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penvisions · 2 days ago

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holy bejeebus. i am so sat. my heart was beating as fast as joel's as he scurried back to his room, got damn this is amazing

Chapter 4: Listen

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Thunder clatters outside occasionally. He closes his eyes, but then, he hears it—a soft, barely audible sound from across the hall. A sigh, perhaps. Or a moan. Chapter Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR S2E2, FIX IT FIC, pov switching, joel survives abby's encounter, injuries, healing, domesticity in the apocalypse, pining and yearning, stairs, smut, male masturbation, female masturbation, voyeurism, fantasizing, joel miller with a towel wrapped around his waist alert. Words: 5,100

A/N: Imagine my joy when TLOU showed Joel hearing something in bed... as I've had this idea since I started outlining this whole story.

Healed Masterlist AO3 Link Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Joel stands at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching his cane. He looks up, toward the second floor he hasn't seen in months.

You stand beside him, waiting.

“Just two,” you remind him gently. “Up and down. That’s the goal for today.”

He nods, determinedly.

Just two.

The stairs are a challenge, the last obstacle that’s keeping him from getting back to his life after almost six months of recuperation.

They stretch longer than he remembers, longer than he thinks he can handle. But he knows he has to. He knows he can… with your help.

He takes a deep breath, trying to find his balance, trying to find the strength to make it. He thought he was done with this part of healing, feeling weak. But now that he’s facing the stairs, he knows it will be hard.

"One at a time," you instruct. "Good leg first, then bring the cane and your left leg up together. Ready?”

“Hm,” he grunts an affirmative.

His foot drags over the first step as he pushes his body up it. He tries to steady his legs, his muscles screaming and twitching as they move in a way they haven’t in months.

His cane shakes under the weight of him as he takes a breath before lifting his bad leg up behind him. A sound of pain that he tries to fight escapes his throat.

“Joel,” you say softly.

“I know,” he grits, looking over his shoulder at you. “Just give me a minute.”

He feels so fucking tired. So fucking weak.

He barely manages to master the second step before his body protests, before he can’t take it any longer.

Two fucking steps down, twelve more to go.

Shit.

He turns, awkwardly shifting his body around, and lowers himself to sit on the same step he couldn’t make it past.

His knee is killing him, but the short walk to the living room seems too daunting now.

You crouch in front of him, waiting for him to tell you what he needs. Your understanding eyes staring into his.

“Not today,” he finally says, feeling totally defeated.

“Tomorrow,” you say, your hand comes to rest on his knee.

He looks down at your hand on him, his heart begins to race even faster at the sight.

—-

You know it’s more than just a set of stairs.

Joel knows it, too.

The next day, he tries again. And the next. And the next.

Each time, he does a little more, a little better. He makes it further up the stairs, your hands steady on him, holding him, keeping him from falling, from doing it alone.

It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

And you’re always there with him.

By the fourth day, he can climb five steps.

His confidence grows—until a setback on the eighth day. He makes it to the landing, you’re standing in front of him, ready to help him catch his balance when he steps up. But when he steps on top of it, his left leg buckles and he falls forward. You react instantly, surging towards him, but it’s too much, Joel falls… and takes you with him.

You tumble backward, gasping loudly when you land against the hardwood. He falls forward, catching himself at the last second, and his hands slam down on both sides of your head. His arms tremble as he holds himself above you. You’re pinned beneath his warm, heavy body that now hovers mere inches from yours.

His face is so close. His dark eyes widen with concern as they search yours. You can feel his ragged breaths meeting with your own, the heat of his warming your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the rumble of his voice radiating through you.

You try to speak, but you can only nod as you still try to catch your breath.

His weight is solid and real, it reminds you of how far he’s come from the broken man you first treated. It’s then that you realize your hands have been grasping his biceps this whole time. You look down at the sight of your hands wrapped around his big arms, and try to hide the hitch in your breath.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to say, but neither of you move.

“Okay,” he whispers. His eyes move to your lips before he swallows hard, and pushes himself off of you, grunting as he rolls to the side.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up against the wall, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, trying to hide your grimace from the pain. “It’s fine. Nothing broken,” you assure. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is tight as he tilts his head back in frustration, his jaw working. "Just frustrated.”

“You’ll get there, one step at a time, Joel.”

“I know. It’s just… my bedroom’s up there, the rest of my life is up there.”

The vulnerability makes your heart ache. “You’re making incredible progress,” you tell him. “But your body needs time.”

He nods. His eyes staring into yours. Finally, he sighs, straightening himself and reaching for his cane. “Tomorrow.”

—-

His days used to be filled with rebuilding and fortifying Jackson. Now, his days are filled with rebuilding and fortifying himself; all that’s left is the stairs. The goddamn stairs.

