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allfoolsinluv · 2 years

Text

Closer

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: You and Joel grow closer after you arrive in Boston.

Word Count: 5.4k

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Minors DNI.

Warnings: canon-typical violence/death, assault, lil bit of angst, lowkey pining, getting together, fwb-to-lovers, soft!Joel Miller, alcohol consumption and drug use, explicit sex (fingering, unprotected p-in-v, f receiving oral, lil bit of consenual somno, dom/sub vibes, dom!Joel, sub!reader, teasing, rough sex, spit play, come play, dirty talk like WHOA, soft aftercare, i thiiiiiiink that's it idk i might have missed something bc there is A LOT here ok)

A/N: ok so i saw this gifset and the last gif took me OUT then I heard Closer by Nine Inch Nails on tik tok and my inner whore took over and she wrote this. The chokehold this man has on me is REAL and MIGHTY. anywho my first pedro boy fic! huge huge HUGE shoutout & thank u to @pedrito-friskito for looking this over for me 🥺💗 luv u bby

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Things between you and Joel had started out simple enough.

You’d met him not long after you’d arrived in Boston, during your first shift disposing of infected bodies. He kept to himself, not interacting with you beyond a curt nod of acknowledgment when you introduced yourself at the beginning of the day. But you hadn’t missed the way his eyes stayed on you throughout your shared shift. His gaze was curious, almost, like he was studying you. You hadn’t blamed him for it, even though he did kind of make you feel like a bug under a microscope; you were a newcomer, and newcomers often meant trouble. He hadn’t seemed like the type of guy that took too kindly to trouble.

The next few shifts you’d spent beside him went much like the first. He’d barely speak to you—if he even spoke at all—and kept an eye on you as you worked. As your time in Boston went on and as you continued to work more shifts with him, the intensity he watched you with seemed to lessen. For whatever reason, Joel Miller decided you weren’t a threat.

He’d warmed up to you after that, as much as it was possible for him to warm up to anybody. He would no longer ignore your greetings, offering you gruff heys and hellos. He’d sit with you in silence whenever you were allowed to take a break from working. He'd even started to walk you home after your shifts. When you'd asked him why the first time it happened, he'd told you that your apartment was on his way home. You wouldn’t have called yourselves friends, per se, but you both were definitely more agreeable with each other than you were with anybody else in Boston.

He was with you the first time you saw a public execution take place in the city center. One of your neighbors had been caught outside past curfew one too many times, an offense she would pay for with her life. You hadn’t known her very well, but hearing her name be called out and watching her life end before your very eyes was enough to break something in you. You’d been delusional to think that things on the inside were going to be any better than they were on the outside.

Joel watched you watching your neighbor hang, taking note of the way your eyes widened and your breath drew short at the sight. When her body stopped flailing and the life had finally been drained from her, he placed a rough hand on your shoulder. When you startled at the contact and turned to look at him, he nodded his head in the direction of your apartments.

“Come on,” he’d said. You’d simply nodded in response, following him out of the crowd and away from your dead neighbor.

The two of you walked side-by-side in silence, not much different than when he’d walk you home any other day. When you got to your apartment building, though, he didn’t stop like he normally did. He kept walking until he realized you were no longer next to him.

“You coming or what?” he asked, head cocked and a hand on his hip. You’d looked between him and your building in confusion.

“This is my apartment.”

“Yeah,” he said as he approached you once again. “But we’re making a stop at mine first. Got something for you.”

The thought of Joel Miller having something for you sent a flurry of nerves and butterflies swirling in your stomach. It’d been so long since you had any kind of companionship, it was nice to be thought of by someone else. You tried not to let your emotions show as you nodded your head.

“Okay, then. Lead the way.”

You weren’t sure what to expect when Joel had told you he had something for you, but whiskey and some pills weren’t it. Not that you were going to complain about them, though—it’d been too long since you’d had or done anything to turn your brain off. He didn’t say anything as he poured each of you a glass and put a pill in your hand. You’d swallowed the pill and the whiskey in one go. Joel poured you another glass without question.

The two of you sat in silence for a long while, side-by-side on his couch as you drank. The whiskey had burned as it went down your throat and settled into your stomach. It felt good.

After you’d polished off your third glass, you put the cup on the table in front of you with a heavy sigh. You sunk back into the couch and closed your eyes, saying softly, “This place is a fucking nightmare.”

