinced he was going there.”

You chuckle. Yeah that sounds like Joel. “He loves you both very, very much… and the uncertainty is what’s keeping him here. I need to help him move on.” 

“So what? You’re some sort of fucking medium?”

“No, I’ve never had anything like this happen before but… He started appearing to me. Little touches, cold spots, breezes… then he started moving things, hearing his voice…. Now I can see him, he’s as clear as you are, honestly.”

Tommy speaks now. “He’s gotta know-” He tries to turn to where you said Joel was, but you can tell he’s struggling to talk to a brown cushion. “You gotta know we love you, don’t know? How can you doubt that?”

‘Tell him I do. But tell him… I don’t know if he forgives me.’

“Joel knows you both love him, but that’s not why he’s stuck. He needs to know you forgive him.”

Ellie is staring sone faced at a wall, but Tommy is looking down at his hands now, this seems easier. “Joel… those things we did… it’s been a long time. I was angry, yeah, I fucking hated you for a while but…” He shakes his head, silver streaks shimmering in the deep brown of his hair. “I got Walker now and… after he was born man, I think I got it. The things we did to survive… you were willing to do some of the worst shit out there, damning your own soul to save me. I’d do the same for my kid, if I needed to.”

‘But I shouldn’t have made you do any of it, Tommy.’

“Joel feels bad that he made you participate.”

“You didn’t make me do fuck’n shit, brother. I was a grown ass man, even if you still thought of me as a reckless teenager. I made my choices, and I understand why you made yours. You lost your baby, I know damn well you couldn’t take lose’n your brother either. I forgive you, but you also gotta forgive yourself, brother.”

Ellie pipes up. “I get it too, Joel. I told you that night, I didn’t know if I could forgive you… telling you I couldn’t… but… UUGHHHH!” She slumps down, covering her face. “Joel I was angry! I was angry and I was stupid but I was a teenager! I was just- just a kid who had these grand schemes of changing the world! But we don’t know if it could’ve worked. But I forgive you, Joel. I was always gonna forgive you, even before you went and fucking left me! I don’t know why I had to do that, why i treated you the way I did-”

‘You were a teenager, that’s normal-’

“But I think about it, every single day I think about it and what I should've said and done better but I get it now. I don’t know what you’ve been told but I got my kid now. I know you’re old man brain is probably trying to work out how two women had a baby-”

Joel laughs, and so does Ellie.

“But it’s Jesse’s. Dina got pregnant before Jesse and her broke up and he… he died. But I’ve been raising him with her the last few years… She took me back… You ask me on the porch that night if she treats me good and Joel…” Ellie sighs, smiling. “She really does.”

‘Tell ‘er I’m glad. That I always liked her, and I wanna know the kids name.’

“Joel says he doesn’t blame you for being mad at him, or how you talked to him. He says he’s glad Dina and you are happy. What’s the babies name?”

Ellie grins, pride in her eyes. “The baby is almost 4 now. His name is JJ. Jesse Joel.”

Tear fill up Joel’s eyes, fatherly love overwhelming him and for a moment, you think how sweet this is, how nice. Then you notice he’s not as clear as he was before.

“Joel!” You rush to his side and take his hand, kneeling at the couch. “Joel, I think it worked… you’re fading…” You try to grip his hand, as if holding on tighter would keep him here with you, keep him ground in this world. Without him, you weren’t sure what you’d do with your life, who you’d talk to or confide in…. But you knew, you knew above all you’d miss him. There would never be another Joel.

‘Please-’ He sounds desperate now, scared even. ‘One more time, tell them I love them, I just- I love them so much fucking much.’

Through your sobs, you relay the message. “He needs you to know how much he loves you guys. He talks about you all the time, he- you’re everything to him.” You see Ellie and Tommy holding hands, Ellie crying and Tommy looking close. 

“We love you, Joel. All of us.” Ellie says, to nowhere in particular.

‘And the kids. Walker and- fuck I ain’t never met JJ but I love him too. If, if there’s a heaven I’m gonna…’ His words start to fade, but you know what he’s saying. His strength is going fast, Joel letting go and passing on, but even still his body shook. He was scared. If there was a heaven, Joel was going, but he wasn’t sure about that.

