poeticpascal - Tumblr blog

poeticpascal · 21 days ago

Text

Imagine just writing one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read and then just casually posting it on tumblr like it’s no big deal. THIS IS A BIG DEAL!!!!!! 😭😭😭

Sundays

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Season 2 of The Last of Us ruined my life, so here is my attempt at fixing my eternal wounds. Lord knows that everyone deserves better. I spent four weeks trying to perfect this. It might be the best thing I’ve ever done. Please be kind and patient with me ❤️

Summary: Joel’s Sundays are for early morning patrol and making babies with you.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic fluff, soft but haunted Joel, banter, teasing, Star Wars reference, kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, pussy eating, fingering, breeding kink, one use of daddy, emotional and filthy sex, creampie, aftercare, cuddling

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65911807

Sundays

On Sundays, Joel does the morning patrols while the rest of the town sleeps. When someone asks why he has volunteered to do them, he lies and grumbles something about nobody else wanting to get out of bed during the weekend so he has to. Yet he always wakes up at the crack of dawn without complaint, showers in the miracle of hot water, fixes himself a cup of coffee, and reads his book - they have recently emptied a library on an extensive supply run and they found The Shining on dry shelves - with his glasses perched on his nose. He likes it; the quiet time for himself while feeling your presence in the house as you sleep under warm blankets upstairs. His morning routine always ends with taking off his glasses to put them on their designated spot on his nightstand and kissing your beautiful hair, watching your body curl up contentedly underneath the covers or if he is really lucky, you turning onto your back and sleepily muttering a demand for a proper kiss.

He goes back down, ties his well-worn leather boots on a dining chair, holsters his handgun, throws his rifle over his shoulder, and then leaves with a quiet click of the door.

The Spring air bites slightly in the morning but he doesn’t mind, appreciates the way it wakes him up a bit more and sharpens his focus. He misses you the second he steps out the door, thinks about your warm and soft skin while he checks the front of Ellie’s house, and then walks towards the stables, the gravel crunching underneath his boots. He listens for anything out of the ordinary - can’t be too careful - and even checks the fences surrounding the horses, the weak spots he keeps meaning to patch up himself because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it right.

Patrol is as usual. He doesn’t expect any danger and thankfully doesn’t find any either, but he is a man of habits and old habits die hard. His free hand rests near the strap of his rifle in case of anything out of the ordinary, but the only time he needs to be on his guard is when Callus, his horse, gets frightened by a rabbit in the bushes along the trail. He calms the animal with a broad, soothing hand and kind words. He thinks about Sarah, about how she would have loved the nature here, and rarely anymore about how her blood felt on his skin.

He is gone for a few hours, three maybe but no more than four. He does all of his usual inner checklists and rides past each checkpoint, all the while thinking about your hair still messy from sleep, your bare foot sticking out from under the blanket.

On his way back, his thoughts continue circling around you. It’s almost dangerous how much he lets his mind drift; how easy it is to get lost in wondering what you’re up to on his way home. He pictures you in the sun coming in through the windows of the house he built for you with hands that have killed but now get to cradle your face too. He loves you most bathed in morning light that makes your skin glow. With a half-laugh, you said you’d be doing housework today, dragging your fingers through his hair last night whilst tangled up in his body.

He wonders if you’re humming to yourself while mopping the floors or fighting extra stubborn dust bunnies underneath the couch. What are you wearing? What are you thinking about? Is it him? Are your souls really so entwined that your thoughts are full of him whenever his are so full of you? Joel doesn’t even know if he believes in that sort of thing - hearts beating in sync like that - but you don’t give him a choice sometimes, a feeling that not even Ellie has ever teased out of him.

When he arrives home, he smiles with his eyes closed at the twinkling sound of the wind chimes hanging on the porch ceiling. There is dust on his boots and his bad knee has started to ache from the slow change in temperature over the last few hours but he feels content. He removes the rifle from his shoulder to leave it by the door and then toes the boots off carefully.

He inhales the smell of home deeply in through his nose before holding his breath to listen for any sound of you. His brown jacket comes off right after he has noticed the quiet movements upstairs that make the house creak just a little. However, it’s not the noisy floorboards but your soft curse that makes him climb the staircase.

A younger version of him - a version that was newer to you - would have first thought that you were up to something sinful and private but Joel now knows that the near-silent swear is one of quiet frustration. You don’t hear him at first, too busy muttering to yourself about the fitted sheet that keeps slipping from your fingers as you try to tug it down over the corner of your shared bed.

“Shit,” you curse again quietly, bent across the bed in a kneeling position with one knee on the mattress and the other stretched out behind you.

He knows he should announce his presence like the gentleman he is but he is too busy trying to catch his hitching breath from the sight of your gorgeous body. The swell of your hips and the dip of your back have his old ticker beating in his chest like a kick drum but it is, more specifically, the choice of your underwear that has him feeling downright lightheaded. Hugging your hips are a pair of lace panties and they’re see-through and barely there but most importantly cute. You probably picked them up from the trading center without much ceremony, drawn by their aesthetic rather than their practicality, and then forgot they existed until laundry day arrived. He can understand why; they are so impractical that they almost piss him off but it doesn’t outweigh the near-laughable way he is already hardening in his jeans.

“Hey baby,” he finally says from the doorway, his hands shaking slightly with how hard it is to not just walk up and grab at your hips as a greeting.

“Joel,” you jump a little in your spot and look at him over your shoulder, the sheet still hanging between your fingers in a secure grip, “You scared the shit outta me!”

“What are you wearing?” He asks simply instead of apologizing, trying to act nonchalant as he walks to the side of the bed but you pick up on the strain in his voice.

You glance down at yourself with a sigh but it just makes your ass jiggle, “Oh, these? They’re my last clean pair right now since I’m doing an epic pile of laundry today. Sun’s coming out. Perfect day for hanging it outside.”

“They’re–” he replies, gaze fixed on your ass. His voice continues in the same strained tone but he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“They’re awful,” you help him and start struggling with the corner of the sheet again, “Feels like my ass is being flossed by lace.”

Joel snorts at that, “Should take ‘em off then.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You snort yourself, finally managing to pull the sheet over the edge. You flatten it with your palm, caressing it almost as if you’re apologizing for the roughness you’ve caused it and so it looks like it hasn’t been a battle to secure. Then you flop onto your back, stretching your arms out behind you to hold yourself up. The grin on your face is mischievous and sexy yet subtle, the position you’ve put your body in pushing your chest out so he can see your breasts through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. He thought he wanted you badly during his patrol but looking at you now, he thinks he might lose it if he doesn’t touch you soon.

“You’ve got me. Take them off,” he murmurs with a smirk but when you playfully don’t follow orders, he starts leaning down over you slowly with his sore knee dipping into the mattress. You try to crawl back, squealing but he has taken on bigger things than you.

“Joel,“ you stop him by planting your bare foot on his chest but the way your leg bends at the knee just exposes that soft, intimate skin between your legs. He wants to dive into you but he’ll humor you for a moment.

He grabs your ankle to make you laugh but his mind betrays him by reminding him of how fragile his existence here with you is. Jackson remaining completely untouched by reality is a fantasy. He doesn’t tell you, never would tell you how easily it could all go wrong again, because you deserve the fantasy more than he does.

“Joel,” you repeat his name and he comes back to you if only briefly, watching your loving grin with a deep ache in his chest. He hasn’t felt this kind of ache since Sarah’s mother, a tell-tale sign that you are the real thing for him, that he built this house so you can fill it up with love and life.

Life. It seems almost bordering on insanity to be thinking about children at his age in a world so broken but your eyes sparkle in the town square where mothers carry their babies in wraps while trading cartons of strawberries. You deserve to nurture someone other than him because your soul has so much to give.

“If you’re not going to do anything but overthink,” you hum teasingly when time has passed and Joel feels embarrassed for having been lost to his own inner world. His thumb presses into the curve of your Achilles heel, tugging your body closer to himself by wrapping your leg around his waist instead.

“You’re the only person who talks to me like that,” he chuckles softly while his cheeks are slightly crimson.

“It’s good for you,” you shoot back him and it is the truth.

“Was just thinking ‘bout how you do so much that I don’t deserve,” he says with his eyes roaming over your face and chest for a place to kiss. He chooses the column of your throat, “Cooking, cleaning… Lovin’ a man like me.”

“It’s not about deserving,” you muse and sigh at his stubble on your skin, “Do you want me?”

What kind of question is that? He wants you so much that it sometimes feels like it would be easier to live in your veins, to replace his tired and aching bones with yours if it meant never being without you. He sounds psychotic, sounds like something that he read in the string of horror novels he has gathered by now because they feel oddly comforting when there’s something worse on the other side of the gates.

“Forever,” he replies simply. He would rather die than not have you.

“Not too much to ask for if you ask me,” you reach to cup his face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones until he closes his eyes at the feel, and then pull him to your lips. You kiss him gently for a moment but with how much Joel wants you, he quickly lets it drift into something else, something more. He kisses you with all that want in his body, needs it to stop prickling underneath his skin.

“Have you had breakfast?” He murmurs against your mouth, checking in, the question heavy with care for you.

“No,” you whisper back into another kiss, fingers threading through the hair at the back of his neck, “I was waiting for you.”

“What if, after this, I take you down to the market?” Joel starts descending his lips on your body. He mouths over the mound of your breast, nipping at your sensitive nipple as it strains against the fabric of your top in its arousal, “Could get you fresh strawberries. Or blueberries we could throw in pancakes.”

You let out a soft moan that’s mixed with a breathy laugh, “I’m ovulating.”

“What?” Joel’s voice has gone scratchy. He stills his touch, moving to look up at your face to see what emotion is playing on your features. He didn’t even know you were keeping track. At first, he doesn’t understand your point but you’re quick to let him in.

“There’ll be babies all over the town square,” you grin down at him, cheeks warm with playfulness as you glow, “Just saying.”

“Maybe one of ours one day?” Joel tests the waters.

“Yeah?” Your grin turns into one of unabashed glee.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind it if we made a baby,” he answers quietly and moves his palm up under your top to lay it flat against your belly, “We could try. I mean, we’ve been dancing around it for months now, haven’t we?”

“Then don’t pull out,” the way you say those words, like honey dripping from your tongue, makes Joel swear under his breath and his cock jump. He watches the dizzying sight of you shimmying out of the lace underwear before spreading your legs to give room for him. Looking between your legs is like he’s been offered something holy by the devil himself, your slit already glistening and ready for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” he smooths his hand down your belly to grab the hem of your top again, easing it up your body. You lift your arms over your head to help him get it off, the movement of your body making your tits shake. He moves backward on the bed, kissing his way down your sternum while squeezing your right breast. You arch slightly into the touch, taking it with a soft release of your breath.

