joelsslvts

[joelsslvts]

“Still Breathing”

Joel Miller x Female!Reader | Post-Outbreak | Angst, Slow-Burn, Emotional Comfort

The Wyoming snow always fell quietly—like it didn’t want to be noticed, like it had learned to be gentle after years of violence. It blanketed the trees and rooftops of Jackson with a stillness that didn’t feel peaceful, just... numb. Joel stood on the porch of Tommy’s house, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders tense beneath the weight of memories he didn’t like to carry but never quite put down.

His eyes were locked on a figure at the far end of the settlement. Wrapped in a dark green coat, hood up, face hidden. But Joel knew that posture. The way you stood with your weight shifted to one hip. The way you kept your hands close to your chest, guarded. Like you were always expecting a fight.

“You gonna stand out here all day?” Tommy’s voice came from behind.

Joel didn’t answer at first. He squinted into the snowfall. “Is that who I think it is?”

Tommy stepped beside him, followed his line of sight, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. She came in with the patrol last week. Been helping in the stables.”

Joel didn’t speak, but his jaw tightened.

“You should talk to her,” Tommy said, a little softer now. “She didn’t ask about you, but… I think she didn’t want to.”

Joel stepped off the porch without another word, boots crunching in the snow like they were breaking something old.

The stable smelled like hay and horse sweat. You were brushing down one of the mares, slow and rhythmic, like your body remembered this kind of peace even if your mind didn’t. You heard the door open behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” you said quietly.

Joel’s voice came after a beat, low and rough. “Didn’t think I’d make it.”

You kept brushing. Your chest felt tight, like the air had gone colder even though the stable was warm. “But you did.”

He nodded. “So did you.”

You finally turned to face him. He looked older—deeper lines on his face, more gray in his beard. But it was still Joel. Still the same brown eyes that had once scanned a room for danger, then flicked to you just to make sure you were okay.

“I waited,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “For days.”

“I came back. You were gone.”

“They told me you were dead.”

“I wasn’t.”

Your eyes locked. And for a moment, you weren’t in Jackson. You were back in the safehouse outside Pittsburgh, listening to the fire crackle while Joel cleaned his gun. Back when you still had hope. Back before everything fell apart.

“I searched for you,” Joel said. “But there was too much chaos. I thought…”

You crossed your arms, more from habit than from the cold. “You thought I was dead. So you moved on.”

“I didn’t move on,” he said. “I just kept movin’.”

Your eyes dropped. That was the thing about Joel. He didn’t lie. Not with words, anyway. He’d always been brutally honest, even when it hurt.

“I buried you in my head,” he continued. “Because if I didn’t, I wasn’t gonna make it.”

You didn’t reply right away. Then, softly, you said, “I buried you too.”

That night, the town was quiet. The moon cast pale light over the snow-covered buildings, and Joel sat outside again, a mug of coffee warming his hands. His coat was zipped all the way up, but he still looked cold. He looked like a man frozen in time.

You found him without even meaning to. Your feet brought you there like they remembered the path on their own. You sat beside him without asking.

“You’re not good at goodbyes, Joel.”

He didn’t look at you. Just took a sip of the coffee. “No. Never was.”

You leaned back, looking at the sky. “You could’ve stayed. Back then. We were safe.”

“I wasn’t,” he said.

You glanced at him. “Ellie says you changed. That you’d do anything for her.”

Joel stared into the darkness. “She saved me.”

You let those words hang in the air between you, like smoke.

“I always wondered if you survived,” you admitted. “And then I stopped wondering. Because it hurt too much.”

Joel finally looked at you. “I thought I lost everythin’ that ever mattered to me. You… you were the only thing I had left.”

“And you still left.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did,” you said. “And I built something without you. Or I tried to.”

Joel’s voice lowered. “I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness.”

“Good,” you said. “Because I don’t have it yet.”

There was silence. But it wasn’t bitter. It was just… tired.

After a long pause, you spoke again. “Ellie’s a good kid. I can see it in her eyes. You raised her right.”

“She raised me too,” he said.

You looked at him. Really looked. At the wear on his face. The tremble in his fingers. The scars you hadn’t touched in years.

“Maybe I still could,” you whispered.

Joel turned to you slowly. There was something there in his eyes—hope, maybe. Or regret that had finally softened enough to let the light in.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” he said.

“Then we’ll start small,” you replied. “Like we did before. You watch my back. I watch yours.”

Joel gave a faint nod.

“I can’t promise much,” he said.

“I’m not asking for much,” you said. “Just don’t disappear this time.”

