#quarantine study | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

penvisions · 3 months ago

Text

gone to the dogs {chapter 5}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Reader ; brief mentions of Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: Joel dwells on the new facet he's been witness to, internally overthinking over everything his had become and what it once was.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), angst, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv, sexual acts, reader is snarky, reader gets violent, minor injuries, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing, both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

A/N: aaaaaand i'm back. please lemme know what you think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

It’s confusing, the way that he feels about you.

There are warning bells sounding inside his mind, even before the trip to Lincoln to meet with Bill and Frank. While that had helped to establish another partner for trade with a different set of goods, it also allowed him a glimpse into the person you had once been. It had made him begin to think of who you had been and the things the world had done to make you into who he knew you as.

He had been as genuine as he was able to when he approached you in the shower you had indulged in his growing attraction of you. The way you had seemed almost welcoming of him even as you stood naked underneath the stream of water and the whisper of his harsh words from the night before between you. You had allowed him in, had talked with him quietly, none of the biting words you both typically shared.

And then they came back, tinging the air and attitudes flaring the closer you got to the zone.

He doesn’t understand the pull he feels to align in your orbit, the way his appetite could only be sated should you provide toward it.

But he’s all too aware of it that morning as he groans and rolls over to find the bed empty. Tess is at the table, watching him with a detached look on her face. He had started out on the couch, unsure of when he had fallen into her orbit much like he’s used to, much like he’s realizing he’s doing with you.

“Cane dropped off some deliveries for you. I’m going to work, laying low for a while.”

He grunts, pushing himself off the bed. His head hangs between his shoulders as he scrubs aching hands over his face. The hush of his facial hair loud in the silence.

“Didn’t mean to kick you out of the bed.”

“You didn’t. You stayed on your side the entire night.”

“Still.”

“Look, you’re the one who put up the boundary, I’m not gonna push it. We can share a bed without it meaning anything. It’s just sleep.” She’s not upset, at least not that he can sense of her knowing her tells and tones, but she’s not happy either. More…reserved and resigned, willing to play along with the things he had confessed to her as they lay in a furnished house, in a nice bed, with blankets and covers that weren’t matted with dirt no matter how hard they scrubbed them in the sink.

“Gotcha.”

She was out the door before he could finish turning to look at her over his shoulder. He could hear you moving about in your space next door, the slow way your steps move atop the aged hardwood and threadbare carpet with such little sound. So light on your feet, like always. He’s seen it more times than he could count, the way you tip toe up landings of stairs ahead of him, feet light and steps quiet to not draw any attention to you. Always covering your tracks, minimizing the impact you have on your surroundings. Human or otherwise.

‘He can’t sleep, it’s too quiet. He keeps hearing the creak of floorboards, the soft voices of others through thin walls, vehicles patrolling the streets. His mind won’t quiet like the phantom sounds he hears that tell of life in the zone. He’s struggling with being away though he can’t stand to be there in the first place.

It’s an odd feeling, like he doesn’t belong. Anywhere.

The older men have ‘welcomed’ them into their home, albeit he’s sure their hospitality is more of an extension from their fondness of you and Frank’s delight in Tess. Not for him, never for him. A dangerous thing. A dangerous man. Someone to keep an eye on, to tread carefully and cautiously around. He thinks of how he’s had to use his hands, shut off parts of his brain while others shut down on their own in the wake of everything he’s been through, the things he’s done in the name of survival and protection.

And while he regrets, he also revels. In the things he didn’t know he was ever capable of. The things he never wanted to be capable of. He sees in in everyone, the potential. It’s instinct at this point, he sees in himself, in Tess, in you, in Bill and Frank, everyone he interacts with. It makes him a cautious man, exactly the same at the two who had offered him room and board for the night.

Though he doesn’t know if he would’ve done the same, if he had been in their position.

Maybe to Tess, maybe to you. But not another man. It’s hard to tell what they carry in themselves, hard to tell what he carries still and what he’s forced out of his mind.

He doesn’t startle when a soft hand begins to wander over his side, gently holding to his waist.

“What’s got you breathing so heavy?”