Joel revels in you, revels in the fact that you have allowed him something that he hasn’t thought about in decades because the world did not allow it. He wonders if he’ll be a good father again after all these years of never letting himself think of being something to someone so tiny and fragile, dependent. Ellie had already been a mouthy teenager when he got her, and while she had relied on him, she had had one hell of a survival instinct and hadn’t needed any cradling. A newborn will be different; they will need parts of his being that he hasn’t touched since Sarah was handed to him in the hospital. He doesn’t know if he can trust himself to cradle his newborn with hands that now only know how to pull a trigger. He doesn’t know if it is like riding a bike, that it will happen naturally the second he sees them, but he knows that he wants it. God, he wants it.

“What are you doing?” You question when he is suddenly between your legs, his feet out over the edge of the bed, and it makes him stop dead. Maybe he should stop having these thoughts when he makes love to you.

“What do you mean?” He asks as he is halfway down on the floor to get in position. He furrows his brows in confusion.

“You do realize that this is not how babies are made, right?” You giggle in response, sweetly enough to make his cock twitch. Oh, that’s what you’re playing at.

“Ain’t it?” He smirks.

“No!” You snicker.

“Then I guess I’m just doing this for fun,” he replies and swings your legs onto his shoulders. He yanks at your hips to pull you towards his mouth, “C’mere, you.”

You squeak with giggles and Joel’s heart dances to the sound. However, your laughter switches to a moan the second his mouth touches you and covers nearly the whole of you. He doesn’t need to think about it anymore, has learned what you like by now from the countless times he has eaten your pussy like it was his last meal on this godforsaken earth.

“Shit,” you gasp towards the ceiling and cross your ankles on the broadness of his back. He swears that he can hear it in your voice how your eyes roll back when his tongue caresses you in soft strokes. You taste so good that he moans into you, lapping up every drop of sticky sweetness with his tongue.

“I know, baby. I got you,” he pauses briefly to suck on two of his fingers to wet them, following it up by turning his hand toward the ceiling and then sinking the digits inside of you. He expertly presses them upward, curling them into the spot that immediately has your hips jolting.

“There,” you tell him with a whine, twisting your hands in the freshly-made bed sheets with a curse that he doesn’t know if is directed at him or the stupid fitted sheets slipping from the corners again, “Joel— ah, don’t stop!”

You gasp as he rubs into that spot over and over again, pairing it with his mouth circling in on the place you need it the most. Your clit is hard and sensitive, perfect for wrapping his mouth around and sucking until his cheeks hollow.

“Oh God… Oh God,” your pitch rises as he works you open on his hand. At some point, you lose yourself enough in it to start tightening your legs around his back and shoulders. It makes your pelvis lift off the mattress until your back is beautifully arched, makes your cunt press firmly into his mouth for any friction. He grabs your thigh with his free hand for leverage and groans softly into you, taking the reward of sinful pleasure shooting straight to his cock from the way you fuck yourself on his fingers and mouth.

Outside, the heat can’t compete with the warmth coming off of your body. He can hear another gust of wind blowing through the wind chimes around the porch, mixing with the sound of the city waking up and coming to life. He could die right here, he thinks, between your beautiful thighs with skin that smells just faintly of your homemade lavender oil but right now mostly of sex. It wouldn’t be bad, hell, the whole town would say that he died doing what he loved.

A hand tangles in his hair now. You have relented on the sheets in case you’ll rip them, and Joel takes each painful sting of his follicles with pride as you balance on the edge. He sinks his fingers deeper, works his mouth faster to get you to tip the scales and come so hard that the world fades away from the both of you.

It happens a moment later. You hold your breath for just a few seconds, completely quiet as you concentrate while the anticipation within your body crackles like electricity he swears, he can feel.

Then you cry out in relief, throwing your head back and squeezing your thighs around his head so the sound in his good ear blurs as well. He can feel your muscles clamp down on his fingers, near-arrogant pride swelling in his chest from how skilled he is in making you feel good.

He keeps his mouth on you as long as you allow him, the tip of his tongue flicking over your sensitive and goddamn pretty clit until you protest with a whimper. When he draws back, he keeps fucking you through the aftershocks with his fingers and dares look up at you, heart beating out of his chest and his dick hard enough that it is aching. His fingers are wet with your come, making your cunt squelch in the otherwise quiet room.

“Attagirl,” he breaks the silence with a praise in his easy southern drawl, letting his fingers slip out finally, “You liked that, huh?”

You hum approvingly in your afterglow and he can’t get close to you fast enough. He crawls up from the floor, grunting at the way his knees remind him of his age, and moves up on the bed. He slots between your legs again like he was made to fit there, kneeling between your thighs. You look soft and dazed, chest still heaving from your high.

“I love you. Every damn inch of you,” he murmurs softly. He looks at your face, how you smile with your eyes closed and your nose is slightly scrunched up as the sun dances over your features through the window. You’re glowing. Simple as that, no other word for it, like you will when carrying his kid, and he should tell you that you’re the only peace he has ever found. He should say it to you but he cowers each time. It feels more weighted than telling you that he loves you.

“I know,” you whisper back eventually, eyes blinking open and your hands reaching for his belt. The metal clinks as you undo the buckle, a smug little grin on your face.

“Alright, Han Solo,” he rolls his eyes for show and then moves over you, the devil in his eyes. He wipes his slick chin and lips on your face, making you laugh in the way that is enhanced by dopamine. He bumps his nose into yours, “Think you’re funny, huh?”

“Little bit,” you smile and get the fly open. You reach inside and wrap your fist around him, the playful air in the room settling immediately when you stroke him lazily, “But I’m just trying to get you to take your clothes off.”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans while you run your thumb over the slit of his dick, “You’re killing me. Gimme a sec of this.”

You give in and let him have this for a moment, stroking him with practiced flicks of your wrist until his hips start to rut so he can fuck your hand. He moans as he stares down between you, the muscles of his neck and shoulders wound so tight from trying not to come that it is a miracle his old bones haven’t snapped in half.

When you feel him near the edge, you squeeze around the base to halt his orgasm. You’ve started to breathe hard alongside him, clearly worked up by the sounds he is making for you.

“Fuck me,” you beg him, your voice stutters as you frantically try using your free hand to yank his jeans down over his hips, “Please, Joel, I need you inside me.”

He thinks about how worked up you must be between your legs after holding out for so long. Knowing how wet you get from touching him like this, you must be soaked for him and ready to be taken care of like you deserve. It means that Joel doesn’t need to be told twice, already tugging his jeans and underwear just far down enough for what matters.

However, despite the rush of getting undressed, he still takes the time to reach for one of the newly-fluffed pillows resting against the bed’s headboard.

“Up,” he says without further explanation but you know what he wants to do, would probably trust him with your life even if he just gave you a look. When you lift your pelvis in the air without question, he slides the pillow underneath you so your hips are tilted just right for him to reach deep.

Your legs are spread, your cunt practically served on a platter for him with how it is raised slightly in the air, squeezing around nothing as if begging for him. He looks down at your face as he runs the head of his cock through your folds, coating the very tip in a mix of precome and your shiny slick.

You aren’t watching him though, too busy chewing on your bottom lip with your eyes glued to how the head of his cock sinks into your wet heat. When he starts stretching you with his thick girth, your mouth falls open in a soft moan.

He places a hand just above your mound, holds you there while he bottoms out with a growl. Then he rocks his hips once then twice, setting up a pace that gives the both of you time to indulge in each other. You are snug around his dick as he fucks you, slick heat that makes his skin tingle and his breath stutter. The remnants of a southern gentleman in him know that he shouldn’t compare, but no other woman has ever made him unravel so much during sex, has ever made him feel so powerful and powerless in bed.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he demands to regain some form of control, staring down at your face contorted with pleasure.

“You,” you gasp feebly, “It’s yours.”

When he fucks you like this, you are his. He doesn’t need to second guess this fact, knows it just from the way your bodies are connected like they know it too.

He reaches for your thighs, his knuckles going white as he lifts them onto his hips. You lock around him by instinct and force him forward, so he has to brace himself with a hand beside your head. The angle makes him go deeper, the thick head of his cock kissing at your cervix and your greedy cunt flutters like it wants to do the impossible and pull him further in.

“Look at me,” he says in a voice that reveals just how good you feel to him, watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, “Say it like you mean it.”

You stare up into his eyes, your brows furrowed as the tip of his cock drags along the front of your walls. He is in there deep, focused on coming just where it matters. Meanwhile, you have to concentrate on forming words, needing to start over several times with how close you are to babbling.

“It’s– ah, fuck. It’s your pussy, Joel. I’m yours,” you cry for him, your pitch close to, but not quite, the one of a wounded animal. The difference is the lack of hesitation; you are both so sure of each other that it makes him ache all over and ignore the sweaty strain on his old back.

Your hands scramble to touch him but you make a noise of complaint when his chest is covered by his shirt, the barrier a nuisance when you want all of him. He shed the flannel earlier along with his jacket, but right now, it is the soft fabric of his t-shirt that you’re pulling at to get to his skin.

He dips down to let you pull it over his head, it slipping down his arm unceremoniously until he can grab it with his fist and toss it over his back. Your trembling hands find his skin immediately and it makes you sigh with relief. Your nails drag through the hairs on his chest, leaving red streaks in their wake until you grab the flesh of his sides.

He sees how your eyes roam over his torso, where scars tell stories of a life much more complicated than this. You have loved each one of them so many times that he doesn’t feel insecure about them anymore, have traced them with your fingers and kissed them enough to get him to believe that he is more than the events that brought them.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say softly and settle a hand at the back of his neck, drawing him into your arms. He braces himself on his forearms, kisses you like he isn’t inside of you, and has missed you for a weeklong patrol, still taken aback when you say things like that.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers against your lips and you whimper as his cock pulses inside of your body. You look at him with fiery love and lust, the stare so intense he knows that this will be over soon because he can’t hold back anymore.

His next thrusts are slower but rougher, harder and insistent in touching the parts inside you that make you barrel towards the edge. He can feel the difference between all the other times he’s been buried in your cunt to the hilt and this time. While the air is still thick with labored breaths and whispered cries for a higher power he doesn’t know if he believes, this is not just sex; this is about taking the very best parts of you and mixing them with the leftover parts of him that he has found aren’t fatally broken because of you.

The sound of his name pulls him back to you. His pelvis has aligned with yours with each rock of his hips, the spot just above the base of his cock grinding into your twitching clit.

“I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna come,“ you choke on air, “Please, Joel. Don’t stop, baby.”

