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pedgito · 13 days ago

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𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — three: silence | Joel Miller x reader

chapter summary | Tommy's kindness forces Joel to make a choice.

author's note | unebeta'd and three months overdue. i'm slowly trying to catch up on these unfinished series as i'm filled to the brim with ideas rn, so updates may be slower but GOD, i missed these two.

chapter warnings | 18+ mdni, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), morally grey!joel with trust issues, mean!joel, abandonment issues, mentions of m*rder, somnophilia (with enthusiastic consent), pussy pronouns, needy!joel who is too stubborn to ask, unprotected piv (prone bone ftw)

word count —3.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

Joel is unsettled, brimming with anger as he rips into the room you had both fallen asleep in, hours later and the sound of Tommy’s trailing voice echoed, similarly frustrated.

You startle, pulled from your sleep as you glare at him, rubbing at your eyes as he reaches for his pack tossed away in the corner, stuffing away a few items in tense silence. You can hear Tommy in the other room, a low but normal tone as he sounded like he was talking to himself until a few more voices filtered through, pulling your attention up and at Joel, fully awake now.

“Who’s out there?” You pull the sheet back, finding yourself far more dressed than how you fell asleep. Joel doesn’t shy away from your questioning eyes, but you don’t need to ask.

It was freezing, the bite of cold wind kissing your skin. He managed to change you in your sleep, undisturbed as the exhaustion in your body had taken hold, a kind gesture for a man who refused to show it when you were awake.

“People,” He answers simply, like a bitter taste on his tongue, “Went out for supplies and he brought back a fuckin’ group. Family, little kids. A couple of strangers, too.”

“What about the food? Water?” You’re moving now, pressing your sock-covered feet into the hardwood as you stand, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Yeah—he’s got some,” Joel retorts, “but how long do you think that will last between nine people? I’ll answer that for you—not very fuckin’ long.”

The door had drifted closed with the pressure of the air drifting through the house, poor insulation and a shitty, tattered roof. He’s beating at the poor backpack as he stuffed it until the stitching could rip, zipping it closed roughly.

Second question ignored, you reach for his shoulder.

It was a brave action, suspecting that he wasn’t feeling very generous with touch this morning.

He turns on you quick, “Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” He bites, “you wanted this—you’re his responsibility, not mine. He ain’t thinkin’ about you, or me or himself. I’m not stickin’ around.”

As your mouth opens, Tommy forces the door open, a glimpse of the showdown between you both as your heads whip toward him, looking more frustrated than you’ve ever known Tommy to be.

“They’re lookin’ for ‘em, too,” Tommy begins calmly, though there is a torseness to his voice, “those Fireflies we’ve been hearing about—and Joel, we scoped out a house on the lake about an hour from here, empty—full of fuckin’ food, untouched. It’s a goddamn gold mine.”

“That,” Joel retorts behind clenched, pointing his finger toward the doorway, “is a death wish. We were doin’ just fine. Me, you—her,” Their eyes drag over you briefly, “there ain’t no damn cure for any of this.”

“Just ‘cause you lost hope doesn’t mean the rest of us have to,” Tommy argues, “Sarah was shot—not bit, you won’t even allow it to be a possibility, will you? You’re just done? Resigned to dying because you’re so goddamn stubborn?”

Joel chuckles darkly, slinging the backpack over his shoulder, “I’m leavin’,” He eventually admits, a long dragging silence falling over the three of you, “and you’re stayin’,” He adds in aim at you, your eyes widening at his revelation, looking over at Tommy with a worried expression as Joel approaches him, looking down on his brother, “if she dies ‘cause of your choices, that’s on you. Not me.”

“Joel, you don’t have to do all this,” Tommy trails after him, your slow, creeping footsteps following close behind, ignorant to the group of people standing in the old living room, “there’s groups out there, big ones—we need numbers, it isn’t just infected we have to worry about.”

The screen door slams behind Joel as Tommy relents, a hand gripping his hip as he runs his palm over his face, defeated. He looks at you with a silent resignation—like you could pull off some kind of miracle, that maybe the time you’ve spent with them wasn’t completely useless.