Today, two weeks after he began this journey, his goal is to conquer all fourteen steps.

He stands at the bottom, determination fueling his ascent. He thinks of how happy he’ll make you. How proud you’ll be.

"I'll be right behind you," you reassure him, "but I don't think you'll need me."

He takes a deep breath. His knuckles now no longer choke the cane. He moves easier. He’s stronger.

His ascent begins methodically.

Right foot, then cane, and left foot together. Pause. Repeat.

You follow a few steps behind, close enough to help but giving him the space to succeed on his own.

Halfway up, he pauses on the landing to catch his breath.

You wait patiently, a slight smile on your face.

He begins again.

Right foot, then cane, and left foot together. Pause. Repeat.

And then he’s there, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down the hallway he hasn’t seen in months. His former life is now within reach again. He never thought he’d be so happy to see Ellie’s old, scratched-up door.

You step up, joining him at the top.

“So, how’s it feel?”

“Good,” he simply states.

"You did so well, Joel,” you say. “And… you didn't need me at all that time.”

He wishes he could utter the words that travel from his heart to his mouth, that he swallows down. "I still like to have you there.”

—-

Two hundred rows of crocheted yarn lay in front of you. Mainly blue, with a couple of rows of grey and dark green… a small chain of black in the middle from when you had to wait for more yarn. You’ve been working on it for months now, a warm, comforting blanket for Joel.

It started as a project to keep you busy, but soon turned into a gift to give to the man you’ve slowly been falling for. With each stitch looped and each row created of the blanket, your feelings for him have been knitted into every fiber.

Something to protect him from the cold.

Something to comfort him.

You fold it neatly, running your hand along the section you worked on during the first terrifying days when you weren’t sure he’d even survive. Loose stitches from sleepless nights, tight ones from anxious times, soon turning smooth as his health improved.

You pick it up, holding it close to your chest as you take it to the front porch, where Joel has been spending his nights.

He looks so peaceful, his guitar in his hands, his fingers gently plucking a melody. You pause in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the moment. It’s the first time you’ve seen him play.

He senses you, his fingers pausing on the strings when he looks over at you.

You give him a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just messin’ around,” he says, setting the guitar down. His eyes drift down to the bundle in your arms. “What’s that?”

You step closer to him, suddenly feeling shy about giving him something so personal. “I-uh, made you this.” You unfold the blanket. “I started it when you were… when things were bad.”

His eyes widen as he takes the blanket in. His fingers reach out, brushing against the soft yarn. “You made this whole thing… for me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, watching him trace the pattern. “It’s yours. “

He swallows, his eyes traveling across every stitch.

“It’s not perfect,” you add, suddenly self-conscious. “There are some uneven rows, and I ran out of yarn a couple—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, as he looks up into your eyes. “Really. Perfect.”

—-

For five months, he was cooped up in his home, too prideful to let his fellow residents see him so bruised and beaten, relying on a wheelchair and others to get around. Now, his cane rests against the railing, and he looks more like himself.

The sun’s just setting, long, tired rays of orange and pink stretch across his yard. The leaves of the trees sway in the breeze rolling off the mountains. He missed this so much. The solitude of his porch, the peaceful sound of nature returning to itself at the end of the day. The quiet sounds of Jackson settling into the evening.

It still gets cold here when the sun goes down, but now he’s warm. He’s not sure if it’s from the beautiful blanket you knitted or the fact that you created it solely for him.

The door clicks shut behind you as you step outside with a mug in each hand. His eyes drift from the horizon to you.

“Coffee?” you ask, offering him one of the mugs.

He accepts it, his hand brushing your hand, his touch lingering against yours.

You’ve brought out a kitchen chair to sit next to him. Your chair doesn’t rock, but he notices how you sway slightly, holding your mug with two hands and sipping.

He takes a drink, savoring the coffee. “How much do we have left?” he asks. He pauses at we, as if this home, and everything in it, is also yours.

“Quite a bit,” you say, taking a drink from your mug. "I have tea. I’m saving the rest of the coffee for you.”

He swallows hard, looking down at his mug. You’re saving the coffee for him. Sacrificing again. It’s been this way for so long now.

As the stars begin to prick through the sky, the air begins to chill.

He takes the blanket on his lap, unfolding it, and offering the excess to you.

You scoot your chair closer, making the distance between the two of you disappear until you’re so close, he can feel your arm against his.

“Thanks,” you say, settling back in your chair with a contented smile.

He takes another sip of his coffee, relishing in the warmth of it, of his new blanket, and of you.