“I know, honey,” he moans at the way you flutter around his length, voice cracking at how you feel better than a Texan summer. You’re so wet it sounds filthy when he fucks you, barely pulling out anymore and letting you soak his dick while he switches to simply grinding. For a moment, he is even scared that it’ll set him off before you’ve had your second fill, “Jesus, yeah, I can feel it.”

Your orgasm hits like a runaway train. The hand resting on the back of his neck slides down to squeeze his shoulder, fingers denting his skin as you seek something to cling onto in your state of ecstasy. You come so hard that air is knocked out of him from how tightly your cunt grips him, his whole body shuddering like he’s the one losing it.

He presses a lingering kiss to your gorgeous neck while your head is thrown back, feeling the rapid beats of your heart under his lips. Your free hand cradles him like you’re meant to be a mother already, making it irresistible for him not to inhale your scent of lavender from the spot where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You feel too good, baby, ’m not gonna last,” he grits out against your sweat-slicked skin, his cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“Don’t want you to last, want you to put a baby in me. Gimme a baby, Joel,” you beg him and bury your nose in his temple. You squeeze him tighter in your arms, whining from oversensitivity as his thrusts start to intensify toward the end, “Wanna make you a daddy, baby, please, I’m ready.”

Daddy. The word coming from your mouth makes Joel snap. He pushes his hips against yours and comes with a groan, the head of his cock flush against the very back of your cunt. In his life, he has witnessed wildfires and his climax spreads through his lower belly just as fast. His breath is stuck in his lungs as he fills you to the brim, his tongue wanting to say filth but only your name comes out. It’s good enough to make a grown man tremble without remorse in the embrace of his woman.

After a beat, his body sags from exhaustion. When you let go of his shoulder to run your hand over your hair, your nails have created little crescent marks on his body. He grunts as he rolls off of you in fear of crushing you underneath his weight. You whimper at the loss, a few heavy drops of his seed landing on the pillow still beneath your hips.

“C’mere,” he murmurs as a haze settles over the both of you, the sweat on his skin turning slightly chilly. He holds his arm out to invite you into the space that always holds you perfectly and you oblige without a word. He’d lay here forever with you if he had to, would embrace being trapped here with you until they had to send out a search party.

He is still breathing hard when you lay your head on his chest, draping your arm across his body whose stamina isn’t what it used to be. You don’t comment on it though, simply hold him while the sheets get dirty again from the mess between your thighs. While the world fades away around you, Joel decides that he’ll help you do the extra load of laundry.

Without thinking, his fingers absentmindedly start tracing up and down your forearm in a soothing motion. You swing a tired leg over his body in response, attempting to get impossibly closer despite already practically melting together with him in the post-orgasmic heat you share.

Outside, a young child shrieks with excited laughter and Joel nearly tears up from how new the sound seems even though it is a daily occurrence in the little town. He must know if you feel the same.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks and breaks the quiet, still caressing your arm gently.

“Just thinking,” you reply and splay your hand on his chest, brushing your thumb over his nipple without thinking. You kiss him where you can reach.

“About?” He pushes, looking down at the top of your head as if he can read your emotions like that. You probably could with him.

You crane your neck to stare at him with a little tired smile, “Babies. You. How much I love you. I love you.”

“I know,” he answers smugly, arching an eyebrow with a smile. He thinks another confession of his devotion might set his chest alight and right now, you don’t deserve to have his guilt winning.

“You asshole,” you dissolve into a burst of laughter while his smile turns wolfish, your body curling in on itself on top of his chest. He loves your laugh, the way you nearly snort and feel embarrassed by it. It makes him settle a hand on the base of your skull and drag you into the sort of kiss from a person who’s learning to trust joy again.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic rec

1K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 21 days ago

Text

This is so beautiful 😭😭😭 omfg

steady hands

pairings joel miller x reader

summary you don’t feel the pain as much as you feel his panic. joel’s hands are trembling and no matter how many times you say you’re fine, he keeps looking at you like he’s about to lose everything all over again.

content angst, established relationship, minor injury, joel panics, hurt/comfort, protective joel, joel can’t cope with you getting hurt, blood mention, emotional vulnerability, soft reassurance, love in the silence.

masterlist

the sting in your side wasn’t the worst you’d ever felt. a clean graze from a bullet, nothing more.

you’d been lucky. lucky the shooter had a shaky aim, lucky joel had dropped him with a single shot before anything worse could happen.

but joel wasn’t acting like you were lucky. he was acting like the world had just ended. again.

“sit,” he barked the second you both made it inside an abandoned warehouse.

his voice was low but sharp, one hand steering you toward the sagging couch in the corner while the other yanked his backpack off with a jerk.

“i’m fine—”

“didn’t ask,” he cut you off, rummaging through his pack for the med kit, hands moving too fast, too frantic.

you sighed, wincing when the motion shifted your weight and pulled at your side. that made him pause. just for a second. but it was enough to see the flash of something raw behind his eyes. fear.

he knelt in front of you and reached for your shirt. “lemme see it.”

you held still while he cut away the fabric around the wound with his pocketknife. his hands were shaking. subtle, but noticeable. joel miller’s hands never shook. not even in a firefight.

“i told you i’m okay,” you tried again, softer this time.

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the blood, excessive. enough to redden your shirt and smear across his fingertips. his jaw worked like he was biting something back.

“you ain’t okay,” he muttered. “you’re bleedin’. that ain’t okay with me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face made you stop. not angry. just haunted.

joel poured alcohol over the wound without warning. you jumped, cursing, and he flinched like he’d felt it too.

“shit. sorry,” he breathed. “i just—fuck, i should’ve seen the bastard comin’. should’ve had you behind me.”

“it wasn’t your fault,” you said gently. “he was hidden in the trees. could’ve happened to either of us.”

you hissed sharply when the sting flared up, and joel froze, eyes flicking up to catch your reaction.

his jaw clenched again as he started wrapping the bandage, each movement careful now, too careful, like he thought he’d hurt you worse if he didn’t go slow.

when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“next time,” he said, eyes locked on the gauze, “you let me go first. that way if someone gets hurt, it’s me. that’s the deal.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the tremor in his voice. “joel—”

“i ain’t losin’ you.” his eyes met yours finally, and there it was. all of it. the panic. the guilt. the storm he was trying to hold back behind that rugged, stoic shell.

“you get that? you go down, i don’t—i can’t…”

you bit your lip, trying to keep still, but the pain was sharp and sudden.

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” joel said softly, his hand resting warm and steady on your side.

“i’m right here. you’re okay, okay? you’re tough as hell—tougher than anyone i know. ain’t nothing gonna break you, not while i’m around.”

you swallowed, the sting still sharp, but his words wrapped around you like a shield.

“just lean on me, baby girl. i got you.” he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, thumb trailing gently over your cheek. “you’re safe now. i'm here.”

he trailed off, chest rising and falling like he’d just finished running. his hands were still on your side, gently holding your wrist as if feeling your pulse would convince him you were still here.

you leaned forward and gently cupped the side of his face. “i’m okay. you stopped it before it got worse. you saved me. like you always do.”

his eyes slipped closed at your touch. he turned into it slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

“i shouldn’t’ve let you get in front of me,” he whispered. “i’m supposed to protect you.”

“you do. every day.”

he pulled in a shaky breath. “not well enough.”

you kissed his forehead. just a light press, just enough to ground him.

“joel. look at me.”

he did.

“you’re allowed to be scared,” you told him. “but i’m not made of glass. i’ve got your back out there too, you know.”

“don’t want you to have to,” he admitted. “i’d take every hit if i could.”

you smiled gently, your thumb brushing over his stubbled cheek.

“i know. but we’re a team, remember? and i need you to keep it together when i get a scratch. because if our roles were reversed, i know you’d be telling me not to panic.”

joel huffed a breath. almost a laugh, but it cracked too hard to be lighthearted.

“yeah, well. turns out i ain’t so good at takin’ my own advice.”

“you’re doing fine. a little overdramatic, but fine.”

“overdramatic,” he echoed with a scoff, wrapping the last bit of gauze around your side. “damn got a hole shot in you and i’m overdramatic.”

“joel.”

his eyes flicked up. you held his gaze.

“i’m here. i’m safe. and i’m not going anywhere.”

something in him melted then. his shoulders dropped, the tension draining slowly, like your words had finally pushed through the wall.

he pressed a kiss to your bandaged side, then rested his forehead against it. “you ever scare me like that again, i’m tyin’ you to the goddamn porch.”

you grinned. “you’d miss me after five minutes.”

he was smiling now, just a little, his hand curling gently around your uninjured one.

and even though you were the one bleeding, he looked like he was the one who’d just barely survived.

you didn’t say anything more. you just held onto him, letting the silence stretch until his breathing slowed and his hands stopped shaking.

letting him know without words this time that you were his. and you weren’t going anywhere.

not now. not ever.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #fic rec

1K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 24 days ago

Text

Ohhhhh I am EXCITED

WIP Wednesday on a Saturday !!

Currently obsessed with a divorced!joel type beat idk man i don’t make the rules

(Will have this out by the end of next week, and then, i may or may not have a series planned for this fucking hunk of man heehee)

1K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 27 days ago

Text

2K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 28 days ago

Text

Omfg this is SO GOOD

Good

Pairing: detective!joel miller x f!reader (one-shot)

Summary: Joel gives into his desires and shows you just how good he could be for you, more than anyone else. Including your husband.

Warnings: no outbreak au, language, infidelity, extreme obsessive/possessive behavior (like, stalkerish), male masturbation, smut (18+ MDNI), angst, reader has long-ish hair (unspecified length), reader wears lingerie, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), Joel Miller worships the ground you walk on, ending implies some dark!joel

WC: 6.7K

A/N: very loosely inspired by season 1 of True Detective because I was bored on bed rest and cooked this up after a rewatch.

Joel Miller considered himself a good man.

He paid his taxes. He called his mother once a week. He took a baby aspirin for his heart every night. He rarely lost his temper — which was a huge feat, considering his profession. He played by the rules. He joined the precinct when they invited him out for drinks. He always laughed, joked, bought a few rounds.

Overall, he was a decent, ordinary man.

Except for one huge, gut-wrenching flaw.

You.

He was hopelessly and devastatingly in love with you.

He realized it for a while, now. Maybe six or eight months ago.

Before that, it was just a harmless crush. One that made his heart flutter whenever he was invited over for dinner. But somewhere along the way, he found himself thinking about you more and more. The way you smell, the way you laugh, the way you got shy every time he complimented your cooking.

After one particular dinner where he had a glass too much to drink, he crossed a line. At least, to him, he crossed a line.

He went home that night and barely stumbled through his front door before pulling out his cock. He had been hard for over an hour and it was making him sick, but the second he wrapped his fist around his aching length, the only thing he could think about was you.