“Nothin’,” Is his immediate response, even in the cover of darkness he doesn’t want to open up his mind to the woman beside him. He can’t, she has her own history that plagues her. He knows about some of it, some of it he doesn’t. Some of it may be his fault, some of it is his fault, and he doesn’t…can’t handle hearing the confirmation even if he already knows. Already senses that his lack of willingness to talk, to put voice to things, the way they’ve lived dwells on Tess’s mind far too much. Especially now…

“Joel…” A sigh of her own fills the air, he can feel it on the back of his neck where she’s leaning into his space, arms wrapping around him as they always do. Cradling him, allowing him a moment to feel and not be the one providing, protecting, defending. She allows him that, the chance to just be. Even if he rarely feels like he needs to, even if he feels the need to far more often than he’d like to admit.

Her hand snakes lower, thumb hooking in between the worn leather of his belt and the waistband of his jeans. He had refused to change out of his clothes, while she had willingly and quickly shucked off her own clothing for the set of soft pajamas neatly folded on the bed when they had retired for the night. A finger dangles lower, feeling for him beneath the rough fabric and his mind short circuits.

He….he doesn’t want to. Even as the familiar flare of pleasure roils deep in his body.

“Tess, no.”

“Are you sure? Could help you to relax, actually get a decent night’s sleep for once.” She doesn’t move her hand lower or more firmly, she doesn’t lean into him more, but her words tell of her own willingness and something in him freezes.

“I said no,” He rumbles, feeling at odds with the way pleasure begins to unfurl in his nerves. A natural response to the woman beside him, the only woman he’s known in such a way for over two decades. A lie, his mind decides to betray him, he’d had you just the other day. In a way he’d never anticipated and it had set his nerves on fire and stalled his mind, his bravado crumbling the second your body responded and you touched him in return. It had been electrifying, the way your sounds

“I don’t, I can’t. It’s…it’s not fair to you.” It’s not that he doesn’t feel anything for her, on the contrary, she’s stuck by him for years. Knows him as well as he knows himself, or maybe even more at this point as he’s lost so much of who he used to be. Who he used to think was a good person, a good neighbor, a good brother…a good father. A thoughtful person who watched out for his own, protected and provided for his own as best he could with the hand he had been dealt.

“Don’t you dare make this about me, Joel.” Her voice betrays her, eyes searching his own as he rolls to face her head on, to face his decision and any consequences head on. She’s beautiful, his heart laments.

Her hair is smooth and shiny from a shower she had been allowed to indulge in, with actual hot water and products that he had recognized from his many trips to the store to try and find something to tame tighter curls than his own. Her face is more relaxed than he has seen in- ever, he thinks.

And of course, he would ruin the first real moment she’s had to herself in years. Since before the end of the world, probably.

Joel Miller, a failure once again.'

He shakes the memory from his mind, hoping that today can begin the new page he's intent on beginning.

“I keep forgetting y’all are relatively new here. But the way it happened was, she came outta nowhere, no one knew who she was. Barely recognizable among the mules used for trade to avoid suspicion when the zone first started changing.” The guy is surprisingly willing to talk with his drinking companions, unaware of Joel listening intently as he nurses his own glass. The room muggy and the air stale as the underground cellar is all but turned into a speak easy. “But then one day the man guy who came from the free lands beyond the walls was found dead with his throat ripped out. Teeth marks and a bloody fingerprints stamped on his forehead. Then all of a sudden, she’s in the middle or in charge of every trade, of every product coming in or out of the zone.”

“She was a mule?” The incredulous statement is just that, a statement. A matter of fact that Joel can feel even in the absurdity of the words uttered by a stranger. A theory he’s had since Frank had checked on you, one on one. The worry and anxiety he had expressed at the way you two had been separated spoke more than the story he was sure to never hear the entirety of. It would explain how you knew so much, every small gap in the fence. Every officer to work with, which ones to avoid. The camaraderie he’s sensed between you and some of them even if your face falls the second you turn away from them. How some of them, how some people of the zone, flock to you.

There are no more mules, no more women who are used to trade. Everything done between willing participants, the use of those unwilling eradicated by someone who had been in their place once. He can almost picture it, even if he doesn’t want to. A younger version of you, terrified but cunning. Biding the time until you could take your power back.

“That’s the rumor, she didn’t even come into the zone proper or get registered, FEDRA turns an eye on her because they benefit from her supplies. Some of them fall at their feet for the chance to interact with her.”

“Shit, she’s really got everyone wrapped around her little finger.”