—-

Joel manages the stairs easier and easier with each passing day. Soon, he’s climbing them multiple times a day. Slow, but strong. You’re proud of him, but you can’t help but feel a bit melancholy as you watch him regain his independence. With each step he takes, it feels like a step away from needing you.

Lonesome Dove is still downstairs, unfinished with just a hundred pages left, resting near where Joel’s hospital bed used to sit in the living room, next to the recliner you used to sleep in every night. The furniture has all been moved back; no need to make space for Joel’s healing.

You’ve been thinking about it more. Joel doesn’t need around-the-clock care. He can walk, have a daily routine, and heal without your help. Soon, he’ll be able to go back to work, back to his normal life.

Back to being alone.

You should be happy. This is what you wanted—to see him recover, to watch him reclaim his life. But instead, you feel a hollow ache spreading through you.

You should be finding your own home to stay, should be forging your own path in Jackson, but you don’t want to leave the comfort of Joel’s home.

You’ve grown too attached to it… and him.

—-

After enduring countless years of tepid water and weak faucets, he can no longer resist the allure of a good shower. He’s been looking forward to it since he gained the strength to walk again.

Now, he’s alone. Under the hot water, steam billowing around him. It feels good, almost heavenly if it weren’t for the lingering aches and pains. He wants to wash it all away—the pain, the weakness, the need—but as the water hits him and soothes his muscles, he realizes he doesn’t want to wash away the memories of your care or the feelings he now harbors for you. Of how everything in his house now smells like you—sage and vanilla. Of how gentle your hands are when you touch him.

Of the glimpse of your bra, light purple, all lacy and pretty, hanging up to dry in your bedroom.

The water cascades down him, over the scars and marks that cover his body. The tap is hotter than it should be, almost scalding, but he likes the burn… it reminds him he’s still alive. That his body is healing, all because of you.

He can’t stop himself. He can’t stop his thoughts from drifting to you and staying there.

You’re everywhere, everything, and he can’t escape you. He doesn’t want to.

The water and the solitude should make it easier.

It doesn’t.

He knows he can’t hold back any longer. He knows he can’t fight it. He knows he can’t stop himself from wanting this, from wanting you.

He knows he can’t be strong enough.

He gives in.

His hand drifts down, over his chest, his stomach, and lower. God, it feels good. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way, since he’s wanted to feel this way.

His breath hitches and then he holds it when his hand moves over his cock. He gasps at how sensitive it is, how much it wants this, how much it also needs you.

He strokes himself slowly, letting the heat and pressure build inside him.

He thinks about you, the way you looked when you shaved him, the way your breath caught, the way your eyes went wide when you saw him.

To the way you touch him, working his muscles, washing his body, getting so close he could feel your heat, feel your breath, feel you.

He pulls and squeezes, trying hard not to make a noise as his knees feel shaky. It’s not going to take him long, especially as he thinks about how your skin would look against the white tile of his bath, as he fucked into you.

He strokes himself harder and faster, imagining the silk of your pussy wrapped around his cock, his breaths racing faster, his body trembling with the effort, with the need, with everything he’s been holding back. He squeezes his eyes shut as he pictures you underneath him, writhing and moaning for him.

It feels good. Better than he remembers, better than he thought it would, better than anything he’s had in a long, long time.

He braces a hand against the slippery tile. His legs are shaky and still weak, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The tension tightens his body, his stomach clenching, his balls drawing up. He tries to fight the low groan that escapes his throat, but he loses. The sound radiating off the smooth tile.

He wants so badly to moan your name, to hear how sweet your voice is when you whisper his name in his ear.

He’s so close. He strokes his cock faster, more desperate to reach the first climax he’s had in months. “Fuck,” he whispers, remembering the peek of your tongue when you lick your lips. He imagines your lips wrapped around his cock, how warm your mouth would feel as he fucked it. His hips thrust forward, chasing the pleasure.

His back slams against the tile wall, the impact of his broad body hitting the hard ceramic makes the bottle of soap teeter before crashing to the shower floor.

Then, a knock. His vision blurs, the pressure crawls up his spine, the grip on his cock tightens.

“Joel? Everything okay in there?”

His heart stops. You’re right outside the door. How long? Did you hear him?

Oh god. The thought of you listening, of hearing his desperate grunts, of the wet sound of his strokes, maybe picturing what he’s doing, maybe even wanting it too—

“I’m—” His answer gets stuck in his throat as his orgasm shatters through him without warning. His mouth opens in a silent cry as he spills over his fist, pulsing hot ropes of his cum all over himself before it’s washed away with the spray of the shower. “Fine,” he finally manages.