That your odd, magnetic connection to Joel wasn’t for nothing.

–

He’s reaching for a spare pair of boots out of the back of the truck when he hears the snap of the screen door, looking behind him with a shake of his head, amusement as he ties the laces to the strap of his pack.

“Why are you doing this?”

“He’s got too much heart,” Joel admits, “shit’ll get him killed.”

“He’s your brother, Joel,” You snip at him, “where’s your heart?”

“Go back inside,” He tells you, tugging the lace with finality, “I don’t need you lecturin’ me.”

You cross your arm, heels dug into the mud and unmoving.

“You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that?”

“And you’re being irrational,” You jeer, “you’ll get yourself killed on your own.”

“No—you see the difference between me and the rest of them,” Joel leans in, a few steps toward you as he crowds around you, “I kill and take what I need, this world isn’t forgiving to generosity and my brother has too much of that shit.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” He sneers, “You’re clueless. Wouldn’t survive a day on your own. I’m not taking you with me so you can drag ass behind and get me killed.”

Joel doesn’t entirely believe himself, knowing you had some of that ferocity simmering within you. It was a similar fire he carried in himself, like a spark waiting to be ignited. But, he also couldn’t forgive himself if you ended up dead, leaving the responsibility to his brother was the easier option.

And maybe he needed a few days—distance and time to clear his head.

He wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that he couldn’t be here. Not now.

Your eyes soften, pleading but quiet.

He realizes his mistake then—the attachment he’d allowed to form. Guilty of it himself, in his own way. But, the damage was already done and he wasn’t sure he wanted to suffer through the aftermath.

They aren’t sketchy people—Tommy had properly vetted them, as well as he could, at least. One of them was a doctor, the other a nurse—the other two adults: a teacher and a mechanic. All different walks of life. The kids were just as innocent, seven and nine, wide-eyed and terrified.

You do make it to the lake house after a few days. Tommy waits, hopes that Joel might change his mind and come back, but he doesn’t. By the fourth day he decides to pack up, but leaves a note behind on dirtied paper, using the thick ash to leave a message to Joel—coded, careful, a language that only he and Joel would truly understand in the odd chance someone happened upon the note first. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but still, he was holding on.

It was the most luxurious digs you’ve had since the world fell, relatively clean bedding in separate rooms, bathrooms, two stories and a lake full of fish, the cupboards stocked with canned goods and water—it was a vacation house, but it breathed the essence of someone who has tried to prepare for situations like this.

You weren’t sure why someone would leave a place like this uninhabited—maybe they were dead, maybe they weren’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. Whatever was theirs was now yours.

The most unbelievable of all was the hot water, the gas heater still holding strong amongst the unraveling apocalypse, showering away weeks and weeks of built up grime, it was almost too good to be true.

Everyone took turns keeping watch, though Tommy often found an excuse to man the front in the hope that Joel might wander down the path leading from the road, secluding the house by a casual passerby—it was eerily quiet here, unsettlingly so.

You weren’t sure where Joel could have gone, hoping that he was fairing alright despite how eager he was to flee, wondering how many people he'd slaughtered in his path, curious if he was already dead—it was abysmal, but an unfortunate reality.

Everyone except for Tommy was already tucked away the night the unexpected visitor came, the faint click of a door being opened and closed, hushed voices that melded with one another, similar vibrato and emotion, diluted by the rain.

The last couple of weeks were spent fortifying the house, riddling your body with exhaustion as you settle into your bed that night, blanket tucked up around your neck as you hear a pair of footsteps approach and slowly separate, followed by the sound of a shower turning on and shuffling on the other side of the wall.

You knew there was a spare room, one Tommy had purposely made up and left empty in the hope Joel would return—the movements in the bathroom are heavy but slow, eventually dying out, along with your ability to stay awake. But, your suspicions are confirmed as the door creaks open faintly behind you and the weight of the bed dips—the smell of fresh soap and something so inherently Joel invading your senses.