“He says he loves Walker and JJ, he’s gonna watch over them in heaven”

That breaks Tommy, who lets the tears come now as he takes your hand too, squeezing it tight.

You look up at your lover. “I love you, Joel. I’m always gonna love you, always gonna remember you. It’s gonna be okay, I promise you. We’re gonna be alright, we’re doing okay. You can let go now. It’s okay to let go. There’s no one left you need to protect.. we’re safe.”

Even though he’s fading away Joel looks into your eyes. He can’t speak, his strength fading, but it’s all communicated through those eyes that say so much. One last time, he cups your cheek, and the hand that isn’t holding Tommy’s brushes over the cold fingers, feeling liquid and unstable again. There’s fear in his eyes, mixed with that tender love, but then something changes in him.

Joel looks forward, past you, Tommy and Ellie and onto something else, something more. He smiles. ‘I see her’

All his fear his gone, and his face is peaceful.

For the final time, a breeze rustles your hair, and Tommy and Ellie see it.

Joel is gone, and all you can do is sob into his couch.

*

When it finally subsides you feel numb. Ellie and Tommy have joined you on the floor, the three of you talking about the experience you shared together, something no one will ever believe. 

“His last words were, ‘’I see her’....”

Tommy whispers Sarah’s name, and you nod. 

“He’s with her now. He’s a peace. I know a better place is a cliche, but…” Ellie wipes her tears. “We all know how much he missed her.”

Everyone nods solemnly, and for a while, you stay there, talking about Joel, memories and his jokes and his cooking. It was nice to share this secret with other, and suddenly you felt less alone in it. They believed your stories of the ghost in your walls, and they liked hearing the knew things he told you. You liked learning more of his past.

Eventually, everyone had to get back to their families. You were alone, but you didn’t feel lovely. Something had shifted, a closeness to Ellie and Tommy that didn’t scare you the way human connection used to. Maybe you would go to the mess hall, see some movies. Your patrol partner was quiet, but nice. Tommy was still around, and Ellie and Dina decided to pack up their things and return, wanting JJ to have friends. It was going to be okay, and as the sun set on the day, somehow you felt it rise on your life. A new, beautiful world of opportunities for friendship and love was out there.

You stared in the mirror, butt naked, feeling strangely open and vulnerable despite being alone for the first time in months.

It all felt surreal, something that seemed impossible, that went against every logical explanation.

But when you took off the bandage on your hip to change it, there they were, clear as day. 4 crescent fingernail cuts deep into your skin, something that would scar forever.

No matter what happened, you’d always carry these with you, proof that Joel and your love for him was real.

I cried pretty good writing tht end, knowing its my goodbye. I want yall to know I love each and every reader so so so so much. You mean the world to me. every kind word lives on in me forever. I hope you'll stay for my other writing, but if not, thats okay! I wih all of you the best.

Please be kinder to each other. the fanfic writers do this for free, they do not deserve the things they've experienced here. It is a beautiful world out there.

Trust me, it feels way better to send anon love rather than anon hate. I wont be writing tlou for a minute but ill return with a tommy series !!!!

follow @romana-after-dark for dark content and @riley-blue-byron for upcoming original works!

So long, and thanks for all the fish <3

reblogs are greatly appriciated, would make a nice send off <3

@princessanglophile @missladym1981 @goodwithcheese @dancinglotusbud @glitterymanboy @koshkaj-blog @sixhours @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @fandxmslxt69 @miraclesabound

[hyper-fixates]

THE LAST OF US — 01 x 03, “Long, Long Time”

[yourgothgirldowntown]

[stxrsiren]

scissor me september.

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[andersonsprincess]

can't stop imagining abby being so condescending and mean when she's fucking you. imagine she's got you bent over and just saying the dirtiest things to you.

"shh, you hear that? she's basically cryin' f'me."

"oh, i know, i know its too much. you're gonna take it though. mhm, yes you fuckin' are."

it's not just her words either. she loves reaching her large arms around you and pinching and pulling you sensitive nipples. and the worst best part is, her arms are keeping you from squirming around and trying to get away from her.