“People tried to report her, rat her out to soldiers because of how much she was charging but she never got caught and then the next day whoever tried to do it would show up dead. The only person who didn’t was her brother, who watched after her like a damn guard dog, day and night. Those damn little paw print stamps were on everything from that point on, the same ones used now.”

Everything froze in the room as the sound of thunder boomed overhead, the heavy sound of tanks rumbling down the road up above following the sound of rain falling heavy.

“You mean to tell me, some little girl who was being used as a mule ended up being in charge of the entire smuggling scene?” The young woman refilling drinks and taking ration cards couldn’t quell her curiosity, the talk of you buzzing all around the room. It was only natural, you were a woman holding control over something, she was but a server working out a debt in the underground bar.

“She ain’t no little girl anymore. Bitch is fit to tear people apart if she even so much as senses they’re thinking of turning her in or ambushing her. Things got a little different after she turned her own brother in, claiming he used her as a mule too to save her ass from getting caught. But no one really bought the lie when the scene didn’t change after his death. She’s always alone though, no one was looking after her until Miller showed up. But damn if she wasn’t hard to find, kept to the shadows and had soldiers doing most of the trading for her.”

The woman glanced over at Joel, not lifting her eyes to meet his as he placed a card on the table to signal he wanted another pour. She did so, his gruff nod of acknowledgement catching her off guard when he didn’t reach for her in a move she was far too used to at this point. When she pocketed the card, he reached out and slipped another few into her hand directly.

She didn’t say anything and neither did he. Draining his glass, he stood and exited the seedy basement.

He stands outside in the alley, letting the rain sprinkle on his face and neck, reveling in the cool feel of it as it sobers him up. He’s still coming down, the day had been long as he realized just how much he had taken. The events of last night play over his head, the snarl of your lips, the heft of your words, the feeling of the cut off fingers thudding into his chest as you pinned him down. His neck stings as the salt in the rain touches the thin cut on his neck and he thinks over the words of the other patrons.

He feels something swell in his chest, a mixture of emotions knows is tainted by dangerous ones. Like desire.

You had been a mule. Not even legal when the outbreak happened, forced into working the underground scene. Separated from the only person who you had known, forcefully from the way he recalls the conversation between you and Frank. But yet…you had flourished. Grown thick skin, a pelt of protection, a snarl to your lips, and threat to your words. A mirror of who he had turned into, the thought heady as it swirls around his mind.

You had made something of the situation, taking it over and blossoming into someone who had the power instead of being controlled by it. There was no doubt you were behind the ransacking of the apartments once they had returned to the zone. He wondered why for a moment, before he realized that it didn’t matter. He and Tess would fall in line, rather be a part of it and work with you than find themselves on the other side of the line and working against you or competing with you.

It was…admirable, he had to admit. Even if he couldn’t stand the air you sometimes adapted around him. Matching his comments, his attitude, his undermining and authority when he put his foot down. He sees it for what it truly is now, a match to his energy. To hide your own meanings and intentions by butting heads with him. Not at all a false notion, as he’s seen real annoyance and frustration flare to life in your eyes more than once. Now that he’s seen another facet of who you are…

He wonders if…if he were to calm down, would you do the same? He’s tired, the days dragging on and the circumstances getting more dire. He didn’t want to waste energy he didn’t have.

He must’ve been standing there for longer than he realized, because the young girl who had been serving steps out, steps faltering as she sees his shadow close to the door.

“Oh! I’m…you startled me.” He sees that same sparkle of fear he had in your own face, though it’s more apparent, more glaring in this scenario. She doesn’t quickly hide it, gloss over it like you had. She’s innocent, she’s doing her best with what she’s got. But it’s not enough, it will never be enough. For either of you. For him.

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Thank- thank you, for the cards.” She takes a deep breath, as if stealing herself. “Do you want-“

“Don’t wanna see you in there again, you hear me?” Joel cuts her off, aware of his drawl encompassing his words more than usual. The gruff way he shoves the sentiment from deep within his chest, thoughts of a younger version of you in his mind, of his own daughter being forced into the same situation. Of how unfair and disgusting it is, the way women are treated in the end of the world, like just another possession to control and seek after. If he can prevent it in this case, then he would.