“I won’t,” Joel said. “Not again.”

You leaned your shoulder gently against his. It was nothing—just a touch. But he didn’t move away.

And that was enough—for now.

You were both still breathing.

And that meant something.

[joelsslvts]

“Everyday”

Joel Miller X Reader f !

Post outbreak — Friends to Lovers — Smutt - Fluff

Summary: After surviving Abby’s brutal attack, Joel recovers slowly in Jackson's hospital. You stay by his side every day, the unspoken love between you growing heavier. When he finally stands again, Joel finds the strength to tell you what he’s held in for far too long.

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The room smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. Joel had grown used to it. What he hadn't gotten used to was you — sitting in the same chair by his bed every single day.

At first, he thought you'd stop coming. Figured you'd get tired of seeing him like this — bruised ribs, busted leg, barely able to speak for the first week. But you didn’t leave.

You never did.

Today, like all the others, you showed up just past sunrise. A book in your hand, a quiet mug of tea in the other.

“You look less like death today,” you said softly, settling into your usual seat.

Joel grunted. “That’s your version of a compliment?”

You smiled a little. “Take it or leave it.”

He stared at you — tired eyes, softened jaw, the same look you always gave him, like you were trying to memorize every scar on his face.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You. Bein’ here. Every damn day. You don’t owe me nothin’.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just sipped your tea and looked out the window. Then, quietly:

“You’re wrong. I owe you everything.”

Three Weeks Later

Joel stood for the first time — leaning on a cane, breath ragged. But he was standing.

You were there, walking beside him down the hallway of the clinic. He was slow, stiff, but stubborn as hell.

“Stubborn bastard,” you teased, watching his face tense with every step.

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.”

You both stopped by a bench outside. Joel sat down slowly, and for once, he didn’t look away when your eyes met his.

“I need to tell you somethin’.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Joel’s jaw tightened, fingers gripping the cane. “I should’ve said it a long time ago. But I thought maybe if I kept it buried, it’d go away.”

“Joel—”

He cut you off, voice low and raw.

“But it didn’t. I think about you every time I close my eyes. You’re the only reason I kept fightin’. I don’t deserve you… but damn it, I—”

You moved before he could finish — hands on his face, tears in your eyes.

“Joel Miller,” you whispered. “You’re an idiot.”

And you kissed him.

He froze for half a second — then melted into it like he’d been starving for you.

When you finally pulled apart, he let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in his chest for years.

“I love you,” he said, plain and honest.

“I know,” you whispered back. “I love you too.”

The words hung in the air like a secret finally let go, like relief wrapped in warmth. Joel’s hand stayed over yours on the bench, rough palm over soft skin, both of you still and breathless.

You didn’t speak much after that. You didn’t need to.

Weeks later.

Joel moved back into his home on the edge of Jackson. He still walked with a limp, still winced when the cold got into his bones, but he was stronger. Whole in ways he hadn’t been in years — not just because his body was healing, but because you were there.

He didn’t ask you to stay with him. You just started showing up — dropping off food, checking on him, falling asleep on his couch some nights after long talks by the fire.

Then one day, without saying it out loud, you just… stayed.

Your toothbrush in the bathroom. Your jacket by the door. His shirts finding their way onto your body.

You filled the silence in his life without breaking it. You knew when not to talk. You knew when to make him laugh — when to tease him, when to touch his arm gently and remind him he wasn’t alone anymore.

He made you coffee every morning, even before you were fully awake. He built a small shelf by the window just to set your favorite books on. He kept one arm around you when you sat beside him at night, and sometimes you could feel his lips brush the top of your head like it was instinct.

He never rushed things. Neither did you.

But there were moments — small and quiet — that felt like the world had finally given something back to both of you.

One night, near winter.

Joel stood by the fireplace, a soft flannel hanging from his shoulders, his hand holding a cup of tea you made him.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, watching the flames.

He looked at you like he did sometimes — not with awe, but with that heavy, real kind of love. The kind that says I’ve seen hell and I still believe in you.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I didn’t think I’d ever have this again.”

You looked up at him. “Have what?”

“This,” he nodded around the room — the warmth, the quiet, the feeling of home. “Someone. You.”

You swallowed, heart softening like it always did when he spoke like that. You stood, walking toward him slowly, and slid your arms around his waist.

“Well,” you whispered, “you’ve got me.”

He kissed you — slower this time. Certain. Not a desperate thing, not rushed or hungry. Just full of meaning. Like a promise he was finally ready to keep.

And from then on, every day wasn’t just another day survived.