And he couldn't stop.

It felt too fucking good.

Imagining you touching him instead, moaning into his mouth, leaking all over his lap, fucking — begging for him to fill you up and make you feel good.

He made a mess of himself, standing hunched over in his hallway, one hand holding up his weight against the wall, the other furiously stroking his cock until he came all over his own hand. He stared at the floor, gasping for air, watching as a few pearly white drops splashed on the hardwood.

And he swore he would never do it again.

Except, he couldn't stop. And it filled him with guilt every single time, but he couldn't help himself. You were too beautiful and sweet and funny — the perfect woman.

The only problem was, you're his partner's wife.

Anthony. Tony. Joel's closest friend for the last two years.

When he was first paired with your husband, Joel dodged your invitations to dinner, but you were insistent. You wanted to meet the man who was protecting your husband every day. You wanted to put a face to the name. And after a few months, Joel couldn't come up with any more excuses. So, he showed up on your doorstep, clutching some inexpensive bouquet of flowers in his right hand.

The flowers were an afterthought, something he bought in a panic along the way when he remembered his mother scolding him when he was younger about never showing up empty handed to someone's house.

When you saw them, you lit up. You gushed over how much you adored white daisies, took his coat, pushed a bottle of beer into his hand, and made him feel right at home.

Month after month, Joel sat at your dinner table, learning everything about you. He especially loved the way you spoke about Pennsylvania, home, where you and Tony had lived before he got a promotion and uprooted your lives to move to Austin. You spoke about the winters and how you missed those the most.

You mentioned you got married young and didn't ever pursue a degree, so you ended up working odd jobs here and there. You mentioned finding a job as an assistant manager at a local grocery store.

Once Joel's crush became too unmanageable for just a monthly dinner, he sought you out at work. Your store wasn't near his home, but he went out of his way to do his shopping just on the chance he would run into you.

It was the first clue Joel was sinking in too deep, but he couldn't see it.

Some time after that, when Tony would leave for mysterious lunch appointments, Joel would reach across the desk and turn a framed photograph of you in his direction. On those days, he liked to pretend you were his. That you were looking at him behind the camera, smiling and laughing like he was the only man in the world.

He was always careful about putting it back before Tony returned.

When out working a case, he would ask Tony how you liked work, how you were adjusting to life in Austin, if you made any friends. Eventually, Tony laughed and asked why he was asking so many questions. So foolishly, Joel said the only thing he could think of — he wanted to be set up on a date with someone you knew.

It was a stupid idea. Joel hated every second of the date. Nina was nice, but she didn't hold a candle to you. She was too loud, too flirty, and couldn't hold her liquor. And she was oblivious to the fact that Joel's mind was completely fixated on you the entire time.

But one good thing that came from it was the first phone call he had with you.

After he blew Nina off for another date, you called him at home one night, taking him completely by surprise. His damn knees just about gave out from under him when he heard your sweet voice on the other end playfully scolding him for not calling Nina back.

"She's gorgeous, Joel! And she's got a great job."

Joel shrugged, stretching his legs out across his bed, leaning his back up against the headboard.

"No spark, darlin'."

"She's always talking about her dates at book club," you mused, "I figured she was exactly what a guy is looking for."

Joel chuckled.

"Ain't what I'm lookin' for."

"Oh. Well, tell me what you like in a woman and maybe I can find a better match."

He paused when you asked him that, unsure how to answer because the first thing that jumped to the tip of his tongue was you — I'm looking for you.

"Uh, well..." he stammered, "I like girls who are easy to talk to. Girls who don't ask me for the gory details of my job. Girls who don't mind if I gotta work late or break dates last minute if we catch a hot lead."

He heard you scoff on the other end of the phone and he thought he heard sheets rustling. For one blissful moment, he imagined you in bed, in a silky gown with a lace edge, and thinking about him.

"That last one is tough, but it comes with time," you sighed. "Like tonight. Tony told me about that drug bust he had to supervise downtown."

"Drug bust?"

Joel sat up straighter in bed. Tony never mentioned anything to him about a drug bust.

"Yeah. And I get that it's part of the job, but I made his favorite dinner to surprise him..." You trailed off while Joel's mind raced. "But it's fine. It'll heat up tomorrow just fine. It's... fine."

"Darlin'," Joel murmured, "you said fine three times."

You groaned and he found himself smiling at the frustrated little noise.

"Okay, maybe it's not fine now, but it'll be fine."

After that, Joel started to pay attention more. The late nights, the missing hours midday... it was one thing to not be able to have you so long as you were happy and being taken care of, but it was another to discover Tony was cheating on you.

You. Of all people in the world. What could Tony possibly find in someone else that you didn't already have?

After Tony had come into work for the third time that month in the same clothes as the day before, Joel had had enough.

"Late night?"

Tony raked his fingers through his hair as he collapsed into his ancient rolling chair. The brown tie around his neck looked stretched, his tan shirt wrinkled. He looked like a mess.

"Yeah. Workin' that, uh, that Carter case."

Joel nodded, pretending to look impressed. He began to click things on his computer so it looked nonchalant when he asked, "Where'd you end up?"

"Not far. I think we gotta run at the ex again."

Joel hummed, blood boiling when Tony's phone pinged and he picked it up with a loopy smile. But when he asked if it was you texting, Tony shook his head.

"Nah. Just — y'know."

Joel had to force himself to stand and walk away before he punched Tony in the throat.

A few days later, Tony confessed. He was seeing another woman named Melissa, an informant on a closed case. He promised it wasn't serious, that he was being careful, just blowing off some steam, but Joel didn't want to hear it.

You deserved better than that. Tony took you from everything and everyone you loved and he had the audacity to cheat on you?

It wasn't right. But it wasn't his place to get involved, either.

So months went by where Joel sat at your kitchen table, gazing at you adoringly over white daisies while you talked about work or some movie you had just seen or how you were interested in learning how to play piano while Tony texted Melissa under the table.

Around that time, the phone calls became more frequent.

He would call to ask if you made it home okay after work because he heard a radio call for an accident. Joel knew you were fine — he knew your car and knew your schedule, but it was an excuse to hear your voice.

One time he called to tell you a movie you mentioned wanting to see was on cable. That time, he ended up staying on the phone with you for two hours, laughing and gasping together as you watched.

The calls became a regular thing, and so did Tony's absence.

Joel told himself he was calling to distract you, but he knew deep down he was being selfish. He needed those calls more than you did.

It wasn't until much later when he would realize you never bothered to ask why Joel wasn't working late along with Tony. He was too happy to have those evenings with you to question it. He looked forward to them. He could talk to you for hours.

It was why he began showing up a little early to your monthly dinners. The moment he got off work, he would rush home to fix his hair, change into a fresh suit, and stop to examine every petal on every white daisy until he found the perfect bouquet to present you with. And you got along so well, it was no problem if Joel made it to your house before Tony some nights. It was easy to pass the time with you. And if you let him, he'd roll up his sleeves and help you make dinner.

It was never a problem. Joel sucked it up, bit his tongue, admired you from a distance and allowed himself to have his fantasies in private.

Until one night, everything changed.

---

"So what was wrong with this one, Miller?" you asked, biting into a carrot stick with one hand while the other stirred a pot of pasta.

"Nothin' wrong with her," Joel corrected, "Lori's nice 'n all, but..."

He sighed and set his knife down next to your cutting board so he can turn to look at you.

"You ever notice she grinds her teeth when she gets nervous?"

You made a face before bursting out laughing. The sound set his heart on fire.

"Oh, Joel..." you giggled, wiping your hands on your apron as you turned down the burner on the stovetop. "I'm starting to think there isn't a woman on earth who would make you happy."

"Yeah, there is."

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. Before he had a chance to swallow them down and muster up some joke in their place.

Perhaps if anyone else had said those words, someone who hadn't been calling a married woman twice a week to talk about everything and nothing for hours, someone who didn't sit in the parking lot of your grocery store to make sure you made it home okay when you closed down, someone who didn't steal a picture of you from your husband's wallet — a picture he now carried in his own — then the words wouldn't have held as much weight as they did.

But you felt it. You both did. Because your smile faltered when you read the serious expression on his face. Your eyes widened and your perfect lips parted to suck in more air to steady your shaking hands.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Joel took a step forward. And it looked for a second like you might do the same, but then your phone rang, cutting the moment down at the legs.

You blinked, cleared your throat, and hurried over to the counter where your phone was plugged in.

"Hey, h-honey."

Joel dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. He pulled his phone out of his pocket for something to do.

"Oh, that's a shame. What, uh... what happened?"

He loosened his tie as you spoke, staring blankly down at his phone and idly opening his messages. He blinked when he noticed one from Tony about an hour ago.

"That so?"

Your tone went flat, Joel heard it. At the same time, he read the missed text from your husband:

Sorry for the late notice buddy, but we're gonna have to take a rain check on dinner. Little lady isn't feeling too hot tonight.

It took him a second to catch up to the lie, but unfortunately, you beat him to it.

"Yeah, that's not a problem. I understand."

Then you turned to face him when you added: "Tell Joel I said hello."

You hung up the phone, pinning him with a hard look. He slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"What's—" But you cut him off before he even began.

"Tony said he's spending the night with you, but I think he meant to say Melissa."

Joel's heart jumped into his throat at the same time the pot of water began to boil over. He swiveled around, cursing under his breath to turn off the stove.

"I'm— I'm sorry," was all he could mumble before facing you again. Your eyes watered but you shrugged indifferently and crossed your arms.

"Before her, there was Beth," you said bluntly. Joel leaned against your counter, the edge digging into his spine, watching as you pretended to think. "Oh! And before her there was Annie. There might have been another one, too, but I couldn't prove—"

"Why'd you stay with him, then?"

Your mouth clamped shut. You tilted your head to the side with a sad grin.

"C'mon, Joel," you said softly, taking a step forward. Towards him. "You know as well as anyone how cops make it so damn difficult to leave."

His fingers curled around the edge of the counter, nails digging angrily into the wood.

"Is he—"

Joel exhaled shakily and bit the inside of his cheek before trying again.

"Does he — hurt you?"

You shook your head and his shoulders sagged with relief. You took another step.

"Threaten you?"

You paused and rolled your eyes up to the ceiling in thought.

"Not directly, no," you finally said. "But there's been implications. Certain things said a certain way. You know how it is."

Joel shook his head, jaw pulled tight. "No. I don't."

You gazed up into his stormy eyes, feeling the anger radiating off his body. Watching the way his muscles twitched with restraint underneath his shirt. How white his knuckles appeared as he gripped the counter.

"I guess it's just easier. If all I gotta deal with is some side piece of his now and again, is that so bad?"