“You go home and you stay home, do the work organized by the zone. Only the work organized by the zone.” He catches her eyes, dipping his head in order to do so. She’s frightened, unsure of what is going ton, but she’s remained quiet. A nod of her head is all the answer he gets. “You need anything, you come to me. Food, water, clothing, a place to hide away. No strings or favors attached.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

And then he’s shrugging off from his spot against the wall, shoulders of his jacket damp just as his curls begin to feel the weight of the rain collected on them. It isn’t much, but it’s something. He’s tired of wasting energy in an endless fight for hierarchy, he just wants to feel like a person again. You allow him the space to, your hesitant revelations of late letting him know that there’s a yearning to feel normal that lives in you too.

The tear of your skin from the barbs is hidden by the pelting rain much like the scream you suppress into a huff of breath, the snag of it pulling a slight whimper in the base of your throat. Muscles tensing, you continue to haul yourself over the top of the fence, the barbs dragging further as you move over them and allow yourself to fall on the other side. Rolling, you try to minimize the impact, your feet finding purchase and you take off down the dim street as search lights continue to search the part of the city you just escaped.

Steps quiet, the adrenaline coursing through your veins spurs you forward, jacket intact but shirt beneath it torn and you hold a hand tight to your middle with a hiss.

The rain comes down in heavy sheets now, just a sparse sprinkle when it had first started. But now thunder and lightning accompany it. The sky lighting up with every deafening boom and you tried to stick to the shadows of the buildings, using them as hideaways as you made your way back to your building.

You barely plopped down into the chair when you heard the muffled voices of your partners next door.

Shrugging from your jacket, you pulled your hair up out of the way before you began to pull the saturated shirt from your upper body. A hiss fell from your lips when the torn fabric stuck to the still bleeding cuts on your middle. Holding your breath, you carefully removed it and tossed the thing to crumble into a heap on the floor. The bite of your belt buckle into your stomach was ignored as you took a healthy drink from the bottle of amber liquid beside you on the table.

“Fuck,” You whispered to the empty apartment as you began to open the sterile packs assembled on the tabletop.

You’re barely on the second pinch of your skin at the needle’s end when the hinges on the door creak. A lucky thing that you recognize the man walking through it, having blanked out on locking it in your haste.

“Hey, I’ve got those credits you-“ Joel trails off when the door opens easily and he’s privy to the scene of you trying to stitch yourself up. Hands trembling slightly and head craned at an awkward angel to best see the spot that needs tending low on your stomach.

“Just set them on the table.” You don’t look up from where you pierce your skin with the needle, silver medical wire catching the light as you pull it as taut as you safely could, blood seeping through the wound at the action. Twin drops of it trailing down your skin to sink into the fabric of your undone waist band pulled to the side, undone belt clinking with the motion of you reaching for another swig of liquid courage.

“Let me,” Joel’s voice is quiet, nearly soft in the way it lacks the gruff edges normally adorning his words.

He’s scooting another chair closer to you, his hands wiped clean on the abandoned cleansing cloth you used among the supplies. His thick fingers carefully extract the needle from your own, mindful to not pull at the work you’ve already managed. His other hand replaces yours where you had been holding the wound closed, eyes narrowing when he could hear the sharp inhale you took and the faint whimper that sounded out on your exhale.

“Does this mean I’ve got a hunt tomorrow?”

“Unless you plan on beating the shit out of a fence,” You try to joke, but the words get caught in your throat when the sting of the thread moving in your skin causes you to shudder. “Hold on, let me-“

“I gotcha, won’t move until you give me the go ahead.”

Ignoring how close he is to you, kneeled before you with his hands so warm against your middle, you reach for the dime bag stamped with your mark and down the four pills inside with another swig of the amber liquid.

“Okay,” You grit your teeth against the unsavory taste, the feel of the pills slipping down your throat. It was what he was waiting for, before picking the task up again.

The shabby apartment is quiet save for the harsh pattering of rain, distant booms of thunder and the even breathing of you both. The air is tense, if only just a bit, neither willing to break almost peaceful spell that had befallen after such a hectic few days and tense weeks. A crux, almost, that you found yourself teetering on with the man. One path that would lead to continuous arguing, violence and second guessing each other or one path that would lead to a better understanding of each other and allow for things to flow more smoothly.

