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gwentmaster · 7 months ago

Text

– last call.

joel miller x reader

wordcount: 1k ₊˚⊹♡ masterlist

tags/warnings: explicit (18+ mdni), angst, no use of y/n, no gendered pronouns/genitalia so technically gnc reader, unprotected piv, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, swear words, light praise, light body worship, for some reason i got religious for a second, dom/sub themes if you squint

It always starts with a kiss. Something soft, and sweet. Something to ground him, and something to bring him back to you. He sighs, and it’s like you can feel the weight of the world slump off of his shoulders. He’s back with you, for you, if only for a moment, if only for now.

“It was rough, today,” Joel murmurs simply, pressing another tender kiss to your mouth. He tastes like dirt and whiskey, but it’s home, and God, have you missed this– have you missed him, in this safehouse, in your arms.

“Every day is,” you reply. It’s simple, but true. His hums in agreement, moving his hands from your face to your hips. His touch is feather-light, only grazing. Your skin nonetheless feels hot underneath his hands as you pull him closer.

He kisses you a third time, saying nothing. You don’t need him to, to know what’s on his mind; to understand what’s really been pulling him away from you these past few sleepless nights. The agreement was mutual: your respite couldn’t last forever. You gaze into sorrowful hazel eyes and the silence seems to stretch on forever.

“It was good while it lasted,” he says at last, kissing your forehead. He rubs your back with strong, calloused hands. When you grin, he seems surprised.

“I was thinking we could make it last a little longer.”

His breath hitches as you delve into him, kissing him with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed. If this was the last time you were going to get your hands on Joel Miller, by God, you were going to make it count.

You take turns stripping each other of your clothes– you pull off his shirt, he carefully unbuttons yours; you step out of your jeans in tandem; he strips off his boxers in an instant and watches you with unabashed, unashamed desire as you slide off your underwear. He guides you to the bed, where you fall back onto the hard mattress, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as you drink him in. He’s gorgeous– tall, dark, handsome, and painfully, beautifully hard. You try as hard as you can to capture this in your mind, to keep him here if only for a moment longer.

Before you can finish your mental portrait, he’s on his knees, between your thighs. He kisses up and down your legs with a tenderness that’s unusual for even your exploits. “You’ve always been so beautiful,” He says to you as he spreads your legs, dangerously close, “I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

And like that, he’s all over you– kissing, biting, sucking; he’s devouring you wholly and completely, preying on your holiest, most devout place of worship. You moan wantonly, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him into you. How have you lived without this? How will you live without this? The thoughts flash through your mind, broken only by his groaning as he palms himself and your own begging cry to please, please, please make me cum.

Joel, of course complies– how could he not when you look, sound, taste so good, all for him, just for him?–tilting his gaze to look up at you with lust and adoration as your body wracks with climax. After you go slack, he waits for a moment for you to regain your breath before pushing you back further on the bed, clambering up between your legs and settling there. He wipes his mouth before one hand falls to your hip and the other cusps your face, gentle and needing. His breathing is labored, his pupils blown wide, as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s longing and passionate, the promise of something more forever lost. When he pulls away you’re surprised to find his eyes teary. You nod once in understanding, pulling him in for another kiss.

Neither of you say anything as he aligns with your entrance. His hand squeezes your hip as he enters you, achingly hard and painstakingly slow. When he bottoms out he groans and you swear it’s beautiful enough for a melody– another memory you grasp at, trying to burn into your mind. He sits there for a moment, fully within you, and savors it– savors you around him, against him, for him. You both, for a brief moment, think you won’t be able to go on without each other, not when he’s had you like this.

And then he starts thrusting. It’s slow, gentle, tender. If you didn’t know him better, you’d almost call it lovingly, the way he breathes your name, kisses your lips, and fucks into you. Your back arches as he rolls his hips, snapping with a smooth and consistent rhythm. His hands move, working on their own accord, one grasping your hip and the other firmly planted between you, getting you off lazily and loosely as he chases his own high. His groans are sweet and his touch, his dick inside you, sweeter still– you’re left gasping, clutching for pillows, sheets, anything to ground you from his paralyzing overstimulation.

When you finally, finally, whimper his name, it’s over for him; he fucks you with relentless pace and steady weight. You throw your head back and he catches it with a wandering hand, pulling you into a heated kiss. His free palm digs into your hip, hard enough to leave bruises. Your nails scratch down his back, scraping trails, as you pant his name, for more, to cum, for him. He doesn’t stop when he finally cums– instead, he rides it out with even more fervor, grinding into you until finally, finally, finally, you orgasm; the way you tighten around him making you both gasp and moan.

Joel lays there for a moment, on top of you, encompassing your body with his defined frame. Slowly, he pulls out, planting a kiss on your nose and laying beside you with a long sigh. After the comfortable silence settles, he stands, and you listen forlornly to the floorboards creak beneath him as he gathers a rag to clean the both of you up.

Later, as the sun begins to settle over the desolate horizon long after he has left your camp for the very last time, you can’t help but wonder if a goodbye would have been easier.

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