Joel's nostrils flared. His pulse kicked faster in his throat.

He wasn't a man who lost his temper. And yet, in that moment, if Tony were to appear, Joel had no doubt in his mind that he would wring that man's neck.

"You don't deserve that," he grit out. "You shouldn't have'ta put up with anythin'. You-you're so fuckin'—"

Joel caught himself that time. He bit his tongue, swallowed down the words, dropped his head between his shoulders and stared at the floor.

You took one more step. Close enough now so he could smell your perfume. The one he spent two hours in a department store months ago trying to find so he could buy a bottle and spray it on his pillow at home.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, took a deep breath, and forced himself to meet your eye.

"Yeah?"

Slowly, you reached out. One of your hands covered his. His breath hitched at the contact, at the way your thumb grazed over his knuckles.

"Why don't you like any of the girls I set you up with?" you asked.

The question took him aback. He tore his eyes off your hand to look at you again. He searched your face, noting the way your chest rose and fell slightly faster and how wide your pupils looked.

You knew.

His gaze softened, and so did his grip on your countertop.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

You exhaled, sounding relieved. You managed a nervous smile before stretching up onto your tiptoes and slowly, tenderly, brushing your lips against his own.

He couldn't move. Every muscle in his body was rigid. He couldn't even close his eyes. He just stood there, hands planted on the counter behind him, watching you peck feather-light kisses against his lips. He dreamed about that moment for so long and yet, he couldn't react. Not right away.

Then your hands drifted up to press against his chest. Your fingers roamed a little shakily across his shirt, like you were trying to map out what he looked like. His eyes fluttered closed and his stomach tightened, unable to stop himself from swelling up behind his zipper. His clothed cock twitched against your stomach and he heard you gasp before dragging your lips lower, brushing over his prickily jaw until you found a spot you liked on his neck.

He swallowed thickly, his whole body shaking with restraint the bolder you became. Your lips puckered over his skin and you began to suck a little mark there while your hands slowly drifted lower, only pausing when your fingers reached his belt.

"Wh- what're y'doin'?"

His voice sounded nothing like his own. It was deep and filled with need. He was breathing so fast, he felt lightheaded, and he was so fucking hard that it hurt, yet he still couldn't touch you.

You froze and smiled into his skin before leaning back ever so slightly. You made sure he was looking you right in the eye when you replied:

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to."

Everything snapped. It happened so fast that it made you yelp in surprise.

He scooped you up, wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, and crashed his mouth hungrily over yours. One hand remained firmly planted on your ass, holding you up. The other got lost in your hair, keeping your head still so he could plunge his tongue impatiently past your lips.

Your arms eventually circled around his neck and you whimpered into his mouth, making him think you might have wanted this just as badly as he did. His mind was a blur, every neuron firing off at once now that he knew what it was like to hold you, kiss you, taste you... yet he still somehow managed to successfully carry you down the hall past your kitchen, where he knew your bedroom to be.

When you cracked an eye open, you loosened your grip around him and fell onto your bed. Neither of you realized how starved for oxygen you were until you finally broke the kiss and you each dragged in deep lungfuls of air.

"Y'sure 'bout this?" he asked, ripping off his tie as if it offended him. You grinned and sat up to slide your jeans down your legs.

"Fuck yes. Are you?"

Your mouth watered as he began to unbutton his shirt. The pull between your legs was almost uncomfortable at that point, so you squirmed a bit, pressing your thighs together as Joel shed his dress shirt.

"Oh, darlin'," he cooed, untucking his undershirt from his slacks. His eyes raked up and down your body, still clad in your underwear and blouse. "You got no fuckin' idea how bad I want this."

You exhaled with a smirk before grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging it over your head. Joel's hands paused on his belt, mouth going dry when he saw the matching set of black lingerie you had chosen to wear. You seemed pleased with his reaction but a little shy. You pressed your lips together, fingers grazing over the lacy edge of your underwear.

"You like it?"

Joel made a pained noise from the back of his throat, blinked, and began working twice as fast to remove the rest of his clothes.

"Love it," he croaked, dropping his belt to the floor and unbuttoning his pants. "You look... Jesus Christ, I— I never th—"

You grinned and pushed yourself up so you were kneeling on the mattress in front of him. Your fingers toyed with the edge of his white shirt, lifting it just a bit while he stepped out of his pants.

"Never thought what?"

"Never thought you'd be wearin' somethin' like this..."

He trailed off again, his eyes still greedily taking you in.

You lifted his shirt up and he raised his arms, letting you pull it over his head.

"Do you want to know a secret, Joel?"

He nodded, jaw slack, staring at you like he were in a trance. You bit your lip coyly and whispered, "I always wear something special whenever you come over. Always."

"Y— you do?"

"Mhm," you hummed, sliding your palms over the softness of his stomach. "And I try to wear loose tops so when I bend over, you might see."

His eyes fluttered closed with a groan. Your fingers travelled higher, over the broad planes of his chest.

"Didn't — didn't wanna look," he confessed softly, "didn't w-wanna disrespect you."

"You're such a good man, Joel," you purred, hands curling around his shoulders.

"I try," he whispered, tipping his head back so you could suckle on the flushed skin of his throat.

"But can you do me a favor tonight?" you asked, your voice sounding so soft and needy in his ear. He nodded, biting back a curse when your tongue peeked out to taste him.

You tore yourself away and slipped both hands through the loose curls on the back of his head. His eyelids opened, only halfway, still heavy with lust.

"Can you show me how bad you want me?"

"Yes," he rasped without hesitation. "Yes. Christ, honey, I think 'bout it all the time—"

He brought his hands to your hips, marveling at the softness of your bare skin.

"Think about what?" you urged, nails gently scraping against his scalp. He licked his lips, watching his rough hands glide across your sides, your ass, your back.

"Think 'bout... what I would do if y'were mine. 'N not just this," he clarified quickly, eyes snapping up to yours before looking back down at your body. "I think 'bout it all. Think 'bout takin' you to run errands, takin' trips together, celebratin' birthdays and holidays..."

His hand drfited up your arm and he gently pulled one of your hands free from his hair so you could lace your fingers together. He stared at the way your hands looked interlocked before pressing a kiss against each one of your fingers.

"Oh, Joel," you sighed, "I think about that, too. When I close my eyes at night, I pretend it's you sleeping next to me instead of—"

You stopped yourself from saying your husband's name out loud, but it wouldn't have mattered to Joel if you did. Tony stopped mattering to him twenty minutes ago. Now, his entire focus was firmly on you and you alone.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

"Don't worry," he murmured, then pressed a firm kiss to your lips while gently pushing you backwards. Your spine softened and you let him lower you carefully onto the mattress, his lips never leaving yours the entire time.

When you were laying flat, all sprawled out underneath him, hand still locked with his, he broke the kiss and looked down at you.

"You don't gotta pretend for long. I'll make it happen, baby. We'll be together, okay?"

Confusion flickered across your face for a moment, like you wanted to ask how, but you didn't. You trusted him. So you nodded obediently with a sweet smile.

"Make me yours, Joel."

Fuck, it felt like a dream to hear those words come from your mouth. He knew in that moment that he would do anything he had to — anything — to follow through with his promise.

He smiled, kissed the tip of your nose, then ventured lower. His lips grazed your chest, traced his tongue over the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups of your bra, and continued downward. Soft kisses were peppered down your stomach until he reached the band of your panties. His eyes flickered up to yours once, briefly, before releasing your hand. His fingers curled around the lace, tugging them down slowly until they slid down to your ankles. You wiggled your feet and let them fall to the floor with your other discarded clothes.

His palms slid over your thighs, gently prying them apart and pressing them into the mattress. He heard your breath stutter when your pussy was finally exposed to him.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, fixated on the way you glistened, just for him. "You're so pretty. So, so pretty." His chest heaved as he stared between your legs, mania slowly curling around his brain with each passing second. "Can I— can I kiss her, baby? Can I taste her?"

"Yes," you breathed, squirming a little under his intense gaze. "Yes, please Joel, please—"

He didn't need to be told twice. He dropped his shoulders between your thighs, settling in, and suctioned his mouth around your pussy. You gasped at the contact and your back arched off the bed for a moment until you relaxed with a sigh. His kisses were messy. Loud. His tongue licked at you, diving between your folds and lapping up your arousal.

It was easy to sense his eagerness through his actions. Like he longed for you, longed for all of you. Like his only purpose on earth was to take care of you. Every lick and kiss and moan drove the point home — his, his, his.

He didn't tease you. Not that time. He wanted you too badly, and he had waited for so long. He was so patient and good, but he reached his limit.

Once he felt your muscles tense and your back arch off the bed, he didn't stop. He kept going, kept devouring, tongue merciless against your clit until you cried out his name, coming so hard that your vision blurred and you broke out into a light sweat.

"Good," he gasped, pressing a breathless kiss to the inside of your thigh. You trembled like a leaf under him. His eyes closed for a moment as he caught his breath. "Good girl. Did so good f'me. Feel good?"

"God, Joel," you moaned, voice cracking as you raked a hand through your own hair and took a deep breath. He grinned when you said, "You're fucking amazing at that. Holy shit..."

That's all he wanted. He wanted to make you happy, make you feel loved the way you deserved.

He was going to give you a break. You looked spent and loose, all spread out over your bed. He didn't want to rush, but the dark spot in his boxers was spreading, and his stomach ached from how hard he was.

As if you read his mind, your eyes fluttered open with a lazy smile. You reached behind you, unclasped your bra, and tossed it with a giggle over your head. Joel laughed, then brought a hand up to cup your bare breast. You bit your bottom lip and arched into his touch, moaning softly when his thumb toyed with your nipple.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whispered, sighing when the warmth of his mouth enveloped your breast. The tip of his tongue flicked teasingly over your nipple before paying the same attention to the other one.

"Yeah? You want it?" he asked, grinning like a fool when your fingers plucked hastily at the band of his boxers.

"Please," you begged. The sound made his knees weak.

"Okay," he breathed, pushing his boxers down his legs. "Okay, darlin'. I'll give you anythin' you want."

As he was dragging the head of his cock through your slit, in the back of his mind he knew he should ask if he should use protection. It would have been the right thing to do.

But he was sick of always doing the right thing.

And he was desperate to feel you. Really feel all of you.

So he pressed inside, parting your walls with a groan. He was still in disbelief that it was actually happening, and you felt so much better than he ever imagined. You were so warm and wet, your cunt fluttered perfectly around him, welcoming every inch of him inside while you babbled a slew of curses and gasps until his hips grew flush with yours.

He felt delirious, like he was losing all semblance of control. All of his wildest dreams suddenly came true and it was overwhelming. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him close so you could pepper kisses along his jaw while he struggled to collect himself.