"oh, there she is. shit, babygirl, she's gushing all over me. you like that, don't ya?"

smack! "fuckin' answer me."

basically abby makes you cum as many times as she wants you to.

[angelsforthenight]

bumping cooters with abby (with panties on) 𝜗𝜚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

underwear teasing with abby would be the most fun thing ever! imagine grinding against her, both of you still sporting panties whilst your legs are interlocked, hips rutting against each other roughly. arousal oozes through, making the way you move against each other slick and slippery.

“fuuuuck.” abby whines, her muscled arm rippling from the exertion. she clutches your thigh for good leverage, rolling her hips harder. the sounds you two are making are obscene, not just the moans and mewls that are filling the room, but also the wet noises of your clothed pussies rubbing against each other. clearly, there’s nothing dry about this dry humping.

“holy shit, abby.” you gasp, voice raw from pleasure. you can feel your stomach tighten, your pleasure reaching unbearable amounts. your movements, alongside hers start to become inconsistent and sloppy as you two near release.

abby knows you’re close, so she pushes your panties aside to catch your clit beneath the pad of her thumb: rolling slow, tight circles on it. you whimper loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips jerk and buckle erratically.

you respond by heightening the friction, satisfying abby’s aching flesh, adorned by the barrier of your underwear.

it doesn’t take long at all for you both to reach your peak, shuddering intensely as you two make a mess of your underwear, sticky evidence pooling and even dripping down your thighs. such a tease, a buzz. a game.

[ashlynlovestlou]

winner winner (ellabs x reader)

꩜ synopsis: abby and ellie challenge each other to see who can make you squirt first.

꩜ cw: SQUIRTING!!!! , overstim , threesome , smut with absolutely no plot , dirty talk , pet names , spanking , poosay slapping , dom! abby , dom! ellie , sub! reader , tummy buldge , mention of masturbation , this is kinda short i'm sorry

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

the three of you had been at this for fifteen minutes already. it happened when you mentioned to them that you'd never squirted before. of course, being the two numbskulls that they are, they took that as a challenge.

so now you were laying on your back in bed, abby between your legs and ellie at your side.

ellie was holding your hand, rubbing your knuckles with one hand and rubbing your clit with her other. abby, of course, was wearing her biggest, longest strap she has, and she's pounding into you while she cradled your head.

pathetic little whimpers we're escaping your lips with each thrust, but all you could do was take it.

"shhh... sh sh sh." ellie coos, "come on baby, you can take more."

abby is too focused to speak, hitting that spot inside of you repeatedly. your insides were probably bruised now, and she could feel you clenching around her.

"she's gettin' tight, ellie." abby says. ellie snickers, pressing down and pinching your clit. you moan and your back arches off the bed.

you flail your legs, trying to close them in retaliation, but abby keeps them open. "uh-uh. keep 'em wide and spread for me, sweet girl. you close, huh? yeah, i can feel ya." her words send you over the edge and you're coming for the third time tonight. your entire body convulses with pleasure, and both girls marvel at the way your face contorts.

"no way in hell i'm letting you win." ellie mutters to abby under her breath, shooing her away from you once your high is over.

she gives your cunt a few firm slaps before impaling you with her silicon dick. she bottoms out in one go, the tip of her dick kissing your cervix sloppily. hers is much longer than abby's, making a little bump in your lower tummy.

"s' too big." you whine when ellie's hand meets your stomach, pressing down on the little bump she made.

"you've got it, sweet girl. come on, baby, come on." she whispers in your ear.

abby chuckles as she watches this all unfold. she let ellie go first to get you nice and stimulated, in hopes that she could be the one to make you squirt. but the way that ellie was slamming roughly into you made her believe that that wasn't going to happen.

"hurts." you groan, eyes closing.

"keep your eyes open. watch ellie fuck you." abby commands, so naturally you listen. you open your eyes to watch her slip in and out of you. your thighs were covered in slick, and your next orgasm was coming.

ellie's pants and heavy breaths only turned you on more, and it was getting harder to sit still. ellie had a shit-eating grin on her face, knowing what was about to happen.