It was another day together.

Later that night…

It started with a kiss — deep, slow, and full of everything neither of you had said out loud over the past few years. You were lying beneath him, bare skin brushing against bare skin, your fingers curled in the back of his shirt, tugging gently until it slipped off his shoulders.

Joel looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he was scared if he blinked, you’d vanish.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice already thick and rough.

“I don’t,” you whispered. “I want all of you.”

His mouth was on your throat before you could take another breath, dragging down your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him. His hands were strong, slow — exploring, learning. He took his time, memorizing every sound you made, every way you reacted under his touch.

When he finally slid his hand between your thighs, you were already soaked for him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers worked slow circles against your clit. “You’re so wet… is that all for me?”

“All for you,” you gasped, hips rolling against his palm, shameless and needy.

He groaned — low and filthy — before replacing his hand with the thick, heavy press of his cock. He eased into you inch by inch, watching your face the whole time like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice shaking. “You feel so damn good… squeezin’ me like that, baby…”

You moaned as he filled you completely, the stretch delicious, the pressure perfect. His thrusts were slow at first, deep and dragging, like he wanted to feel every inch of you, like he needed this to last.

Your nails scraped his back when he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out.

“There?” he growled into your ear. “Right fuckin’ there?”

You could only nod, panting, legs trembling around his waist as he started to fuck you harder — still steady, still controlled, but with more heat, more hunger.

The sound of skin slapping, the wet drag of him moving inside you, the broken gasps and curses between kisses — it was overwhelming in the best way.

Joel’s hand slid down to your throat, not squeezing — just resting there, possessive and grounding.

“Mine,” he said against your lips, voice all grit and fire. “You’re mine now.”

“Always have been,” you moaned. “Yours, Joel.”

That did something to him.

His pace turned rougher, his body trembling above yours as he chased both of your highs. And when it hit — when your body clenched around him and you came with a cry of his name — he followed right after, spilling into you with a long, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he held you tight.

Neither of you moved for a long moment.

Just breathing. Holding. Existing in the wreckage of everything you’d been holding in.

Joel kissed you afterward — your forehead, your cheeks, your lips — soft and slow again. The kind of kiss that says thank you for staying without needing the words.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, still buried deep inside you.

You smiled, your fingers stroking down his spine.

“I know. I love you too.”

[joelsslvts]

“Find Me Again”

joel miller x f!reader | pre-outbreak → post-outbreak reunion | angst + comfort + emotional tension

You met Joel in Austin.

Construction boots, tired eyes, soft southern voice. He loved his coffee black, his toast burnt, and the way you always left your shoes in the hallway.

The night the world ended, he held your face in his hands and said:

“I’m comin’ for you. I don’t care how bad it gets—I’m gonna find you, alright?”

And then he was gone.

You searched for him. Through broken towns, ash-covered roads, infected forests. You nearly died trying

Years passed. You whispered his name into the dark every time you had to run, hide, kill. Just in case he could still hear it.

Jackson, Wyoming, 5 years later.

It’s snowing. You're exhausted, numb. You never believed in luck anymore—but then you see him.

Joel.

He’s standing across the mess hall, laughing quietly with Tommy. And when his eyes find you, he freezes.

His voice breaks the silence first.

“...Baby?”

You nod, a shaky breath catching in your throat.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

He’s moving before you can even blink, pushing past people, knocking into tables, just to get to you. You don’t care—you run too.

And when he wraps his arms around you, it’s like no time has passed. Like he never let go.

“I thought you were dead,” he mumbles into your hair. “I looked. I swear I looked everywhere—”

“I know,” you say, gripping his jacket tight. “Me too.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are older. Sadder. But still Joel. Still yours.

“You didn’t stop?”

“Never.”

He touches your face like he’s scared you’ll disappear again.

“You’re real,” he whispers.

“I’m home.”

Later that night, you lie beside him.

He traces your wrist where an old scar lives.

You ask if he ever gave up.

He says, “Only for a second. And I hated myself for it.”

You smile.

“Then I guess we both found our way back.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Yeah. We did.”

You survived the end of the world.

But you never stopped looking for each other.

And now, finally—you don’t have to.

[joelsslvts]

“I got you, baby girl.”

Summary: You’ve been crying all night, about some silly breakup. You don’t know who else to call, but your dads best friend.

warnings: None, just fluff.

Description: Reader is female (she/her) Dbf Joel Miller

You're in your bathroom, curled up on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. It's really an awful feeling- being this utterly alone. You feel it in your bones, weighing you down, tears dripping from your chin.