He expects you to tense at his touch, fully prepared to flee. But, you don’t. Instead, you’re turning to face him, quickly shushed by his lips as his hand presses against your shoulder and turns you back around, “S’alright, sleep,” He assures you, “I’m right here.”

“You’re back,” You murmur softly, “Changed your mind?”

“Ain’t that simple,” Joel responds quietly, his hands traveling over your hip slowly until it curled around your stomach, pulling you back toward him, his nose nudging against the back of your ear as he huffs, breath hot against your skin, “go on, get some sleep.”

He’s restless, though, his leg slipping between your own as they tangled together. He’s shirtless, you realize, your shirt raised by his wandering hands and the soft glide of his fingertips, re-familiarizing himself with the shape and curve of your body.

He couldn’t describe what he was feeling—not yearning or want, but a persistent need, his body craving a taste of you, his cock hardening at the thought of slipping inside you, fucking you into the mattress and molding back into a normalcy come morning.

He’s like a furnace, the heat of his body radiating against you under the cover of sheets and blankets. It was soothing, lulling—but his fingers itched, squeezing every now and then as he subconsciously rutted himself against your ass as he attempted to settle, his other arm tucked up under his head.

“Take it,” You murmur through a thick blanket of grogginess, “ f’swhat you need.”

It was full, unrestrained permission to use you as he pleased, a simple means for release.

“S’not right,” Joel replies.

Your hand curls around his and pulls in around your body and toward your stomach, fingertips toying with the thin band of your panties until you slip them underneath and settle his hand there—it was guidance, encouragement. Hell, a plea.

“When’ve you ever cared ‘bout what’s right?” You retort.

There’s a weak grunt in response, a non-answer

As he finally defeats the battle within himself and slips his middle finger down the seam of your cunt, wet and sticky warmth coating his finger as you sigh softly, it makes it easier to relax. You find yourself teetering the edge of awakeness and asleep dangerously, his finger moving slowly at first, a gentle pressure that eases you into drifting off. Then two fingers, like a lullaby, you weren’t sure how long you had fallen asleep before Joel is pressed tight against your back for a better angle, thick fingers teasing your hole as he runs them from your clit and back down, eventually pushing inside at your intake of breath, a stuttering gasp released from your lips as you grip the pillowcase beneath your head.

“M’gonna fuck you,” Joel tells you, “that alright?”

No definitive response, but Joel takes your closed eyes and parted lips as an indication and the echoing words in his head—Take it.

He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until he’s sliding the soft cotton of your pants down your hips, low enough that he can use his foot to force it off the rest of the way, gently guiding you onto your stomach with little resistance on your end, both arms splayed out beside your head on the pillow as you breathe quietly, eyes attempting to flutter open but losing the battle.

Joel shuffles, removing his own pants as he settles over you, your legs tucked between his as he fists his cock, using the minimal glow of the moonlight peeking through the bedroom window to guide himself inside of you, pussy glistening as he pushes the head through your folds, a slow rock of his hips as you hum in your sleep, turning your head to the opposite side, his cock pressing inside of you slow, tantalizingly so.

“S’like she remembers me,” He comments, entirely to himself with a sated smirk on his expression, “squeezin’ me just right.”

He groans as he angles and cocks his hips, full sheathed inside of you with his arms bracketing your own, sandwiched between him in the mattress as his deep, rumbling groans reverberate at your ear, balancing so perfectly in the state of unbotheredness as he keeps a lazy, relaxed pace.

“Better like this,” He says quietly, a hint of amusement in his tone, “ain’t gotta listen to your smart ass remarks,” An even quieter laugh slipping past your lips as if you’re subconscious heard it too, brow drawing together like being pulled on a string as Joel changes the angle of his thrusts, slightly raised on his knees as his palms press into the pillow, pistoning his hips at a quicker but careful pace, aware of your lack of solitary here.

“She missed me, huh?” Not you—your pussy, walls squeezing tightly around his cock as he grinds into you, the heavy weight of him against your back, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear, “Know she did—fuck—fuckin’ know it.”