Joel’s wiping away the blood smeared into your skin as best he can now, the end of the stitches tied neatly off and knotted so they remain secure and do their job well. Eight of them, all in all. The cut a harsh line in the soft spot of your belly, the pudge that had begun to form and stubbornly refuse to burn off even after long days of trekking and working despite a lack of nourishing food. It reminds you of how you looked before, when you were able to be the person who you had always wanted to be. But the end of the world had laid ruin to a lot, including the full shape your body had once been.

“Any others?” Joels fingers are wrapping around the bottle of whiskey, a full swig taken followed by another. You can’t help but watch as his throat bobs with the action, your body feeling the narcotics begin to kick in. Tingling sensations skating across your skin and chasing away the pain of the day, of the night, of survival. If only for a moment.

“Dunno, body feels like one big bruise.”

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as he regards the supplies sprawled on the table. Then the tremble of your left hand, the way your palm is inflamed and the cuts there you either don’t register or are ignoring.

“Let’s start with your hand then…” He’s silently thankful when you allow him to grasp it lightly and pull it into his space to look over.

It’s late, sleep evading you the second the pills began to wear off and the pain of your injury flared.

Pulled you up from the depths of your induced sleep. From the shower Joel had helped you to take, to the inspection he had done for anymore injuries. His quiet voice, the deep rasp of it had lulled you as he laid you down once the drugs and exhaustion took over.

You’re pacing in the little free space of your bedroom, in front of the window. The rain is still falling, though the storm seems to have passed. You’ve got one of the small stamps that had been molded and carved out from a bit of rubber. Tumbling the item in your good hand when you hear the floorboards groan underneath someone’s foot.

Spinning around, you see the dark outline of Joel in the doorway, filling the frame as he simply watches you. And it’s unnerving how at ease you feel seeing him there in the middle of the night, when he’s never been in your apartment longer than a few hours to discuss runs or plans. To help with rationing cards, food, or portioning out contraband.

“Y’need to rest. Antibiotics are gonna take it out of you when they kick in.” He’s quiet, voice low as he stands in his spot.

“Pain woke me up, took another pill to even it out.” You keep your voice low, not wanting to break whatever spell is still cast over your apartment. The one that allowed for you both to see each other as people, as equals. No overly harsh words spit at each other. It’s allowing you to glimpse at who he is in his own moments, in the quiet of the evening, in the dead of night when there’s no one to perform for, no one to front for.

“C’mon, lay down. Pacing is just gonna irritate the stitches.”

“You don’t control me.” You can’t help but breathe out heavily, the heft of your body and the pain throbbing in your middle making you irritable despite the atmosphere.

“Not tryna control you, tryna take care of you,” Joel is moving toward you, his frame towering over your slightly hunched over one. He’s all shadows in the darkness of the room, the streetlamps are out on your block. When you take a step back and tighten the grip around the stamp in your hand, he sighs. “Even though I know you don’t need it, least of all from me.”

“I don’t.” You can’t help but rebut. The paranoid part of your brain thinking this was all just some sort of game, some con he was pulling on you. Always on the lookout, always on alert. And it’s tiring, just as much as it is rewarding.

“Tess does, sometimes.” He tries to reason, tries to appeal to you. “I do, too.”

You think back to the way he stalls in moments beyond the walls, when he thinks no one is looking. How he bumps a fist to the center of his chest as if to dislodge something. The pressure of the world and this life settling sharp and heavy in his chest, making it hard to breathe sometimes. Your eyes linger on the scar about his temple, those on his knuckles, the cracks of his knees as he takes big steps up or around something. The palm he holds to his back and the swagger you know he doesn’t deliberately put into his steps as he treads down the hallway at the end of a shift.

“Only had my brother to take care of me. And it was only for a little while.” You confess, heart seizing at the memories of your brother. His last smile to you. You blink back to reality when there’s a tug of your hand. Joel is unfolding your fingers from around the stamp, thick fingers gently prodding at the skin beneath the gauze wrapped there.

Huh. You had been unconsciously pushing into the wound with it, mind relishing in the sting.

“Gonna tear it even deeper, doin’ that.” He’s pocketing the stamp, and you think to argue against it but as you part your lips to do so he’s swooping down to brush his nose against yours. “Lemme distract you another way, yeah?”

“You’re seriously propositioning me right now?” Your words fall short when you don’t step back from him any further. Body already shimmering at the mere suggestion of his moving against it.