He watches as his seed disappears down the drain, his legs trembling so badly he has to hold himself against the wall to stay standing. His chest rises and lowers rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

“Just… dropped something,” he adds, instantly wincing at how wrecked he sounds.

"Alright,” you say. “Don't push yourself too hard."

He slumps against the tile, spent and suddenly exhausted. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He hasn't felt this way in... hell, he can't even remember how long. Not just the physical release, but the wanting. The needing. The way his thoughts constantly circle back to you.

He reaches for the soap. He needs to finish what he came in here to do. His movements are more clumsy than he wants them to be. Exhaustion weighs on him. He knows he shouldn’t have done what he just did, but he’s a selfish man, even when he’s the victim of his own circumstances.

He turns the tap off… and tries to lift his leg.

It hurts too much.

Fuck, he knew he overdid it. Getting in was a hell of a lot easier thanks to his cane and the towel rack, but now, the exhaustion weighs heavily on his already sore muscles.

He tries to move it again, and the pain shoots through his whole body. He can’t stifle the deep sound of pain that bellows from his mouth.

—-

Joel’s loud growl jolts you from your thoughts as you wait outside the bathroom. You heard the sounds earlier, your ear pressed against the door, trying to get closer to the muffled grunts. But this sound—it’s different.

"Joel?" you say, your hand on the doorknob. Your voice comes out higher than you wanted it to. “Are you okay?"

"Yeah,” he sighs.”I… hate to ask you this, but I need some help in here.”

“Now?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Are you… decent?”

“Yeah.”

You push the door open slowly, your heart hammering against your chest. The bathroom air is humid and thick, smelling of Joel’s soap. It’s already heady enough, and then, you look over at him.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than Joel’s golden skin against the white tile of the shower. One of his large hands is braced against the wall, while the other clutches the gray towel that’s haphazardly wrapped around his waist. Water drips from his slicked-back hair, trails of it run down his broad shoulders and chest before disappearing beneath the towel. You wonder what one of those drops would taste like against your tongue. Your eyes stay focused on the hint of his thigh for a moment too long before you force your eyes to stay on his face.

You can feel your breathing quicken, your heart feels like it’s going to clatter out of your chest as you take each step closer to him.

"What do you need?" you ask, your voice husking at the end.

He shifts in the shower and winces slightly. "I can't lift my leg," he explains, gesturing awkwardly toward the tub edge.

"Okay," you say, handing him his cane. “Use this first, and we’ll get your good leg out.”

Clinical. You try to keep it clinical… but again, it feels different.

You stand outside the tub and wrap your hand around his waist. He’s so warm, so soft, so comfortable.

"On three," you instruct. "One, two..."

He leans his weight against you, heavier and more overwhelming. You brace yourself, supporting him as he lifts his good leg, grunting and groaning with each movement.

“I’ve got you, Joel, you’re doing good.”

Your shirt becomes wet where it presses against his damp skin. Water drips from his hair onto your shoulder, running down your neck.

You get him half out before you quickly drop down onto the floor, reaching for his leg still in the tub.

“I’ve got you,” you reassure. “Now, lift.”

You carefully guide his leg over the edge of the tub as he breathes through the pain. He settles, both hands bracing on the cane.

His towel has slipped low from his movements, you can just see the delicate trail of dark hair leading below his navel.

You’re still on your knees before him, you look up, your eyes meeting his, dark and intense as they look down at you.

“Thank you,” he says lowly.

“Of course, Joel,” you respond, standing up, his eyes watching your every move.

Your shirt clings to your skin, wet and transparent in patches. You catch Joel’s eyes sweeping down to your chest before he turns away.

Clinical. Keep it clinical.

"I'll let you get dressed," you say, attempting to cut through the tension.

He nods, still not looking at you. "Thanks," he says roughly.

The door closes behind you, you feel slightly dizzy at what just happened. Your skin feels too hot and sensitive where it touched his.

It's just the steam, just the exertion of helping him.

Lying to yourself is becoming harder by the day.

—-

Joel stares at the ceiling, listening as the rain clatters against the roof. He should be comfortable; he’s slept easily in his bed for the past couple of weeks since he made it up the stairs, and yet, tonight, he can’t find comfort. His mind won’t stop racing to allow him to sleep.

The more he tries to push away the thought of you, the more vivid it becomes. The way your hands felt against his bare skin. The subtle scent of vanilla that always surrounds you. How your shirt had gone nearly transparent when soaked, revealing the outline of your bra beneath.

"Christ," he mutters to himself, throwing an arm over his eyes.

It's been so long since he's wanted anyone this way. So long since he's allowed himself to feel this way. The years of survival had dulled those needs, buried them beneath more pressing concerns—staying alive, keeping Ellie safe, building something resembling security in Jackson.