He was utterly drowning in you. In your scent, in your warmth — he could still taste you on his tongue.

And you were perfect.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

You looked so sweet lying underneath him like that, stuffed full of his cock with your eyes wide and lips parted, looking at him like he was the answer to all your prayers.

"Yeah," he breathed, the corner of his mouth turning up into a little smile. He brushed a piece of hair off your cheek. "Just — can't believe how lucky I am."

You grinned and combed your fingers through his curls. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, the drag of your nails against his scalp sending a shiver down his spine.

"Thought you might be having second thoughts."

His eyes flew open and his smile fell.

"No," he said seriously. "Never. I would —"

Joel pulled back his hips until just the tip of his cock remained inside you. When he pushed back in, slowly, he watched with pride as your mouth fell open.

"— never have second thoughts. Y'hear me?"

You nodded with a whimper, the stretch of him splitting you open taking your breath away.

Second thoughts. How absurd.

"Now that I know what you feel like," he murmured, soft lips grazing lazily over yours as he began to move, pumping in and out of you just a little faster and finding a rhythm. "I ain't ever gonna let you go, baby. Never gonna get rid of me. Fuck — too fuckin' sweet for your own good, y'know that?"

You clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails in their wake. His cock felt so heavy and full inside of you, every thrust took you apart just to make you whole again a moment later. The way you fit together so perfectly had you thinking crazy thoughts, like maybe, just maybe, Joel would find a way to make this work.

"Feel how good that is? Huh?" he groaned, skin slapping steadily now that he found a pace he liked.

"Yes," you gasped, tilting your head back into the mattress. You hooked your ankles over the backs of his thighs for leverage so you could bring your hips up to match his rhythm. "Oh, god, Joel — just like that. Right there."

His lips suctioned to a spot on your neck, pulling at the skin to leave a bruise. He didn't care if Tony saw and neither did you.

"Can't get enough of you," he panted into your skin. Then he unhooked one of your legs from his waist so he could press it into the mattress, spreading your hips wider. You cried out at the angle — he was impossibly deep, and the way he rolled his hips to make sure he reached the spot that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head had your stomach muscles pulling tight.

"J-Joel, I'm— I'm gonna—"

"Wait," he gasped, pulling out of you with a groan. You whined pathetically at the loss and tears welled up in your eyes. For a second, he thought his heart might break. He never, ever wanted to be the reason for your tears.

"'M sorry," he murmured, leaning back to sit on his knees. His cock twitched angrily when he saw your stretched out pussy clenching around nothing, beckoning him back in. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and pushed a hand through his messy hair.

"Turn around for me?" he asked with a tremble to his voice. Your eyes widened and you nodded, eagerly jumping to your hands and knees. He moaned at the sight of your ass in the air and at the arousal dripping down your inner thigh. He crawled forward and caressed your hip, admiring you for just a moment longer before notching himself at your entrance and easing back inside.

You inhaled sharply and curved your spine, taking him beautifully and giving him exactly what he wanted — what he needed.

"Shit," he growled, "look so good like this." His hips started to snap against your ass, picking up right where he left off. Your whines got more high pitched the faster he moved and it was making him insane. He tilted his chin towards the ceiling and closed his eyes. You felt so fucking good all wrapped around him, so tight and needy. There was nothing in the world that would make him stop loving you.

He hadn't realized how hard he was fucking you until you fell forward onto your elbows, shaking him out of his haze. He peeled his eyes open just to be met with his own reflection: across the bed was a dresser with a mirror, something he hadn't noticed at first.

And what he saw changed something within him.

He looked crazed. His eyes were heavy and dark, hair disheveled, chest and neck flushed. He could see the muscles in his arms twitching every time he slammed into you.

You.

Fuck... you looked — wrecked. Your eyes were squeezed shut, brows pinched and mouth agape as he pounded into you from behind. Your body jolted with each thrust, your hands curled into fists, and it was absolutely beautiful.

Before he had a chance to think, Joel reached down and gently took you by the chin. Your eyes flew open in surprise, instantly finding his in the mirror. He grinned, never slowing down.

"Don't we look good, baby?"

You moaned and nodded, mouth still hanging open to drag in more air. And it was fucking perfect until Joel's gaze dropped to the framed photo of your wedding day sitting on top of your dresser.

He frowned slightly for a moment, then shook it off.

Joel was a good man. Mild mannered. Polite. He always tried to do the right thing. But in that moment, something changed.

"You're mine," he growled, the possessiveness in his own voice giving him the chills. You nodded obediently and he released your jaw. "After this," he panted, "he doesn't get to touch you. Kiss you. Fuck you. Understand?"

"Yes," you gasped, then your head fell to hang between your shoulders. You were holding on by a thread and it filled him with a sick sense of pride. It had the heat rising to his cheeks and his hips stuttering with the need to let go, but you needed to come first.

You would always come first with him, in every way.

His hand slid between your legs, two fingers locating your clit with precision. He began to rub firm, quick circles, making you gasp and buck wildly underneath him.

"Don't stop," you begged, rolling your hips back to match his pace. Between your shaky thighs and ragged breaths, he could tell you were close — right on the edge. You threw your head back and moaned while pleading with him to keep going, keep going.

"I gotcha," he said through clenched teeth. His wrist kept snapping between your legs, playing with your clit while simultaneously slamming into you from behind, splitting you open and carving a spot within you forever.

"Joel..." you whimpered, upper body going lax. "O-Oh fuck— Joel—"

"Let go," he urged, fighting back his own desperation to come. He blinked away the sweat that dripped down from his forehead. "C'mon, baby, I'll catch you."

Finally, with a soft cry, you came. Your pussy clenched around him over and over, each tight squeeze making him see stars. He murmured quiet praises in your ear the whole time. He told you how good you felt, how beautiful you were, how he had been dreaming about that moment for almost a year — he repeated sweet words over and over until he couldn't hold back any longer.

With one final thrust, he grabbed hold of your hips and came with a rough groan ripping from his chest. He knew he should have asked or pulled out, but the rabid urge to mark you, to have a part of him leaking out of you for the next day or so was too strong to ignore.

Fortunately, you didn't seem to mind. In fact, you welcomed it with a lazy smile as he pumped you full of his seed until he collapsed on the bed, pulling you with him. He held you close, your back pressed to his chest, while you quietly caught your breath together. When your skin cooled and you shivered a bit in his arms, he tugged a blanket over you both, all while still plugging you with his cock.

"Joel?"

He hummed and with his eyes closed, pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whispered softly.

"F'what?" he mumbled.

"For... making me feel wanted again."

"Oh, darlin'," he cooed with another kiss, "I more than just want you."

Your silence in return had him cracking open one eye. He lovingly traced a circle into your arm with his thumb when he asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah," you breathed, then shifted a bit against him, pressing yourself deeper into his hold. But it wasn't enough.

"Did you—"

Joel swallowed nervously and took a deep breath before trying again.

"Did you do this just to get back at him?"

"No," you said quickly. You twisted around in his arms and he hissed when his softening cock slipped out of you. Then you cupped his cheek with a sweet smile. "No. I meant what I said."

He grinned with relief as you stifled a yawn.

"Good."

You closed your eyes and pushed your face into his chest, seeking out his warmth.

"How are we gonna make this work, Joel?"

You sounded so sleepy but so hopeful at the same time. He sighed and patted down your hair, then tenderly kissed your forehead.

"I told you," he said, "I'll do whatever I gotta do."

He sensed your curiosity but once again, you didn't ask him to elaborate. It was for the best that way. You shouldn't know what lengths he was willing to go to in order to have you all to himself. It might scare you. Hell, oftentimes it scared him. But as you drifted off to sleep, Joel told himself people do crazy things for love, and this would be no exception.

After all, he was a good man. Nobody would ever suspect a thing.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic rec

2K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 1 month ago

Text

Uggggh I love this story!! Can’t wait for more 🥺❤️

the bottom

PART TWO | the hero

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel’s new in jackson and tries to take his younger brother’s advice to fit in; keep your head low and work hard. however, while settling into his routine, he does exactly the opposite.

warnings: takes place between season one and two, unspecified age gap (joel is canon age/reader is mentioned to be mid-20s in beginning but the exact amount of time that’s passed is left to the imagination), reader has hair long enough to be braided, reader is a dv survivor, crazy exes, swearing, drinking, slight grumpy x sunshine but reader has layers she’s not just happy all the time,

words: 2.7K

date posted: 19/5/25

series masterlist

previous part | next part

“Someone’s been asking about you.”

Joel glanced over his shoulder as he approached the front steps of the house and found his younger brother sidling up next to him.

“What?”

Tommy spoke the woman’s name with a shiteating grin on his face, “She was asking Maria ‘bout you, got all nervous and everything.”

“Do you need something?” Joel glared at his brother, “Or are you just tryin’ to piss me off?”

“Just thought you would want to know, big brother,” Tommy laughed, “it’s been a while since you’ve had a girlfriend, wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to tell when a girl is sweet on you.”

“No one’s sweet on me, Tommy,” Joel groaned, “besides, she barely knows me.”

“You’ve been patrolling together four times a week for almost three months now, Joel. And from what I hear, you’ve been makin’ quite the fuss with the ladies,” Tommy laughed. “Just do me a favour and just pick one, heh?”

Joel ignored him, finally climbing up the steps onto his own front porch. He let the door swing shut on its own, hoping that Tommy wouldn’t follow him but knowing full well that he was going to anyway. He hooked his coat onto the rack just next to the door before trudging towards the kitchen in search of some sort of pick-me-up; it would be either coffee or whiskey, whichever he could get his hands on the quickest.

Tommy pulled out a chair at the dining table, plopping down with a quiet groan. Joel dropped a glass of amber liquid in front of his brother, downing his own mouthful of whiskey in one go before pouring himself another.

“So?” Tommy asked, a little smirk reappearing on his face.

“So, what?”

“So…are you thinking of seeing where anything goes?”

“Jesus, Tommy, I’ve barely had enough time to settle in here,” Joel shook his head, “matter o’ fact, no. I don’t think I’m gonna be looking into anything.”

Tommy nodded, “Alright, I’ll tell Maria to call off the hunt.”

Joel narrowed his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You really think I’m the only one to be thinkin’ this way? Really, it’s all her idea. She’s warmin’ up to you and she wants you to be happy.”

“Tommy,” Joel groaned, “trust me when I say that I am happy. I’m fed, I’m warm, I’m safe, hell, I’m a whole lot more social than I was twenty years ago. That’s all I need.”

“Alright, alright,” Tommy raised his hands in defence, “I’ll pass the message on. But if you change your mind…”

“Maria’ll be the first to know,” Joel chuckled, “you have my word.”