The feeling of Joel’s hand on your thigh made your eyes pop open. You’d looked down at his hand on your leg, your breath hitching at the sight. When you looked up, you found him already looking at you, the pain in his eyes evident. “It is.”

You fucked for the first time on his couch that day. The whiskey and the pill and the vulnerability had loosened you both up enough to just let go. He’d pulled you into his lap, shoved his hand into your jeans, and made you come on his fingers before he pulled your pants down your legs and fucked every thought out of your head.

When it was over, after he’d made you come again and pulled out to finish in his fist, you’d climbed off of him and sat back, catching your breath. He’d cleaned his hand off and silently reached over to help you pull your jeans back into place. He’d stood from the couch and held out a hand to pull you up. It went without saying that he’d walk you home.

It went on like that for a while. Whenever things became too much for either of you or the thoughts in your heads got too loud, you’d find each other and drown out the noise with whiskey, pills, and sex. It was far from romantic—you never stayed long after it was over, it was never soft or sweet, he’d never even kissed you —but it didn’t need to be. There was no place for romance in the world you lived in.

Things changed, though, the day you were jumped and nearly left for dead on the street.

It’d been one of the rare days in which you worked a shift without Joel, the availability of jobs just not lining up to pair the two of you together. You were cutting it close to curfew, the sun steadily setting as you made your way back to your apartment. You were only a couple of blocks away from home when it happened.

You hadn’t noticed you were being followed until it was too late. Large, rough hands grabbed your body and pulled you roughly into an alleyway. You tried to push the guy off, swinging your elbow back into his gut, kicking your feet out to throw him off balance. It was no use, though—he threw you to the ground, hard, as if you’d weighed nothing to him.

You hit the ground with a huff, the shock and pain of it dulling your reflexes enough to allow him to get on top of you before you could pull yourself up and scramble away. You finally saw his face, the light gone from his eyes as he gripped the lapels of your jacket and shook you.

“Give me your ration cards, bitch,” he seethed at you. You didn’t even know this guy and here he was, shaking you down as if you owed him something.

“Fuck you,” you spat in his face.

He hadn’t taken too kindly to your disrespect, letting go of one side of your jacket to punch you in the face. The feeling of his knuckles connecting with the skin of your cheek and taste of blood on your tongue made you groan. He’d pulled his arm back to throw another punch, but before his fist even had the chance to come into contact with you again, the weight of his body was thrown off of you.

When you’d looked up at the scene unfolding in front of you, the last person you’d expected to see was Joel. There he was, on top of your attacker just like he’d been on top of you, delivering blow after blow to his face. You’d never seen him like that before, lost to the violence, although you’d known he was capable of it. It didn’t scare you like you might’ve thought it would. It was almost comforting, in a way, to know what he’d be willing to do to protect you.

Just when you’d begun to think that Joel wouldn’t stop until the man was dead, he’d grabbed him by the collar and brought him close to his face. “If I ever see you around her again, you’re a dead man. You understand me?”

Weakly, the man had nodded his head, a wet cough bubbling out of his throat. Joel released him roughly as the man spit up blood onto the asphalt below him. He turned to you, the fury leaving his eyes in an instant as he took in your disheveled state.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, rushing over to help you up. You stood with a wince, grateful he was letting you rest most of your weight against him as he held you and guided you out of the alleyway. “Need to get you off the streets before curfew.”

He guided you to your apartment, getting you both inside and locking the door behind you with just a few minutes to spare. You plopped down onto the couch with a groan while Joel grabbed your bottle of whiskey and the only rag you had to clean up your busted lip and the cut on your cheek. It was silent as he worked, save for the initial hiss of pain you’d let out when the alcohol first touched your open wounds. He was gentle with you, gentler than you thought him capable of.

When he finished, he dropped the rag onto the ground and cupped your face in both of his hands. The two of you had stared at each other for a long moment before he’d sighed, leaning forward to place his forehead on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut as you felt his breath fan out against your face, your hands coming up to take ahold of his wrists.

“I should have been with you,” he whispered roughly. You shook your head at that, opening your eyes to find his screwed tightly shut. He kept talking, “I was outside your door, waitin’ for you to get back, but when you didn’t show up, I knew something was wrong. I should have just fucking been there to walk you home, to keep you safe.” Your hands moved up his arms to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling lightly in the curls of his hair.