But now, in the quiet of his healing, his needs have awakened again.

It’s all because of you.

You.

With your sweet smile, your understanding ways, your beautiful body, your gentle hands that know exactly how to heal him, inside and out.

He knows he shouldn't think of you this way, but he’s already too far gone. You're his doctor, his caretaker. You saved his life, you watch over him daily. This crosses a line he's not sure he has the right to cross, even in the privacy of his own mind.

And yet, the thoughts persist. He’s far beyond the line.

His cock begins to twitch beneath the sheets as he thinks about what you’d look like in the shower with him, how good you looked on your knees, how you stared into his eyes as he hovered above you when he fell on top of you.

He reaches down, brushing his hand against his cock that’s slowly growing hard.

And then, he hears the steps creak as you make your way up the stairs.

He hears you approach his door—the nightly check you always make before going to bed. He no longer needs your help to get ready for bed, but you still always make sure he’s comfortable and situated. Quickly, he adjusts the sheets, closes his eyes, and regulates his breathing to pretend he’s sleeping.

The door opens slightly. He can feel your eyes on him.

You softly pad over and stand near him, he hears you place a glass of water on his bedside table.

He keeps his breathing steady, fighting the urge to open his eyes, to see your face in the dim light from the hallway.

"Good night, Joel," you whisper finally before retreating.

He listens as your footsteps cross the hall to your room.

He exhales slowly, turning and opening his eyes to stare out the window, watching the raindrops fall as the moonlight shines in. He wonders what your bare skin would look like in the low light.

He stays there for a while, staring out the window as he tries to let sleep take him, but it eludes him, his mind too full of you, his body aching for more than just sleep and rest.

Thunder clatters outside occasionally. He closes his eyes, but then, he hears it—a soft, barely audible sound from across the hall. A sigh, perhaps. Or a moan

He goes completely still, his eyes widening, turning to lift his good ear as he strains to hear. There it is again, slightly louder this time. Definitely a moan.

The thought of what you could be doing in the private of your bedroom sends a flame up his spine, his cock throbs painfully, straining against his navy pajama pants. Before he can think better of it, he sits up and gets out of bed. Pain shoots through his injured leg as he stands, but he barely registers it.

He needs to be closer to the sound.

He opens his door slightly, and he can just make out the sound of your bed creaking and more muffled moans.

He grips the wall for support, limping silently across the hallway, still listening. He moves with the rumbling thunder outside.

Your door isn't completely closed. He stands outside, heart hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears.

He can see you in your bed, illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the window. He was right, you look gorgeous under the light of the moon.

You’re sprawled on your stomach, face buried in your pillow, your hips raised. Your sleep shirt has ridden up your back, revealing the swell of your ass. God, you’re beautiful.

It’s so forbidden, but he can’t look away; your body is moving rhythmically against your hand, hidden beneath you.

He reminds himself to breathe quietly as he grips the doorframe. He knows he should turn away, he should give you privacy. But he can’t move.

Your back arches, and his hand drops to his crotch, palming himself through his pajama pants as he listens and watches.

He hasn’t seen anything like this in so long, his whole body thrums, he’s never felt more alive than now, he slips his hand underneath the waistband of his pants, and begins gently stroking himself.

He watches you like a goddamn voyeur.

He wonders if you can sense it.

—-

You’ve needed to do this for so long. Your body has been aching with this need for months. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word of gratitude from Joel has kindled the fire within you.

Your fingers easily glide through your slick, your thumb circling your clit as you bite into your pillow trying to muffle your moans. You can imagine his thick fingers as yours, his heavy body against your body, his low voice whispering in your ear. You’ve never wanted somebody so bad before.

You flip over, your eyes shut tight, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you spread your legs wide and fuck yourself with two of your fingers as your other hand pets against your clit.

You’ve been denying your attraction to Joel for so long. Too long.

You remember how it felt to have his weight pressed against you on the landing, the way his arms caged you in, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, intense and searing. You think of how those same eyes would look now, hovering above you, his broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight shining in through your window. The way his jaw would clench, the sounds he’d make as he fucked you.

You begin circling your clit tighter, your fingers pumping in and out of you faster. You’re so close.

You’re so lost in your fantasy that you don’t notice the shadow at your door as you fantasize about his weight, his scent, the scratch of his beard against your thighs, the heat of his skin against yours.

“Joel,” you whisper into the darkness as you orgasm.

��-

He heard it.

His name was just on your lips. He almost falls at the realization.

He strokes his cock quicker and harder. The floorboard beneath him creaks loudly in the quiet house, and he freezes.

Joel doesn't wait to see if you've heard him. He quickly moves back to his room as silently as he can.