"scream my name, honey. come on, let me hear you." she coaxes, and you gush at her words, doing exactly that. you yelled her name, in contrast to the little whimpers and quiet whines you were eliciting earlier. you'd never felt more euphoric in your entire life. sure, you'd come on your own hands, their hands, their straps, and even their mouths several times. but nothing compared to the tingles you felt on every inch of your body.

the sheets were wet.

ellie entire lower half was wet.

you were wet, laying in a puddle of your own substances.

ellie laughs and cheers, "you fucking squirted!"

abby groans in defeat after seeing the utter mess you made. her eyebrows were squeezed together, her bulky hand in a tense fist. she shook her head silently, as if contemplating punching ellie in the jaw.

but ellie was too busy celebrating to notice, "fuck yeah! i did it!" she says, pecking you in every little crease and corner her lips can reach.

you were too fucked-out to comment on her celebrating, or abby's defeat, for that matter.

"how d'you feel, sweet pea?" abby is first to check on you after ellie disappears to go fetch some towels.

"fucking amazing." you mumble, nestling comfortably into the crease between her shoulder and neck, "never knew it could feel like that."

she chuckles, kissing your hairline, "there's plenty more where that came from. next time, i'll be the one to make you squeal like that, hm?"

you laugh quietly at her words, nodding.

[jinxvex]

can i be real (although controversial) for a sec…

i’m lowkey tired of seeing mainly descriptions of the ‘baby pink/white’, ‘frilly’, skirt-wearing, coquette, shy fem/femme reader in vi, sevika, ellie, and abby fics…

i mean she’s cute! we love her! but give me emo/grungy reader who only wears black and platform combat boots!! give me reader who’s pierced & has tats & wears studded belts/chunky accessories!! give me sassy reader who doesn’t take BS!!

you can still be fem/femme and be alternative/punk/emo to the other alt baddies out there!

planning to write some myself atp… stay tuned sapphics... 🤭

[ysaona]

[blackdykegirlblogger]

birthday sex with abby!

a/n: this is pretty sloppy tbh but i'm horny and felt like jotting smth down. she's a capricorn bc i said so.

thinking about how you wanted to surprise abby for her birthday. you had it all set up: breakfast in bed (her favorite: four slices of french toast, scrambled eggs and a large cup of black coffee), reservations at this new italian restaurant she's been dying to go to for weeks now, and your personal favorite: sex.

now granted, yall tended to go at it like rabbits on a daily basis, so it wasn't like fucking was anything new to your relationship. but, it was usually abby who took the reins. and as much as you loved her being in command under you...or above you...or from whatever position she decided on that day, you figured such a special occasion was the perfect time to switch things up a bit.

you gently tiptoed into your shared bedroom, easing the door open with your hips while you balanced her plate and mug. she was the prettiest sight you've ever seen, her usually meticulously done braid all fuzzy and askew as she snored gently. and luckily for you, she refused to ever wear shirts to bed, so her perky tits were loudly and proudly on display. you would honestly take a a picture if your hands weren't so full.

"abs? abby? time for breakfast, baby."

she grunted slightly as her eyes began to open, blinking a couple of times before landing on you. she pushed herself up on her elbows as she took everything in, the largest grin appearing on her face and making you giggle. "well good morning to you too, pretty girl. what's all this for?"

her tits bounced slightly as she adjusted herself into a sitting position, and your eyes were momentarily distracted before you acknowledged what she just said. "...it's your birthday? don't tell me you forgot again." you asked incredulously.

"my...? oh!" she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and checked the date, finally noticing the blaring January 7th on the screen. "well would you look at that?"

you rolled your eyes as you pressed a sloppy kiss on her cheek and handed her her meal. "happy 22nd visit around the sun, dumbass. i love you."

"fuck mama! s-slow downplease-"

if you had a nickel for every time you managed to make abby beg, like genuinely beg for you, you would only have a handful of nickels. as obsessed as she was with you, she was someone who prided herself on maintaining control at all times. it was a rare treat to see her all worked up and desperate (maybe you would get lucky if she was high, but that was a solid maybe), and you engraved the thought in your mind the best you could, knowing damn well this was never happening again..