“You were, Joel,” you whispered back, his eyes opening to meet yours, seeing the sincerity in them. “You saved me. Protected me. You were there when I needed you.”

He kissed you, then. He pulled you in close to him, softly pressing his lips to yours, mindful of the cut there. Your eyes had closed again, and you couldn’t have stopped the soft whimper you let out at the feeling of his lips against yours even if you had tried.

Sex with him was different that night. He carried you to your bed and stripped you slowly, taking in the sight of your body underneath him. He hadn’t been rough or hard or fast. It was soft and almost syrupy sweet, the way he held you and made you come apart with his fingers and his cock. His lips never strayed too far from yours, as if the thought of not kissing you while he fucked you was too painful to bear. You hadn’t minded it, though—you’d felt the same way.

When it was over, he cleaned you up and helped you re-dress. After he put his own clothes back on, he crawled back into your bed and pulled you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head as you slowly drifted to sleep with your head against his chest. As you fell asleep, you knew in the back of your mind that things between the two of you would never be the same come morning time.

You became his and he became yours.

Nearly eight months had passed since that night. Now, you’ve abandoned your apartment for someone else to take over, having moved all of your meager belongings into Joel’s place. You spent most of your little free time there anyways, and he felt more at ease knowing that you were coming home to him, instead of by yourself.

It’s a rare day in which neither of you were able to pick up a shift, all of the work slots for the day having been filled before either of you had gotten a chance to sign up for something. Not that either of you mind it, though—sometimes it’s nice to have a day off to spend together.

Joel, apparently, has been planning on making the most of your day off. He wakes you up with his tongue between your thighs and his hands holding your hips down on the ratty mattress. You come quickly, nearly reaching your peak while still half asleep, and the force of your orgasm hitting you fully wakes you up. He places soft kisses to the insides of your trembling thighs, looking up at you with an almost boyish glint in his eyes as you huff out a soft laugh.

“Well, good morning to you, Mr. Miller,” you say with a smile, one of your hands drifting down to cup his cheek.

He grins at you—a rare sight these days—as he turns his head to place a wet kiss to the inside of your palm. “Mornin’. Nice wake-up call?”

“The best,” you giggle, moving your hand up into his hair and giving it a tug. He groans at the feeling, his eyes going a little glassy. “Now come up here and kiss me.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He moves up your body, placing soft nips and kisses to your skin over the thin t-shirt you’re wearing. When he reaches your mouth, you kisses you fully and deeply, wasting no time in letting his tongue trace your bottom lip. You open up to him eagerly, moaning into him at the feeling of his tongue against yours.

He kisses you until you can’t breathe, only pulling away when you tug harshly on his hair. A thin string of saliva connects your lips to his, and he watches with rapt attention as your tongue pokes out to wipe it away. When his eyes finally flick back up to reach yours, you hit him with a playfully questioning glare.

“How’d you get my pants off without waking me up, anyways?”

He grins at you again as he grinds his own denim-clad hips down against yours, the rough material catching against your clit just right to pull a soft, needy moan from your lips. Joel bends down to kiss you again, laughing softly when you chase his lips as he pulls away.

“I have my ways, darlin’.” He plucks at your shirt and asks, “Can I take the rest of it off now?”

With a nod, you lift your arms above your head, allowing him to pull the fabric from your body. Once your shirt is off and on the floor, Joel moves to unclasp your bra, but you playfully swat at his hand and shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you gotta take somethin’ off first. You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Joel rolls his eyes at you but complies with your request, deftly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing both his jeans and his underwear off. You can’t help but bite your lip at the sight of him, gloriously naked in front of you. His cock is hard and flushed red, a pearl of pre-come beading at the tip. You sit up on the bed, preparing to lean forward and take him into your mouth, the thought of tasting him practically making you drool. He stops you though, pushing lightly on your shoulder until you’re laying back down, allowing him to crawl over you once more.

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, mocking your earlier tone. “Now who’s wearing too many clothes?”

You huff and quickly remove your bra, throwing it to the ground with the rest of your discard clothes. Once you’re finally fully naked, you try to reach out and take him in your hand. He’s faster than you though, taking both of your wrists in one of his and pinning them above your head.

He bends down to nudge your nose with his, angling your mouth just right for him to kiss you. It’s so sensual, the way he easily slips his tongue into your mouth and takes your breath for his own. You could kiss him for hours. He pulls away and starts to pepper soft kisses across your cheek and down your jaw, until his lips reach your ear.