Back in bed, his heart is pounding against his chest. He pushes his pajama pants down his hips, taking himself in hand, he knows he’s not going to last long. The image of you touching yourself, the sound of his name on your lips, has already made precum pour out of him.

He spits in his hand and fucks himself urgently, almost desperately, his breath coming in harsh pants as he tries to stay quiet.

It doesn't take long. He cums all over himself with a low groan he loses the fight to stifle, spilling over his hand and stomach.

In the aftermath, a different kind of tension settles over him. What has he done? What line has he crossed? Is he really going to get off to the thought of you twice in a day?

And yet, he can't bring himself to regret it. Not when he heard you moan his name, not when he knows that whatever this is between you, isn't one-sided.

His leg throbs with dull pain, reminding him of his limitations, of the reason you're here in the first place.

He is still your patient.

You are still his doctor.

—-

A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!

My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

#dev reads #dev recs #fic rec #joel miller fanfiction

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penvisions · 2 days ago

Text

@kirsteng42 oh my gosh, bb, i hope you're doing okay! falls are so much stress on the body, i hope everything is healing okay and you aren't going too stir crazy being limited. thank you so much for reading and saying you love olive, she's a good one and hope you like the solid chapters of the series proper!

@sawymredfox she certainly caught his attention! we'll see this little bit from his pov if i can ever work out the kinks of what's jotted down hehe thank you, wym!

by the grit of sandpaper {first impressions}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: The town is in a tizzy as Joel Miller returns and you finally meet the man everyone is gossiping about.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, joel a little mean in this, patrol partnership, use of guns, one infected encounter, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, mentions of blood (brief), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, reader has anxiety, reader has a stutter, reader gets overwhelmed, lemme know if i missed anything! SET BRIEFLY BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: jackson joel holds my entire heart. so here's this little thing that's been in my drafts for some time now. it was nice to write for these two again ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

It was silent, the only hint of your whereabouts was the clop clop clop of hooves on the hard ground outside the settlement walls. It was the perimeter patrol, your normal route. But what wasn’t normal was the broad man sitting astride a horse beside you. The first time you and him are beyond the walls together and you’d be the first to say it’s completely out of your comfort zone.

He was intimidating, to say the least. He had rolled into town one day last year, in the middle of winter with a snarky, lively teenage girl in tow. Tommy had come to you that evening, confiding in you that it was his brother, the one Maria had been worried about keeping in contact with. Having known Maria longer than him, you trusted her judgement at the time. Even if you and Tommy were friendly enough on your own, the rapport built over time. But the confliction of Tommy saying to you that his silence worried his brother to the point of trekking across the country for a glimpse of him admittedly softened your heart for both men.

Your heart had stuttered through the entire first exchange you had with the man. He had been short, like he wasn’t sure how to interact with people anymore. The rumors flying about him returning with a more subdued Ellie half shielded behind him. Whispered words of the things he had done before his time here and how it had been a long debate on what his contributions would be from the council.

It was a quiet morning, you were sitting in the mess hall after a particularly hectic shift. Something had gotten into the supplies the night before, dwindling down the stock enough to affect the meal plan you had drawn up for this week’s menu. But you had managed to get enough breakfast stuff made for those who relied on the mess hall for their meals. Sighing, you settled at a small table underneath a window in the kitchen, coffee steaming from a mug in front of you as you looked over the list of remaining supplies and tried to adjust your plan until the next batch.

“Joel, I wanted to formally introduce you to someone.” Tommy’s voice was…different as it flowed through the open space. Was he…nervous? His normally calm voice edged with a twang was a little higher pitched than normal. “Now, I want you to just keep an open mind, yeah?”

“Mind’s open.” A gruff voice that was similar in accent, but it was one you’ve never heard this close before.

“Honey?” Tommy’s voice projected as his eyes roved over the empty mess hall, over the chairs and cleaned tables until they landed on you bent over your notebook and an outline of the community garden. There was also a map of the town taking up the rest of the table, the walls outlined in a thick red marker and you were outlining sections in green and yellow. Tommy’s furrowed brow relaxing when he came up to the empty side and faced you head on, but not by much. “I wanted you to meet my brother. Would you prefer-“

“Oh! Olive is okay, you know that Tommy.” You don’t look up from the line you’re making on the larger map, but once you cap the marker and look up, your eyes widen just a bit at the image of the two brothers standing beside each other.

“Just wanted to make sure, the nickname is kinda my thing. Not that your actual name isn’t just as pretty as you are.” Lips quirked, he winked at you. His light-hearted teasing and harmless flirting nothing new for you, but Joel didn’t seem amused with the casual air between you both. His mouth was a firm line and the tension in his shoulders put you on edge- he looked ready to storm off.