“Only if you’re willing.” It’s an honest response, a genuine one. There’s no teasing.

“What’s the point?”

“The point?” He’s pressing his forehead to yours. “The point is for you to see me, for you to know that I see you. To see that I’m tryna meet you in the middle.”

“But…why?” You whisper, unable to quell the almost giddy sensation of curiosity as you realize he’s being completely open with you right now. That he’s not playing games or trying to manipulate you, nor is he trying to prove a point like he had been the first time around.

“Because I’m tired, Cane.” He admits, “Tired of fightin’.”

“Fighting is half the fun of being paired up, get to rile you up.”

“Fun? Girl, you gotta twisted notion of fun.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” You smirk, sure he could feel the corner of your mouth pressed to his cheek as you whisper into his ear. But you match the tone of the energy still flowing about the room, the energy flowing between you and press your lips to his in a kiss.

It’s soft, the way his lips move against yours. No nipping teeth or forceful tongue. His hands snake around your waist and pull you to him, body warm and overwhelming as you feel the way he’s already hard.

The kisses turn deeper as clothing is removed, pressed to lips, to shoulders, to the bare skin of your breasts as they are revealed to the cool air. Nipping now, against peaked nubs and exposed thighs, just as your nails leave faint marks of their own on his back, on the front of his stomach where hairs trail down to his weeping cock.

The world stills as he enters you, bodies in tune to each other and your mind blanks as he nestles himself deep and stills. Twin groans of appreciation echo in the air, loud and sharp. His lips find yours in a chaste peck, tasting the soft groan of reverence as it sounds from between them.

“Look at that, little pup just needed something nice and big to fill her up, huh?” He grinds his hips into yours, the coarse hairs surrounding him tingling where they rub at sensitive skin. “To help her calm down and quiet those thoughts in her head.”

“Sh-shut up.” Your words don’t carry any heat behind them, as your eyes clench shut and your body sings in tune with his. Your hips buck, your walls clench, and your breathing heaves. He’s got you exactly where he wants you and he knows it. You know it too, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to submit. Not completely at least, there was no fun in that. But you know that, just under the surface of newfound acquiescence, that the man reveled in the banter you shared. Because you did too.

You trail your hands down from his neck to his shoulders, unclasping them from behind him to push him up. He’s moving with you, willingly, even as you crowd against him and shift him to his back. His eyes are blown wide, pupils taken over as you glimpse them in a strike of lightning that brightens the sky.

“Gonna show me whose boss?” He taunts, even as you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where you hand rests over his chest. Grounding you as you lower yourself back onto him, the glide of him easy as his slick and your own scent the air. “Cause tha’s mighty fine with me.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it all that much the other day.” You gasp as the head of his cock catches deep inside you, sending a bolt of pleasure through you body as thunder booms overhead.

“I was high outta my mind, ain’t my fault.” He grunts out as you settle flush against him. Leaning forward to press your face into the crook of his neck. Your teeth sink into the skin there, tongue tasting the salt of his sweat as you place open mouthed kisses up to his good ear.

“Everything is your fault.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. But you seem to like this outcome, I sure as fuck do.” He circles his hips, meeting your own swivel, twitching deep inside you as he grips tightly to your hips. His fingers will leave marks, but you think for a moment that it might be glance them in the mirror until they fade. They tighten, gripping to steady you as he begins to thrust up, punching the breath from your lungs with each delicious drag of his length.

“Just this once.” You moan out, voice rounding out as you begin to flutter around him, your stomach tightening as heat and pleasure burn through you. You lean back and rest your palms on his thighs. Hips circling and grinding at a fast pace. The pad of his thumb is pressing to you, jolting you forward and breaking your rhythm momentarily. Your body sings, pleasure cresting and washing over you in waves that could drown. But you catch your breath and ride them out, eyes beginning to droop even as you feel the hot spurts of Joel’s own release paint your insides.

It’s early, the sun barely showing signs of nearing the horizon. The deep, velvet blue of night lightening in pinks and oranges that begin to color the room and allow you to see the man you felt in your bed the entire night.

Joel is still naked, the thin sheets and coverlet covering only his lower half, allowing you a full view of him beside you. He’s breathing evenly, deeply. You had ended up with your large shirt back on, to help keep the stitches a little cleaner once you had been cleaned with a dampened rag. Something you hadn’t expected of the man, even with this new…shift in the air.