“Great,” Tommy nodded, glancing at the small wooden clock on the wall opposite his seat, “speaking of, she’ll have my head if I’m not home for dinner. We’re grilling steak if you wanna join.”

Joel shrugged, “Promised Ellie we’d grab something from the dining hall and watch some movie she found on patrol.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow morning for patrol,” Tommy stood up, knocking his fist against his brother’s shoulder as he headed towards the door, closing it firmly behind him.

***

Joel had hardly known a moment of silence ever since Ellie came into his life. When they had met, she was a curious, spunky fourteen-year-old girl that barely understood the way things worked by modern standards, let alone the way things were twenty years earlier before the world had gone to shit. Now she was an equally as spunky but slightly less curious sixteen-year-old, now having faced her own fair share of trauma and hardships during their journey across the country that had lasted for over a year. He initially had worried that Ellie would have some difficulties fitting in with the other kids around Jackson, and while it was true that she had been rather abrasive to many, there were a select few that she’s easily bonded to.

She chattered on about what she’d learned about in school that day, gossip she had heard through the grapevine, the foolish pranks and antics of her closest friend Dina, her interest in another girl named Cat…at some point Joel lost count of how many different topics she’d been able to fit into the ten minute walk across town to the dining hall, and he’d had an even more difficult time staying on track with the rapid fire of information. He mostly offered small grunts of acknowledgements and occasional chuckles whenever she truly caught him off guard.

Then, he caught the familiar figure of his newest patrol partner across the way, quickly striding across the street to come up on Ellie’s opposite side.

“Hey Joel, Ellie,” she beamed at them, meeting their pace easily as she joined their trek, completely unaware of their destination but following along regardless, “how’d you get along with your homework?”

“Fine, I guess…” Ellie shrugged, a sheepish blush dusting her cheeks as the woman raised her brow, “okay, I haven’t done it yet.”

The woman snorted, “How did I know that? There’s a test on Monday, kid, don’t wanna get held back a year, do you?”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Ellie argued, looking to Joel for confirmation, “would they?”

Joel shrugged, “Dunno, there’s probably some privileges you’d lose until you get caught up.”

The teen girl huffed, “You gotta be shitting me.”

“Sorry, El, that’s just how the cookie crumbles.”

The girl shook her head with a sigh as Joel lifted his gaze over her head, eyes tracing over the woman’s side profile. Her lips always seemed to naturally curve in a perpetual smile, even as she patrolled in the rain and snow.

“You a teacher now, then?” He asked rather abruptly, “What, Maria’s just got you fillin’ in wherever?”

She shrugged, seeming much less bothered by it than Joel would have been, “More of a tutor, really. We’re trying to figure out what I’m best at, I don’t really mind filling in where they need me, though. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t miss our patrols for the world.”

The teen turned to the man with a raised brow, a wicked little grin appearing on her face as she held in a laugh at the woman’s kind words that so delicately hovered over the line of flirtatiousness. She elbowed Joel in the ribs to prompt his response as his own face burned with colour.

“Alright,” he grunted, prompting a short laugh from both the teen and the woman.

“Don’t sound too excited, Joel,” she laughed, “anyway, I better get going. I’m headed to Tommy and Maria’s for dinner. See y’all later.”

They both offered her a quiet farewell as they continued on their way, the dining hall now in sight. Ellie let out a small chuckle as she took in the expression of discomfort on her guardian’s face, “I’ve never seen you have a crush before.”

“What?” his head snapped over to stare down at her.

“I mean, I know you and Tess had a little thing going on, but I’ve never seen you get all worked up like that before.”

“Ellie,” he barked, “you don’t know what you’re talking about, I don–”

“And she likes you too,” she batted her eyelashes at him mockingly as she mustered up her best impression, “don’t worry, Baby, I wouldn’t miss our patrols for the world.”

“That’s not what she said.”

“It’s basically what she said. The pet name was implied.”

Joel said nothing else, ignoring her glaring look as they entered the dining hall and found themselves taking their places at the end of the line, disregarding her teasing stare and unrelenting giggles. Ahead of them, there seemed to be some sort of disturbance–a few gasps, curses, and an echoing clatter as a dinner plate hit the floor. Joel craned his neck to get a better look, finding a younger woman stepping out of line in a hurry, protectively tugging her little girl to stand behind her as a larger figure forced his way into the front of the line.

“We’re not doing this every damn day, Elias,” Seth growled at the man, glaring at his lanky figure as he swayed from side to side. “Back of the line or get lost.”

“Listen, you prick,” the man slurred, “I’m hungry, and I’ve been working all fuckin’ day. These people can wait.”

“You heard me,” Seth squared up to him, “and watch your language, there’s kids here.”

“No, you listen–”

The sight of the little girl, no older than six, trembling behind her mother’s legs was the final straw for Joel. He stepped out of line, Ellie hot on his heels as he stalked up to the front of the line, winding his fist into the shoulder of the man’s shirt to haul him backwards. The stench of booze slammed into Joel like a tonne of bricks, his lip curling in disgust.

“Listen, Elias, is it?” Joel asked as he dragged the man toward the door, tossing him out into the town square and blocking the entrance, “here’s how things are gonna go. You’re gonna take a moment and collect yourself, you’re gonna come back in, wait in line, and eat your meal in peace. Or, you can come back in, act exactly how you just did, and I’ll throw you out again and you’ll have to crawl home. Your choice.”

The man sneered at him, pushing his greasy hair out of his face, “Who the fuck do you think you are putting your hands on me? You come into town as Tommy fuckin’ Miller’s brother and think you can do whatever the fuck you want?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Joel rolled his eyes, “there’s no need to make this messy. Every one of these people have been doing their part all day, just like you.”

“Fuck you, you ugly piece of shit,” Elias eyed the older man up, clearly taking in the sheer size and force of Joel Miller, someone he would have no chance of beating in a fight even if he was sober. He spat at his feet, turning on his heel to retreat, “first shot I get, you’re a dead man, Miller.”

Joel rolled his eyes again, “Yeah, yeah. Let me know when you’re ready.”

***

“I heard you had an interesting night last night,” the woman mused as she and Joel rode side by side during patrol the following morning. Her face was less expressive than usual, eyes appearing glazed over as she moved her gaze down to watch as she ran her fingertips through the soft mane of her mount.

Joel scoffed, “Wouldn’t say that. Just takin’ care of things. Anyone would’ve done it.”

She was silent for a beat, flickering her gaze over to the older man next to her, “Well it wasn’t just anyone who did it. Truth be told, people around here aren’t quite as willing to cause a stir as you are, Miller, and that guy gets away with a lot more than what he deserves. Maybe you’re exactly the kind of person we need around here.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” The checkpoint came into view as Joel took in her words, shrugging off the nagging excitement that he felt at her praise, “guess I’ve never been known to play well with others. People like that shouldn’t be able to walk around doing whatever the hell they want, thinkin’ they’re worth any more than anyone else.”

He missed the flicker in her eyes, the straightening of her spine, the nervousness in her face. Joel was an observant man, or so he’s been told; it’s second nature when you’ve spent two decades glancing over your shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, but for some reason, his guard is down when it comes to her and the slightest change could be missed when his gaze isn’t firmly set on her–which he did his best to make sure it usually wasn’t. Besides, normally she was eagerly awaiting for him to meet her eye with a wide grin on her face, voice sweet like honey and words dripping with allure and warmth that always threatened to soak through his resolve and bring him to his knees. She would be his biggest weakness, if he would let her, and it was only becoming continuously harder to deny it.

“What are the odds there’s any jerky left in the stash?” she changed the subject, “barely had time for a bite before we left, I’m starved.”

Joel chuckled, nodding towards the boarded-up building, “In there? Very low, I’d say. But, I may or may not have packed a little for the road.”

She turned to him as a knowing smirk crawled across her features, “Joel Miller to my rescue once again.”

He raised a brow at her, “Again? When have I saved you before?”

“Well, if it hadn’t been you that I got paired with for patrols, it probably would have been Jesse. I love the kid but man can he talk, and that leaves no room for me to talk. I think we were brought together by fate, so I can talk and you can listen, plus you’re the only one who just listens and doesn’t seem bothered by it.”

“Who says I’m not bothered by it?”

She cocked her head in mock-hurt, “Oh please. I know you well enough by now to know that you would let me know if you were.”

He shrugged, expression softening as he finally turned his gaze to meet her own, “Yeah, you got me there.”

“Plus, Ellie’s been telling me about how I’m the only one in town you can tolerate.”

His head snapped to the side, eyes blown wide in surprise at her words, “She said what?”

“Oh don’t give me that, Joel,” a melodious laugh fell from her lips, “she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Like you said, you’re no good at playing nice, so whatever this is must be the real deal, huh?”

Their horses came to a halt just before the entrance to the checkpoint, giving Joel the perfect excuse to ignore both her and the burning sensation in his cheeks. He quickly climbed out of his saddle, keeping his back to her to hide the flush of his face and neck as he tied the reins to a railing along the outer wall of the building.

He’d never been good with emotions, or with women. Well, truthfully, the last time he’d really had much luck with women was when he was with Sarah’s mother. As a teen, he had been known by girls at school for being polite and devilishly handsome–a gentleman with a rebellious streak, but he was smitten with his first love. They were high school sweethearts, but they were only twenty when Sarah was born and things between them fell apart. After she left, Joel went on the occasional date orchestrated by his younger brother, but nothing lasted for more than one night; he was far too busy being a single father and trying to run a contracting business. Then, with Tess, it had been more of a relationship of convenience. He did care for her, but not in a way that would justify going beyond a physical connection without it getting messy.

He wondered what Tess would think of him if she were here to see him now, blushing like a little boy over a woman half his age. He wondered what she would think of her, though she would most certainly laugh if she saw exactly what kind of woman was able to bring the mighty Joel Miller to his knees, all sunshine and rainbows. He likes to think that they would get along, though Tess would more than likely be exasperated by the woman’s seemingly endless positivity.

“My hero, once again,” she chirped as he helped her down from her own saddle, tying her horse to the same post as his own, “now let me at that jerky before I take a bite outta you instead.”

Joel choked on his spit, “What?”

She let out a loud laugh, glancing over her shoulder as she headed inside of the checkpoint, “Don’t get your panties in a twist Joel, I’m only joking. A little apocalyptic humour, you know?”

Joel shook his head, letting out a sigh as he followed after her, “Yeah, yeah.”

She was going to be the death of him.

tags: @orcasoul @doeeyestoji @ccmoonshine

comment to be tagged in future parts

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #fic rec

66 notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 1 month ago

Note

Okay this was stunning 😭😭😭

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted.