“You’re married, aren’t you?” Before Tommy could turn around to motion to him, the man doubled down, letting you both know where his thoughts were. “With a baby on the way.”

“It’s har-harmmless, I swear. I wouldn’t even think of doing an-anything to interfere with him and Maria, they make the most darling couple!” You defended, feeling heat bloom in your chest at the insinuation there was anything more than friendship between you and Tommy. Maria was your friend and you wouldn’t dare betray her or anyone like that.

“Joel, this is Olive. My friend.” Tommy emphasized, your heart fluttering at the label. You knew you were friendly with both him and Maria, but to hear it said so plainly made you happy in a way that was bittersweet. Like a stone in your middle, both filling and overwhelming.

“You do this everyday?” Joel’s hand waved over the maps. “What exactly is this?”

“O-oh, I’m outlining possible crop locations. I help out here in the kitchen and garden, b-but I al-also-“

“You patrol?” His words stung, like he didn’t believe for a second that you were capable, that you had the know how to properly pull your weight for the town. And he just got here. Shame and guilt flare, making you duck your head and begin to gather up everything sprawled over the table top.

“Menial work.” He states clearly, eyes clocking the book on plants you have stacked beside your notebook. It sounds like a judgement, like he’s reminding you that it’s all you’re worthy of doing, even if you’re just meeting him for the first time. His thoughts are already so aligned with the rest of the town, it’s obvious how useless you are- even to a complete stranger. “Seems more your speed.”

“E-everyday I’m not on patrol, yes.”

“’s a lotta work.”

“It is, but it’s where I’m needed so-so, um, I don’t mind.”

“Hmm.” It doesn’t sound like he likes the thought of you out beyond the gate, like he can’t see the reason for it if you’ve got the knowledge for the crops. As you get everything shoved into your bag, you hear Tommy say Joel’s name like a warning. But you walk away from them both while they seem to silently communicate with a shared hard look.

The memory hurts, no more words spoken between you two. His eyes moved down the paper you handed him with the information he needed- the patrol rotation, the walkie system that was still being worked out and not completely reliable yet as there weren’t enough for everyone, the check points, the horses that were available and the ones that weren’t. It was better than stumbling through explaining it to him out loud, even if he might already know the general ropes of the task at hand.

You were cautious, slightly paranoid, but definitely just wanted to help. Written words were better, despite the risk of someone getting their hands on it. Your stutter getting worse the more you shut yourself into your home and the kitchen, the gardens, kept to yourself. And he made you nervous, to be honest- it felt like he didn’t like you but you knew realistically that you probably weren’t even on his radar and in his thoughts.

They had settled on patrol and aiding Tommy and the handful of people with construction knowledge to help repair and build the town. Something the man had leaned into, taking on any projects he could to earn his keep. It was admirable, the way he devoted himself to the preservation and expansion of the settlement. His skills seemingly endless as he outlined new buildings, repaired damaged ones, mended leaking or broken pipelines and so much more while acclimating not only himself but Ellie to the new environment.

“You can relax a little, Mr. Miller, I’m not going to ask you any questions.” You internally commended yourself for not stuttering as you tried to console the brooding man just behind you. The horses were quiet, their heavy breathing and the hush of the leaves against their legs the only sounds between you since the gates closed behind you both.

“Ain’t no mister.”

“Okay…well rest assured I’m not going to force small talk if you don’t want it.” You aimed a small smile at him from your own horse, a beautiful appaloosa named Lowry, not wanting him to wait with bated breath for the questions you wouldn’t be bothering him with. He dealt with that from the rest of the town as he settled in and found his place among them. He had done his patrols with Tommy until this point. A handful of them, but Maria was nearing the end of her pregnancy and Tommy had approached you about becoming his partner until things calmed down.

“Jus’ want to focus on the task at hand, no need for talk when we should be surveying the land.”

“O-okay.”

You feel his eyes on you, heavy and hard. But you do your best to ignore it as you take point and gently lead your horse through the trail hidden in the trees. You reach to tug your wide brimmed hat lower, over the back of your head, tilting it to keep your eyesight clear. That’s when you hear it, a faint sound that had nothing to do with the nature surrounding you. A strangled voice.

He doesn’t seem to catch the echo of the sound off to your right. You hold up a hand, palm closed signaling him to stop just as you pull on the reigns in your hand to do the same. A flash of faint orange between the green foliage has you quietly slinging your shotgun around to your front.

Before either of you could take a full breath, you’re lining up your shot gun and firing it. The screech of an Infected echoes all around, the horrifying sound bouncing off of the thick bark of every tree. The horses stop their hooves, and you pat a comforting hand over Lowry’s neck as you strain your ears for any other signs of life.