"nuh uh, birthday girl. let me work, yeah?" you were grinding back against her, bouncing yourself on her strap as you put on a show for her. each movement put an immense amount of pressure on her engorged clit, and she couldn't help but drool at the sight granted to her as she ran her hands up and down your ribs in agony. your pussy was dripping on top of her, trickles of cum staining the silicone attached to her hips.

she swore on her life and everything she loved that she can feel you squeeze around her, your rhythm faltering slightly as you tightened around the base. you had already cum twice, but she always took a bit longer to get there, and you refused to let up until she did. for a second, a split, split, split second, you actually thought that you might've been able to get away with this. yeah, you were definitely going to be punished for it later, but hey! you were feeling good, she was feeling good and that was all that you could register in your cockdrunk mind.

the vibe shifted entirely as you felt her grip on your waist tighten, lifting you off her and turning you around so that you were staring her dead in the eye. despite her flushed cheeks and blown pupils, you could tell that underneath all the lust and desire, she was not pleased. uh-oh.

"who....the actual fuck do you think you are, huh?"

and with that, she began to do what she did best, pumping you up and down like you weighed absolutely nothing. and to her, you truly didn't. her thumb rotated across your clit as you whimpered, the brutal pace making your eyes meet the back of your head.

"nuh-uh" she gleefully mocked your earlier rebuttal, marking your skin with little crescent shaped indents as she rammed you, hard and fast and dizzying. "i want eye contact. and what the birthday girl wants, she gets."

[bucketsofgiggles]

i am absolutely l o s i n g it at Tommy "Desert Storm Vet and Texan in 2003 When the World Ended" Miller realizing he's now a communist, like look at this:

this man's whole worldview got Rocked

[kekothe-great]

Four dabloons

[yourgothgirldowntown]

[ennabear]

tying loser!ellie up and all she can do is mumble and stutter as your hips bounce up and down on her strap. tears threaten to spill from her eyes as she watches you, wishing so desperately she could touch you.

“aww els, you cryin’?”

“p-please i… j’s wanna touch you.”

you reach toward her and pull up her glasses, leaving them sitting atop her head. her poor eyes try to adjust, but it’s no use. she’s blind as a bat without them. your hips pick up the pace, your moans get louder, and you reach out to grope her tits.

“hmph, ellie. your cock feels so good.”

her tears are spilling faster now, raining down her cheeks. her lips quiver and she leans her head back in an attempt to hide her face, but your hands grab her chin and force her to face you.

[elliezlils11utt]

🦇-kinktober list-🩸

a/n: ill update with links as they come out! first time participating in kinktober. yall aint ready for the nasty shit ima bouta put out. (lemme know if u tryna be added to the taglist, & send requests 🙏🏽) 💋💋💋

🦇….

day1: mask kink (elabs)

day2: knife kink (E.W)

day3: spit kink (E.W)

day4: pain kink/Masochism (A.A)

day5: bondage(A.A)

day6: bind folded (A.A)

day7: Erotic Asphyxiation/breath play (elabs)

🦇…

day8: food play (E.W)

day9: humiliation (E.W)

day10: impact play (A.A)

day11: Katoptronophilia/mirror sex (E.W)

day12: tight fetish (A.A)

day13: public sex (E.W)

day14: praise kink (A.A)

🦇…

day15: Quirofilia/hand kink (E.W)

day16: role play (E.W)

day17: Trichophilia/hair kink (E.W)

day18: temperature play (E.W)

day19: wax play (A.A)

day20: sploshing/being covered in food (E.W)

day21: power exchange (A.A)

🦇…

day22: hair pulling (A.A)

day23: toys (E.W)

day24: Exhibitionism/strip tease (A.A)

day25: sensation play (E.W)

day26: orgasm control (E.W)

day27: virtual sex (A.A)

day28: mutual masterbaition (E.W)

🦇…

day29: make a movie (E.W)

day30: period sex (A.A)

day31: brat tamer (A.A)