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation.

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again.

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him.

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–”

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you.

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight.

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,”

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you.

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you.

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

#I’ll be reading this again just to feel something #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fic rec

2K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 1 month ago

Text

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

just one bite omfg 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

817 notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 1 month ago

Text

“when you love someone you always see their face.”

5K notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 1 month ago

Text

it’s either joel miller marries me or i get SPAYED and LOBOTOMIZED to forget him…it’s HIM or no one

#NOOOOOO this took me out 💀💀💀#true tho #joel miller x reader #joel miller

671 notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 2 months ago

Text

Oooooh I’m so excited for more of this 😍

the bottom

PART ONE | the line

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

words: 2.4K

date posted: 5/5/25

series masterlist | next part

Joel truly could not have asked for a better deal. He and Ellie were safe within the walls of Jackson, the Fireflies were gone and he’d made sure there was no one left in the hospital to follow them back, he’d found his brother after years apart, and he could finally sleep easy at night. He no longer had to worry about rolling onto his left side throughout the night (though, it was still a habit he’d failed to break when he settled out of survival mode), and he could actually prove to be useful to the community, something he hadn’t exactly shown much of in the past twenty-odd years aside from using brute force. Patrols kept him active, allowing him to maintain at least some of those survival instincts he’d relied on for so long, but it was the internal efforts that he surprisingly enjoyed the most. Plus, Tommy’s advice had seemed easy enough to follow; lay low and work hard. These people are welcoming, but you’ll still have to earn their respect.

Tommy and a few other men had already been in the process of reinforcing the walls around Jackson when he and Ellie had returned from Salt Lake, and it seemed that they’d been in the process of figuring out some other larger renovations around the city that Tommy had yet to get around to. But now that they had a spare contractor, Joel was able to take over a few projects at a time and the city was being fixed up at twice the pace that they had initially expected and earning Joel that respect quicker than he’d hoped.

Laying low had been pretty easy, too. Joel had earned their respect, sure, but he’d also rather stick to himself whenever he could. He went to work every morning, was friendly enough with the others–but made sure to upkeep his reputation as the town’s resident grump, and spend his evenings either with Ellie, Tommy, or on his own. In the first three weeks since they’d arrived there, he’d made no effort to interact with many of the others outside of work or to trade and only learned the names of no more than two dozen people.

Maria had finally taken a stand against this, insisting that Tommy and Joel each take the day off of their jobs so that Tommy could show his older brother around the city and properly introduce him to everyone. They’d made their rounds, bringing a list of errands made up by Maria to force them to go into a few places and interact with others, and Joel had been pleasantly surprised that he didn’t absolutely hate all of them–just a handful.

“See, I told you that you’d get along just fine. Doesn’t matter who they were before they came inside these walls, they got two options; play by our rules or get the fuck out.” Tommy told him as they exited the bakery, each carrying a large brown paper bag in their hands with a selection of baked goods, “These are good people who live here–well, most of ‘em anyway. You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Tommy veered off to the right, headed down a side street at a quick pace. Joel followed behind, brow furrowed as he followed close behind, “Tommy, wha–”

“Hey Elias,” he called out, catching the attention of a tall, wiry man, his shoulder-length hair tied back in a bun at the base of his skull and body holding a slight tremor under the layers of clothing he wore; it all seemed to be nicer than what most wore, leading Joel to assume that he was some sort of higher-up around the place (despite the fact that Jackson had been built on the prospect of communism), “You need something in there, man? Thought you were supposed to be in the clinic today.”

The man turned and glared at Tommy, jaw set as if he had already been expecting the confrontation. He placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the pair of brothers as he shifted one hand to point towards one of the buildings just off of the main street, “That’s my wife in there, Tommy. I’m sick and tired of you people telling me where I can and can’t go around here. It’s none of your goddamn business.”

Tommy rolled his own eyes, “Is she, though? Last I recall, she doesn’t wanna be married to you anymore. So if you’re going in there just to bug her after she, Maria, and myself have told you to stay away, I think it is my business.”

“I’m not fuckin’ buggin’ her, Tommy,” the man sneered, closing the distance between them to shove his finger into his face, “you stop me from goin’ to my fuckin’ house, schedulin’ me on these godawful shifts in the fuckin’ clinic, who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tommy turned his face away in disgust, “Yeah, from the stink of you it would seem you’ve been workin’ hard all day, huh? C’mon man, you smell like you’ve been bathing in booze. Let’s not make a scene here, make it easier on all of us.”

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” He turned his gaze down and spat at Tommy’s feet, “thought we were all a bunch of commies now, huh? All of us being equals and whatnot?”

“We’re all equal until one of us lays hands on their wife, Elias. You know that.”

Joel felt a surge of rage through him at this. Initially, he thought that the man had just been a drunk who’d skipped out of work to come and beg for his wife to come back to him, but now there was no denying the fact that the man was nothing more than a dirtbag wife beater. Truthfully, Joel was mostly shocked due to the fact that Tommy would even allow someone like him to even continue staying there. He couldn’t even count the amount of times that Tommy had gotten in trouble for picking a fight with men who even looked at women the wrong way; he could hardly imagine his brother having any sympathy towards a man who actually beat his wife, even if the punishment was an inadvertent death sentence by exiling him from the city.

“It was none of your fuckin’ business to begin with. If that bitch hadn’t been running around on me then–”

“You and I both know that’s not true, man. She’s a good woman, and she’s made a whole lotta progress since she finally smartened up and left your ass.”

The man curled his lip in anger, but seemed to be backing down from the challenge, “Fuck this. That whore ain’t even worth it.”

He bumped both Tommy and Joel’s shoulders on his way past, but neither of the brothers made an effort to fight back against him, simply just glad that he had willingly left without forcing them to make a scene. Tommy stayed in his place for a moment, hands falling to his hips as he shook his head, finally turning back to his brother with an exasperated yet slightly sheepish expression.

“Do me a favour and keep this between you and me. Others know they’re split up but most don’t know why. I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel scoffed, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve got good people here, and yet you’re harbourin’ a man who beats his wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Tommy corrected, “And it’s not like that. She left him, begged us to let him stay so long as he left her alone.”

“I don’t know what sounds more fuckin’ stupid, that she wanted him to stay, or that you let him.”

Tommy shook his head, “It’s not just up to me. We’ve got a council, and unless I told ‘em exactly what happened, they’re not willing to give the boot to anyone for just bein’ an asshole, especially when he’s the only fuckin’ doctor we have.”

“Anyone can take the first aid training, Tommy.”

“No, Joel, he’s a surgeon. He was a resident before shit went south, and there’s been a few times where things woulda cost us a lot of good people if it weren’t for him. I can tell you right now that if she came clean about what he–” Tommy paused, taking a short breath to better compose himself, “We’d have a majority vote, and she knows that. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have let him go that night.”

He watched his brother closely; his teeth gritted together, brow furrowed, and eyes wide and glassy. Tommy had clearly been affected by what had transpired between that man–Elias and his wife, so much that he couldn’t even seem to think about it without losing it. Joel grunted in response, nodding his head slowly.

He couldn’t decide if he would have done the same thing in that situation, but then he thought back to Tommy’s words, I wouldn’t have let him go that night. Tommy had had his own hands on him, probably ready to kill him. Something about the situation made him sober up through the rage and make the decision to let the man go, to let him live. Joel knew he would not have had the same restraint if it had been him instead.

Over the next few days, he repeatedly cursed himself for not demanding that his brother tell him the woman’s name. He spent the days that followed in a state of constant discomfort, always glancing over his shoulder in public to watch for Elias around town, taking note of where he went, who he spoke to, and to what anyone had to say about him. He’d begun taking on a leadership role around town, people flocked to him for help, following his orders on patrols, and looked to him for answers. He wasn’t the one to make those decisions on his own–hell, his opinions did nothing but occasionally influence the council, but people seemed to trust that he had the town’s best interest at heart.

He’d been an official patrol captain for all of a week when Tommy met him in the stable early one morning, helping a young woman saddle up a dark chestnut coloured horse. She was bundled up in a thick wool sweater under a long green raincoat and a navy baseball cap over her neatly braided hair, ready to face whatever chill and rain early spring weather would throw their way.

“Mornin’ old man,” Tommy grinned, turning to nod at the woman next to him, introducing her to his brother, “she’s gonna be joining you on patrol. You know this route by heart now, and she’s only been out a handful of times.”

Joel turned his gaze back over to her, taking in her features. He’d seen her around town before; she seemed to have taken on a new job every day and he could never anticipate when or where he might spot her. They had exchanged smiles and polite greetings as they passed by, just as everyone else did, though they had yet to interact any further. She was the kind of pretty that made him often struggle to pull his gaze away when he spotted her in a crowd, but she was also just young enough that made him feel guilty for it. She couldn’t be any older than her mid-twenties, but like everyone in Jackson, she looked like she had seen her fair share of loss and hardship.

“Hi,” the woman beamed, holding her hand out to him eagerly, “I may be a rookie but I’m a pretty good shot so I think that makes up for it.”

Joel shook her hand gingerly, “Yeah, hopefully you won’t gotta put that to use. This route’s usually pretty clear of infected.”

“Great,” she nodded, “because I was lying. I’m just okay.”

Joel scoffed, glancing over at his brother who seemed unfazed by the woman’s behaviour but amused at Joel’s reaction. She was exactly the type of person that Joel worked to avoid; far too peppy and a tendency to ramble. From the moment that they had mounted their horses until the moment that they returned from patrol almost three hours later, she hardly let more than a few moments of silence pass before she would be asking a dozen more questions. But for some odd reason, Joel didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would.

It was sort of nice to have someone actually ask him about his day to day life without pressing too much into his past. He liked that she didn’t feel privy to his life before Jackson aside from asking where he was from and where he lived before Jackson. At some points, he was reminded of Ellie when they were travelling across the country in the way that she was able to come up with and ask such random questions off the top of his head, but it made patrol go by much faster than it usually did. And after, when she strutted off in the direction of the meal hall, he felt a flicker of regret for rejecting her invitation to join her.

He felt an almost instantaneous connection to the younger woman, but he could not help but notice the line in the sand between developing feelings for the world and feeling like a disgusting older man preying on a younger woman; the line between denying himself of what could lead to happiness he hadn’t felt in decades and throwing himself head first into it. She was kind when she spoke to him, but Joel was not the sort of man to mistake kindness for flirting, but there was some sort of familiarity in her eyes when they met with his own–an understanding, leading to that already thin line growing even thinner.

But what he hadn’t known at the time was that the moment they had set out on patrol that morning, he had started that dangerous walk along that narrow line, completely unsure of what side he was going to end up on.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #fic rec

488 notes · View notes