Your phone screen almost blinds you as you open it up, quickly turning the brightness down to scroll through your contacts list. You can't call your mom, can't call your dad. You can't really call any of your friends- not wanting to be a burden, to cross a line, to get hurt.

Your thumb does hover over *one* contact- Joel Miller. You two are.. friends? You think? Sometimes you'd take your niece to school for your brother, and see him at the drop-off. For some reason, he'd always been friendly to you- maybe it was because you didn't chase after him like he was a piece of meat, like all the other single moms.

It's just- simple, with him. You can't put your finger on why, but the man radiates warmth and comfort. A nice place to rest. More than anything, right now, that's what you're craving; that warmth, that safety. So why not? Even just to hear him breathe- you click call on his contact.

"Hello?" comes his signature southern drawl, on the second ring. "What's wrong, hon?"

“I- Joel..?” You spill out, nervously and shaking.

“Yes sweetheart? You don’t call me unless something happened.” Joel says.

“He cheated on me.” You cry out. Not wanting to show too much emotions.

"...He *what?*" he growls, his Texas drawl making his voice that much deeper. "What did that piece of-"

He stops himself, taking a deep breath to calm his temper. He doesn't even know what to say, he's so *angry* that someone would do something like that to you.

"Tell me where you are," he tells you, softly now. "I'm coming to get you."

"Breathe, sweetheart." He says, his voice soft and gentle but firm. "Deep breaths. In and out. In.." *pause* "And out. Good girl. Can you do that again for me? Good."

Joel can hear the ragged edge to your breathing, the hitch in your voice. It makes a pang of deep-set anger bubble to the surface, his hands clenching. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He said as he drives into his car, not speeding but not going slow.

“I just….found out and, it was with my best friend.” You sniffle, sitting on your floor, crying. Joel always knew how to make you feel better.

His breathing goes sharp, anger rearing it's head. "Your best friend..." He repeats, the words sour on his tongue. "For how long?" He asks- though his gut is already saying *too long.*

“It doesn’t matter Joel just, please come. And don’t tell my dad I just. I’m too….embarrassed.”

"I'm on my way, sweetheart." Joel says without wasting a second. "You stay on the phone with me okay? Just keep talking, keep breathing, I'm gonna be there as soon as I can."

He grabs his keys, throwing the door open and hopping into his beat up pick up truck. He wastes no time- his foot is all the way down on the gas.

"Still talkin'?" He asks, once he gets to the first red light. "You're doin' so good, I'm almost there. Just keep talkin' to me. You'll be okay."

It's another ten minutes before he pulls up to your address. He quickly parks his truck, jogging up to your front door.

"I'm outside, sweetheart." He says into the phone, knocking lightly. "You gonna let me in?"

 He can hear your quiet footsteps on the wooden floor, and the locks clicking before the door swings open. He takes one look at your face, red and puffy, and he feels that bubble of anger again. "Sweetheart..." He whispers, stepping into the house and pulling you into a tight hug.

“I hate men..” You say as you snuggle into his chest, sniffling.

He keeps you close, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other rubbing at your arm. He's quiet for a moment, letting you catch your breath.

"Sweetheart, look at me." He says, taking a gentle hold of your chin. His expression is soft, caring, and full of concern.

He tilts your chin up to meet his eye, a tender look in the gaze. "Can you tell me what happened?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just need to be sure I understand the situation, okay?"

You tell him what happened, through ragged breaths and tears. He listens intently, nodding along, his expression hardening with every word. By the time you finish, his jaw is clenched in anger, his eyes glinting.

“He just….I thought he was the one, Joel. He’s so mean. Did I do something?.” You cried. He rubbed your shoulder and stroked your hair.

"That *sonabitch*-" He spits out, the words venomous. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. The last thing you need is for him to get angry, and he knows that.

"You did *nothing*, understand? None of this was your fault." He says, pulling you back into another tight hug.

“I know I just~.” You stutter but he interrupts you.

"Shhhhh." Joel hushes you, rubbing at your back in soothing circles. "Breathe. I know it feels like the world's ending right now, but I promise you, it's going to get better. You're going to be okay. I've gotcha."

Joel stayed for hours, holding you close on the couch and murmuring sweet nothings. He didn't want to leave you alone, not tonight. He tried so hard to ignore the way your skin pressed against his, the way your touch made his breath hitch.

He had to remind himself that right now, you needed comfort. You needed a shoulder to cry on, and that's all he was going to be- *just* a friend.

But the longer he stayed, the harder it was to resist.