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k3ssxis · 4 months ago

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A Flame in the Cold

Summery: In a post-apocalyptic world, you’ve always kept your distance—tough, independent, and untouched. As a patrol scout in Jackson, you’ve never allowed yourself to be vulnerable. But when a storm traps you and Joel Miller in a cabin during a routine patrol, everything changes, and the walls you’ve both built begin to crack.

Warnings: Virginity, first time, post apocalypse, fluff, age-gap (reader is in her 30's), romance, smut, unprotected PIV, one shot, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving).

Paring: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 4k

It’s been months like this. You and him. Patrol partners. The steady kind of quiet that grows into comfort. Or something close to it.

“Gonna be a storm,” he mutters, more to the trees than to you.

You glance at the sky. “You always say that.”

“‘Cause I’m always right.”

You snort, but there’s warmth under it. The kind that only comes from repetition — same trail, same partner, same rhythm. You’ve come to rely on it more than you should.

And maybe he has too.

You catch him watching you sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking. His gaze lingers too long when you roll up your sleeves, stretch your neck, wipe sweat from your brow. He always looks away first — jaw tight, hands flexing like he’s holding something back.

You pretend not to notice. But it’s harder now, this time, like you’re both waiting for something to shift.

The wind picks up fast — sharp and biting — and the sky darkens in a way that does feel different.

Joel stops at the ridge, eyes scanning the trees. “Cabin’s not far. We’ll wait it out.”

You nod. You know the place. Been there before. It’s small and cold and drafty, but it’s better than being caught in whiteout hell.

The snow comes down harder as you walk, stinging your face, settling on your hair. Joel’s shoulder brushes yours as you move in step, and neither of you pulls away. The cabin is a beacon in the white, a promise of warmth and shelter.

Inside, it’s not much better. The fireplace is cold, the room stale with the scent of unused space. But there’s a pile of firewood in the corner, a relic from before the world went to hell. Joel’s eyes light up with something like hope, and he says, “Looks like we can keep warm tonight.”

You help him get a fire going, the sound of crackling wood and the smell of smoke bringing a semblance of life to the cabin. The warmth spreads out, chasing the cold from your fingertips and toes. You sit across from each other, the flickering light playing over your faces.

You peel off your gloves, rubbing your hands together, feeling the heat seep into your skin. His eyes follow the movement, and you realize you’re shaking. He notices. “You cold?”

“A little,” you admit, looking away, focusing on the fire.

“You should warm up,” Joel says gruffly, his eyes not leaving your shivering hands. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a flask, uncaps it, and takes a swig. “Here.” He holds it out to you.

You look at it, then at him. The whiskey glints in the firelight, and the warmth of his hand is almost as inviting as the liquid inside. You take it and let the amber fire slide down your throat. It burns, but in a good way. The kind that thaws the ice you didn’t realize was there.

“Thanks,” you murmur, handing it back.

He takes a swig, and for a moment, you let the quiet settle around you, the whiskey warming your chest. The storm outside seems to crescendo with every beat of your heart.

After a while, the silence grows thick, and your mind drifts to places you’ve been avoiding. You shift in your seat, restless, your fingers absently tracing the edge of your mug. There’s something about tonight, the storm, the fire, the way the cabin is small and intimate. You’ve never really allowed yourself to acknowledge it before, but the feeling — the need — is undeniable now.

You glance at Joel, watching the fire with that far-off look in his eyes, his body still and rigid in that way he always gets when he’s lost in thought. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too. About how things have been different lately. About the way the tension between you has been growing, thicker with every shared patrol, every passing glance.

Your breath hitches. You need to say it. You can’t keep pretending this silence is all there is.

“Joel,” you say softly. His head turns toward you almost immediately, his expression guarded, but his eyes are sharper than usual. “I’m tired of being… alone.”

He stays quiet, watching you as if waiting for you to explain.

“I’ve never…” You pause, words stuck in your throat, but the warmth from the whiskey helps to loosen you up, helps to give you the courage you need. “I’ve never been with anyone. And I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m okay with it anymore.”

There’s a long silence. You see his jaw tighten, his hands flex slightly as if he’s holding something back. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you, and you can’t read him, not completely. But the air between you is heavy, charged. You can feel it now, more than ever. The space between you feels too small, the flickering firelight casting shadows that make everything seem too close, too real.