It was peaceful, the night taking a turn you hadn’t expected. And your mind ticks and tocks with the possibilities of now having a somewhat more willing Joel by your side. A guard dog that is sworn to you, should you allow him to. A person who wants to appease you and ensure your safety, in all aspects of your life now, not just as a benefit to their own.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel’s sudden voice catches your own even breathing, taking you off guard.

“Like what, Miller?” Recovering quickly from your introspection, you roll your eyes; sure he can feel the motion even with his back still turned to you on the other side of the bed. Of course, he had felt you admiring the muscles of his broad back, the way his shoulders were dusted with faint freckles and dotted with dark moles, much like his strong neck and arms. The narrowing of his waist down to his hips, the dimples he had there just above his firm and shapely ass. He was beautiful, though you wouldn’t admit it to him aloud. “You’re not even facing me.”

“You know what.” He rumbles, voice impossible deep and devastating with sleep that clings to him, refuses to let him go even as he begins to stir in the early hour. A shiver runs down your spine, filthy words from last night

“You’re conceited, you know that?”

“Didn’t seem to mind it last night,” He’s smirking as he rolls over to finally reveal his waking face to you. Eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, relaxed almost as he begins to come back to himself and the world. His curls are a bit wild from his sleep, from the night before when you had run your fingers through the tresses, tangled them and pulled them tight. “Tellin’ me how good I felt, how big I was. Gave me a reason to be conceited, darlin’.”

“Oh no, don’t you start with that. You may have a big dick but it don’t mean you gotta act like one.”

“Like what?” He parrots, teeth glinting as he brandishes a wolfish grin at you. You feel the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile fighting to flourish, and you purse your lips so he can’t see it. Brows furrowing, you lean up and

“You know what.” You parrot back, dodging his ducking head as he prepares to nip at you again. It’s a slow roll away and out from under him, but he allows the movement, leaning back onto his knees more to make space. “We got a trek today, want to check out the hotel and then the old bunker underneath the west end hospital.”

“Long trek.”

“Old man, if I can handle it so can you.” You slowly stand to your full height, stomach pulling as the stitches are moved about slightly. Hands over in front of you as you gauge the slight blossom of discomfort.

“Let this old man into your bed.” His hands are hovering over you, ready to catch you should you fall, ready to do whatever they could to help should you need it, should you ask him to.

“Yeah, well, figured he needed something sweet to keep him in line. What’s sweeter than a pretty little thing than me, hmm?”

“God damn, you’re insufferable.” He huffs, the bed springs groaning as he disappears from his spot behind you. You look over your shoulder to see him pulling his ragged jeans back on. He’s turned away from you but that doesn’t stop you from watching him as he does so.

“You too, Miller.” You’re shoving him toward to the kitchen, intent on him starting a serving of coffee before the day truly begins, the sun beginning to shine through the broken blinds and thin curtains as it rises above the towering wall that surrounds the zone. “Now go make some coffee, yeah?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He let’s the momentum of your push carry him across the threshold into the rest of the apartment. He’s smirking, you can tell by the tone of his voice but you don’t let it simmer in your chest for too long before you’re focusing on cleaning the wound and replacing the bandage over it. Dressing for another long day, but at least you’ve got a more willing guard dog by your side to accompany you outside the walls now.

Everything seems to be falling into place, tempers easing, and your power no longer being questioned but accepted. You try to shake the feeling that something bigger is wavering on the horizon, now that you and Joel have found common ground and somewhat of an understanding.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @orcasoul @itsokbbygrl @keylimebeag

@n7cje @hiddenbabynyc @ameagrice @everythingiwanttoread @furiousmushroom

@vivian-pascal @76bookworm76 @dugiioh @jellybeanxc @littlemisspascal

@undercoverpena @janaispunk @jessthebaker @persephone-girl

@corazondebeskar @harryscum @morgaussy @burntheedges @pascalpvnk

@cavillscurls @joelmillerisapunk @copperhalfcent @blackcatgreengrape

@the-orange-tabby-cat @yxtkiwiyxt @punkshort @cumberpegg

@littlemisspascal @mosssbawls @luxurychristmaspudding @cherrycolouredflunk

@tobethlehem @axshadows @ameagrice @theoraekenslover @mellymbee