Moans fall from your lips instinctively, face pressing into the pillow with his growing urgency, open mouth groans turning into grunts through gritted teeth, his hand rising from the pillow to grip and wrap around your hair, pulling it up and away as he leans down to mouth at your neck, hot and peckish huffs of air as he feels his own orgasm pull in his stomach, the heat rising from his chest to his face as the tug of your hair pulls you back to sudden awakeness, slightly embarrassed by how much your body was enjoying itself, the slick sounds of his cock from behind as he came with a low moan, pulling out with just enough time to grip himself as he released thick ropes of come against your back, shirt pushed up as the sheets fall from his body, dragging his hand down his shaft and to the head as he squeezed, shuttering through the descent of his climax, a tired laugh slipping past your lips as he sags, falling onto his side on the bed.

He settles for a moment, attempting to catch his breath before he redresses silently, climbing off the creaking bed without a word—you couldn’t even be upset, knowing if all he wanted was a warm body to sink his dick into, you had given him that and willingly. The house was quieter at this hour, the faint thump of Joel’s footsteps dissipating as you begin to laugh at the absurdity of everything through a sleepy haze—the outbreak, the pure luck of finding this house uninhabited, and Joel.

He was once an image, someone you constantly viewed from a distance, dangerous curiosity but nothing you would ever act on, feeble crushes as a teen now fully blossomed into desire.

“What’re you gigglin’ about?” Joel asks, returning with a thin rag he’d found stowed away in the bathroom closet, your heart skipping slightly at his voice, unexpecting of his return. There wasn’t an edge to his voice, the usual jab aimed and ready to go, he seemed genuinely curious.

The aftercare is quiet, ignoring his question as he wipes away his come, far too intimate for the both of you as you quickly adjust your pants back up your hips and settle underneath the sheets, “You didn’t answer me,” Joel pesters, watching with a quizzical expression.

You shake your head slightly, feigning ignorance as you settle and wait for him to flee.

Instead, you turn to the one tactic you know best, prying.

“What happened?”

He knows what you mean—the time spent away.

“Nothin’ worth mentionin’,” He deflects, scratching at his overgrown facial hair.

Sure, you think. You blink tiredly and look away from him, turning on your side to face in the opposite direction as he tosses the rag to the floor, interrupted by the quiet sound of your voice.

“Are you staying or leaving?”

To what degree you were referring, Joel wasn’t sure.

“You want me to stay?”

“Well, I don’t want you to leave,” You admit.

Joel chuckles at your flippant tone, a welcome reprieve from the unspoken tension.

He climbs into bed slowly, mirroring his earlier position but with you facing him now, eyes closed as he tucks his arm under his head and curls his unoccupied hand around the bicep pressed against the pillow.

“How many?”

As if Joel could read your mind, he sighs.

“One,” He professes, “Snuck up on me while I was sleepin’, found a mom’ n pop shop some way west—he got my knife, killed ‘em with my hands.”

Like a confessional, you take information and stow it away. One more demon to lock away, another secret to keep, he breathes out through his nose slowly, waiting for a remark that never comes.

“Don’t leave again,” You say faintly, “not for me—for Tommy, he’s barely slept. Won’t let any of us take watch because he’s been waiting, hoping for you to show up.”

“I got his note.”

So, he did go back.

“He’s got too much hope,” Joel adds, “Always been like that, findin’ the good in people when there wasn’t any, always fuckin’ himself over in the long run.”

“He needs you, Joel,” —I need you.

You wouldn’t admit that, not even on a dying breath. You look up at him, a nervous glance at him that you hadn’t taken nearly the entire night, the anxious squeeze of your chest.

You did miss him, you could admit that to yourself.

He looks boyish like this, youthfulness amongst the damning events whirling around you, no scowl present, face relaxed, plush lips pulled together as he swipes his tongue over them, staring down at you through a tired, half-lidded gaze.

“I’m stayin’,” He promises. But, only time would tell.

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