“I mean...” you continue, your voice a little shakier now, “I just—I don’t want to be like this anymore. Alone. I’ve been holding onto this for so long, and maybe it’s just the storm or... or maybe it’s just me, but I can’t keep pretending like it’s not there.”

Joel’s eyes soften slightly, his posture stiffening, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks down at his hands, the flask still gripped between his fingers. His expression is conflicted, but you can see the desire there too, hidden behind that mask of control. And that’s what makes your heart race even harder — you can see it in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to decide if he can let go.

You can’t keep holding back. Not anymore.

“I’m not asking for anything to change,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m just... telling you how I feel. I want to be with someone. You.”

Joel’s gaze flickers with something you can’t quite name. The flicker of recognition, of longing, that matches what you’ve been feeling all this time.

His voice is low when he speaks, rougher than before, but there’s no denying the desire there. “Are you sure? 'Cause once we step over this line, there ain't no going back.”

You nod, feeling the heat rush through you. You’re sure. You’re tired of being cautious, of keeping the wall between you both. You want this — you want him.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, stepping closer to him. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but there’s a calmness that settles over you as you close the distance between you. “I’ve been sure for a long time.”

Joel watches you, his eyes dark and full of something raw, something real. Slowly, he reaches for you, his hand warm against your cheek as he pulls you in. You don’t fight it. You let him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that starts slow, hesitant, but quickly deepens. It’s the first kiss you’ve had in years, and it’s everything you never knew you needed. It’s gentle but firm, a promise of warmth in a cold world.

The whiskey has left a sweet, smoky taste on your tongue, and you can feel his breath, feel his need, his hesitation. You want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re ready, but the words are lost in the kiss. Instead, you let your hands find his shoulders, gripping tight, as if to say you’re not going anywhere.

The kiss deepens, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you closer. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, this desperation wrapped in tenderness, this fierce protection wrapped in desire. Joel’s other hand rests on your waist, his thumb tracing small circles that make you shiver. It’s not just the fire warming you now.

You pull away slightly, catching your breath. “I want this, Joel,” you murmur.

He searches your eyes, looking for the truth in your words, and when he finds it, his own eyes flicker with something that resembles relief. He leans in again, kissing you more urgently now, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer. The heat from his body is a stark contrast to the chill outside, and you find yourself craving more of it, more of him.

The fire crackles in the background, a gentle soundtrack to the storm outside. You let the warmth of his kiss spread through your body, let the whiskey warm your blood. His hands are steady, sure, as they explore you, as if he’s been waiting for this moment too. You realize you’re trembling, not just from the cold anymore, but from the anticipation, from the fear of what comes next.

Joel’s hands slide up your arms, leaving a trail of heat. His thumbs trace the line of your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes are a storm of their own, full of unspoken things, full of questions. You nod, the smallest movement, but enough to tell him yes. Yes, you want this. Yes, you’re ready.

He takes your hand, leading you to the only bed in the cabin. It’s small and looks like it'll fall apart any moment, but for now it’ll have to do. You sit down, your heart racing, your breath coming in quick pants. He takes off his coat, then yours, laying them out like a barrier against the cold floorboards. He’s trying to be gentle, but his eyes are hungry.

When you move to unbuckle his belt, his hand stops you, his grip firm but gentle. “We don’t have to rush,” he says, his voice gruff. “It’s your first time. We’ll take it slow, make it good for you.”

Surprise flits through your eyes, and he sighs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t know much, do you?” His voice is softer now, and it makes your heart ache.

“What do you mean?” you ask, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Let me show you,” Joel says, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room.

He sits beside you, his hands moving to your hips, his eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle nudge, he urges you to lay down, and you do, feeling the mattress dip under your weight. You watch as he unbuckles your boots setting them aside with care. Then, his calloused hands skate up your legs, unbuttoning your pants with a deliberate slowness that makes you squirm.

"Relax," Joel murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. He eases your pants off, leaving you in just your shirt, bra, and underwear. You're so cold you can feel your teeth chatter, but the heat from his body is a comfort. He leans over you, his hands framing your face, and kisses you again, deep and slow, until your tremors subside, and you melt into him.