When there’s no more movement, you reset your gun and sling it back over your shoulder. His eyes are heavy on you and you swear you can sense his distaste for your actions. The lack of communication you exhibited. You dare a glance back at him and he’s frowning, his brow furrowed. The twitch of his jaw is enough to have you turn forward again, clicking your tongue to get Lowry to continue on the path.

He doesn’t say anything, either positive or negative. As if he’s stewing in his thoughts. You’re on high alert, focused as you both guide your horses through the rest of the trail. The sun beats down on you both, oppressive in the way it’s starting to become hot as the day progresses, taking you closer to the summer season with each hour.

“I can tell Tommy to put you with someone else.” The words are flat, polite despite the way your chest aches and your jaw aches from clenching the entire ride back. The horses are back in their stables and you both step back out into the sunshine. His boots plant firmly, and he turns to you with a frown.

“Why would you do that?” He seems…taken aback by your words. Well, what little his brows raise makes it seem so.

“Because you don’t trust me, a-and, and that’s okay.” You don’t look at him, you can’t. You don’t want to see the distrust that is surely there. For acting without proper communication, for giving him the paper rather than talking over the protocols, for…being the one he was stuck with when he obviously doesn’t think you’re suitable for the task.

“Don’t wanna patrol with someone else.” Your head flies up and his eyes connect with yours. He’s standing in front of you now, directly but not blocking. Your breath catches in your throat as your own flicker between both of his, searching. They haven’t softened, there’s something behind them, but it strikes you still all the same. Because you don’t know him.

“Mr. Miller, you obviously have a problem with…me. With my skills. So it’s okay, no hard feelings.” You dip your gaze as you feel heat build up behind your cheeks, at the back of your neck. Nerves lighting up and making your fingers tingle as you feel exposed.

“Hey,” His hand reaches for you and you step back quickly, heart racing. He raises them both in front of him, palms open in a signal that he realizes the mistake of going to touch you. “Okay, okay. Not gonna- not gonna hurt you, I swear.”

“Tommy can find someone better suited for you.” Vision tunneling, you know you’re overwhelmed. A flash of memories swarm you- blood splatter, a deafening gunshot, the weight of a body going slack in your arms. The loss hits you all over again, like slamming into a wall and you swear your lungs aren’t capable of working anymore.

“You suit me just fine.” And oh, his voice is so soft. It’s like a flip is switched when his face focuses through the haze of emotions and suddenly you can breathe again. He’s crouched down a little, his palms over your shoulders and he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what just happened. He urges you to breathe along with him as he inhales deeply, holds it, and then slowly lets it out. You match him a few times before your body feels like your own again. “I trust you, you heard that stalker before I even knew it was on our tail.”

The smile he offers you is a little firm, but it means so much more than he can ever know.

“Now let’s go sign out of patrol, put down the trail was cleared. That’s the final step on your list, right?”

chapter one

taglist: @mari-positas @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk

@littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

@joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar

@honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh

@persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

@part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel

@blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @amyispxnk @wand-erer5 @jessthebaker

#dev responds #comment reblog #fic: by the grit of sandpaper #joel miller fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction

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penvisions · 3 days ago

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PARAMORE Austin City Limits, 2022

#she’s gorgeous #a true icon #hayley williams #paramore

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penvisions · 4 days ago

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The universal girl dad pose

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penvisions · 4 days ago

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cannot believe i missed the anniversary of this fic ending a year ago by four days!! but i'm here, i'm here and finally got around to editing the one shot that shows olive and joel meeting for the first time. it was so nice dipping back into this little world, i missed them. i put so much into this fic and it's one of the things i'm most proud of creating

by the grit of sandpaper {masterlist}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.

Word Count: 57.8k - finished

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, pining, unrequited feelings, joel a little mean in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, arguing, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), jealousy, more to be added as the story develops!

A/N: now finished! this fic means so much to me, it's allowed to bare a bit of my soul with y'all and it's been received so well. thank you, from the bottom of my heart for the continued interaction with this, i love y'all

ao3 link || main masterlist || ko-fi

fic teaser || fic teaser no.2 || olive's song || artwork of olive and joel

-> the conversations we have -pre-series one shots:

first impressions || sweetening the deal || how we pass the time || weather permitting

-> main series:

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4 || chapter 5 || chapter 6 || chapter 7

epilogue || honor me - a post series timestamp

#dev talks #fic: by the grit of sandpaper #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller series #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #ppcu #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction

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penvisions · 5 days ago

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#he’s beautiful #pedrito #pedro pascal

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