His hands slide down your body, his eyes never leaving yours. You're hyperaware of every touch, every movement. His thumb traces the line of your panties, and with a gentle tug, Joel pulls your underwear down, exposing you to the warmth of the cabin. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, and for a moment, you feel self-conscious. But then his mouth is on yours again, reassuring, as his hand moves between your legs. He’s so gentle, his fingers exploring, pressing, until you’re gasping into his mouth.

You feel his breath on your skin as he kisses his way down, his eyes never leaving yours, like he’s asking for permission with every touch. And when his mouth finally meets your core, you realize what he meant. Your eyes roll back in your head as pleasure blooms through you, and you grip the blanket tightly.

The storm outside is a distant roar now, the only sounds in the cabin are the crackle of the fire and the soft noises you make as Joel’s mouth and hands work in harmony. You’ve never felt this before — the intensity, the connection, the feeling of being cherished in this way.

His tongue is warm, insistent, and you can’t help but arch into him. You’re not sure if it’s the whiskey or the warmth or the sheer need that’s building, but your body responds in a way that’s both new and exhilarating. His fingers slide in, filling you up, and your hips jerk in response.

He keeps going, his touch sure, his eyes on yours, and you find yourself letting go of all the fears and the worries. You trust him. You trust this moment. And when you finally do, when you finally let yourself feel, it’s like a dam breaking — a shock of pleasure that leaves you breathless and trembling.

Joel’s eyes are soft as he watches you come down from the high, his fingers still inside you, stroking gently. He kisses your thighs, his stubble a delicious abrasion on your sensitive skin. You feel boneless, like you could melt into the bed and never get back up again.

For a moment, he just holds you, giving you time to breathe, to process. The storm outside is a distant rumble, the only competition to the thunder of your racing heart. You're pulled out of your post orgasm bliss, when you feel Joel pulling away - You’re not ready for this to end. You want more of him — all of him.

You reach for him, your hand curling around the back of his neck, and you pull him up to kiss you. The kiss is hungry, demanding. It’s like you’re saying with your body what you can’t with words: you’re ready. You want him.

Joel seems to understand. He kisses you back, deep and slow, before he pulls away, his eyes searching yours. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it off. The chilly air kisses your bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in Joel’s gaze. He runs his hands over your torso, his thumbs circling your breasts before he leans in to kiss them.

You gasp at the sensation, your body responding to his touch like it’s been starved for it. His mouth is hot, his tongue teasing your nipples until they peak, and your back arches off the bed. His hands slide up your body, holding you in place as he worships you with his mouth, and you realize you’ve never felt so alive.

As he kisses his way up your torso, you can feel his arousal pressing against you, and the urgency in his touch is a mirror of what you’re feeling. You want to explore him, to feel the hard planes of his body against your softness. You want to know what it’s like to have him inside you, to feel the weight of him above you, the safety of his arms around you.

You reach for him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. Joel pauses, his eyes meeting yours, and there’s something in his gaze that makes you pause — a question, a silent request for consent. You nod, your cheeks flushing with a mix of nerves and desire. He helps you, his movements careful as he slides the shirt off his shoulders, revealing the muscular expanse of his chest. The sight of him like this, vulnerable and open, sends a jolt of excitement through you.

His hands are trembling as he undoes your bra, his eyes never leaving yours. The cold air of the cabin is a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as it meets his, and you can feel your heart pounding in your ears. He kisses you again, his tongue delving into your mouth with a new urgency that matches the storm outside. His hands explore your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, and you moan into his mouth.

You’re both shivering now, not from the cold but from the anticipation. Joel pulls back, his eyes searching yours, and you can see the war raging in them. He’s fighting himself, trying to be gentle, to be the kind of man you deserve. But the fire between you is too strong to be contained. You reach up, your hands fisting in his shirt, and you pull him back down, your mouth hungry for his.

You kiss him like you’re trying to devour him, and he responds in kind. His hands are everywhere, memorizing the curve of your hips, the softness of your skin, the dip of your waist. You’re a canvas of sensation, and he’s the artist, painting you with his touch. His mouth trails down your neck, leaving a wake of fire in its path. You feel him undo his belt, the sound of it hitting the floor like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Joel’s hand slides down your stomach, and you lift your hips, urging him closer. He pauses, his breath hot against your ear. “Are you sure about this?” His voice is a whispered thunder, full of his own need and hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word a desperate plea. You can feel your body begging for him, for this connection that you’ve been craving.

Joel’s eyes search yours for one last moment of certainty before his hand slides down, his fingertips brushing against the wetness that’s pooled between your legs.

He groans, low and needy, as he positions himself, his cock pressing against your entrance. You feel a mix of excitement and fear, the reality of what’s about to happen crashing over you like a wave. He’s so much larger than you expected, and you tense up, unsure if you can handle it. But he notices, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s slipped down your face.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, his voice a soothing rumble. “We’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

With a nod, you give him the okay, your eyes fluttering shut as you focus on the feeling of him against you. Joel’s hands are everywhere, holding you, soothing you, as he pushes in inch by agonizing inch. You feel stretched, filled, and the pain is sharp, but it’s not unwelcome.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a balm that eases the ache as he pushes further, his cock breaching your untouched depths. You grip the blankets, your body taut with tension, and when he’s buried to the hilt, he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to the feeling.

Then, he starts to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that you instinctively match. Your bodies find a harmony that’s been years in the making, a dance of trust and desire that unfolds in the flickering firelight. His eyes never leave yours, searching for any sign of pain, any reason to stop, but all he finds is an all-consuming need that mirrors his own.

You gasp as he fills you, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. Each thrust is a promise, each withdrawal a sweet agony that makes you ache for more. You feel him everywhere, his heat seeping into your bones, his strength a comfort against the harshness of the world outside. And with every movement, the pain fades, replaced by a blossoming pleasure that makes your toes curl and your back arch.

Joel’s eyes never leave yours, his expression a mix of concentration and wonder. His strokes are deep, but measured, each one pushing you closer to the edge of something you’ve never felt before. You can feel your walls tighten around him, your body learning the rhythm of this new dance, this claiming that feels both primal and sacred.

As he moves, his hand slowly making it's way down, his thumb finding your clit and starting to rub it in slow, deliberate circles. It’s a gentle pressure, a sweet torment that builds alongside the ache of his cock moving inside you. You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut, as the sensations coil in your belly.

The cabin walls seem to close in around you, the only world that exists is the warmth of the fire, the sound of the storm, and the feeling of Joel’s body against yours. His hand on your clit is a steady beat, a reminder of the pleasure that’s growing, swelling with every stroke. You start to move with him, your hips rising to meet his, your body finding a rhythm that feels as old as time itself.

Joel’s breathing changes, gets heavier, and you know he’s close. His eyes are dark with lust, his mouth open in a silent groan, his body taut with the effort to hold back. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s fighting to keep it slow, to make sure you’re okay.

And then he’s not holding back anymore. His movements become more urgent, his hips snapping into you with a force that steals your breath. His hand on your clit moves faster, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of something so big, so intense, it feels like it could swallow you whole.

Joel’s sounds are guttural, almost animalistic, a stark contrast to the tender whispers from before. His breathing is ragged, his face a mask of concentration and passion. His eyes are locked on yours, watching you, making sure you’re still with him, making sure you’re still okay.

You are more than okay. The sensations are overwhelming, but it’s a good kind of overwhelming, a kind that you never knew existed. Your body responds to his touch, his movements, like it’s been waiting for this all along. You feel yourself building up, climbing higher and higher, the pressure inside you growing, demanding release.

“Come for me, baby,” Joel murmurs, his voice thick with need. And it’s like the words are a key, unlocking something deep within you. Your body responds, your muscles tightening around him as pleasure crashes over you like a wave. Your back arching off the bed, your nails digging into his back. The world narrows to just the two of you, the storm outside a distant memory.

You come with a cry that’s muffled by his mouth, the taste of him on your tongue. He groans, his hips stuttering, and you feel his warmth fill you, his release a counterpoint to the cold outside. Your bodies are slick with sweat and passion, the fire casting flickering shadows across your skin.

Joel holds you tightly, his breath hot against your neck as he slows, his cock still buried deep inside you. His arms are like steel bands around your waist, his heart hammering against your chest. You can feel the tremors in his body, the aftershocks of his release.

For a moment, you both just lie there, breathing hard, the storm outside forgotten. Then, with a shiver, you realize how cold the room has become. Joel must sense it too, because he pulls back, his eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice rough with concern.

You nod, still feeling the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your veins. He reaches over, grabbing the discarded blanket and draping it over both of you, tucking you into his side. His arms come around you, holding you close, and you snuggle into him, feeling more alive than you have in years.

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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