“I’ll give you what you want later, baby, I promise. I’ll put my cock in your pretty little mouth and let you suck your fill,” he rasps into your ear, the roughness of his whisper and the promise of his words sending a shiver down your spine and whimper out of your mouth. “But that’s not what I want right now. D’ya wanna know what I want?”

He sits up to look at you, his pupils blown wide as he takes in your trembling figure. You let out a soft yes as you nod your head.

“Right now, I wanna feel your pussy come all over my fingers. Then, when you’re nice and wet and fuckin’ gagging for it, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you, real slow, and fuck you until you cry. When you just can’t take anymore, I wanna pull out and come all over your pretty tits. Can I do that to you, darlin’? Will you let me?”

You’re uncomfortably wet, can feel your slick practically leaking out of you and sliding down to wet the sheet underneath you. The arousal his words have stirred up in your belly is nearly unbearable, and you almost headbutt him with the force in which you nod your head.

“Fuck, yes, Joel, you can. You can do it all, whatever you want.”

He chuckles at you and leans down to kiss you again, quick and dirty. “Barely even touched you, and you’ve already gone cockdumb. My needy girl.” His eyes flick up to where he’s still holding your hands above your head. “If I let you go, are you gonna behave?”

“I’ll be good, Joel, promise,” you say quickly.

He nods once and lets go of your wrists, looking pointedly at you to make sure you keep them there. Once he’s sure you’re not going to try and get ahead of yourself, he lets himself touch you. His rough hands drag down your arms and to your ribcage, his thumbs lightly stroking your skin. He slides his palms up to cup both of your breasts, his thumbs now working over your nipples in light strokes. The moan that you let out would have embarassed you if you weren’t so turned on. You start to squirm as Joel gets a little bit rougher with you, but you obey his silent command to keep your hands where they are.

You almost grab at him when he leans down to take the hardened bud of one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling sloppily around it while he rolls and pinches the other between his fingers. You catch yourself at the last second, though, stopping yourself from winding your fingers into his hair.

Joel lets go of your nipple with a lewd pop and kisses his way back up to your mouth while his hands slides down your body. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth at the same time he cups your pussy, sliding his middle finger through your wet folds. He chuckles darkly at the way your hips buck against him and how you struggle to keep your hands where he told you.

“Messy girl,” he murmurs against your cheek, pecking you there. “Let’s see if I can make an ever bigger mess a’ya.”

“Fuck,” you gasp as he easily slides two of his fingers inside of you. Your cunt clenches at the feeling of him working you open, his fingers move in slow, even strokes.

“Feels good, don’t it, honey?” Joel teases. “You like the way I fuck you with my fingers?”

You whimper in response, nodding your head weakly. He angles his hand to rub against the spot that nearly knocks the breath from you, his palm grinding against your clit. Your back arches off the bed with a hoarse shout of Joel’s name. He groans against your skin at the way you tighten around his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Joel, please,” you whimper, trying to move your hips in time with his fingers. He uses his free hand to push you back down against the bed, keeping you from moving further. Joel leans down to nuzzle your throat, nipping lightly at the delicate skin there. He looks up at you, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Please what? Use your words for me, honey.”

You can’t help the whine of frustration you let out as you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s hard for you to find words when he’s fucking you so well with his fingers.

Joel slows his fingers nearly to a stop and your eyes pop back open in a panic. His face is stern as you rush to say, “Wait, no, no, no, please, don’t stop, I—”

“Use. Your. Words. What do you need?”

You take a deep breath and nod your head. “Can I touch you? Please? I promise I’ll be good, I just… I wanna feel you.”

Joel smiles at you now, leaning down to place a quick kiss to your lips. “Hands in my hair, honey. Keep ‘em there, understand?”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. As soon as the words have left his lips, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him down to kiss you again. It’s filthy, all tongues and teeth. Joel starts to move his fingers inside of you again, gradually picking up the pace until he’s back to his original speed. You moan into his mouth, your brows furrowed in pleasure.

You can feel your orgasm building in your core, the coil winding tighter and tighter as Joel’s fingers work inside of you. Joel pulls away from your lips, letting you guide him to rest forehead against yours. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you force yourself to, wanting to watch the way he watches you. He looks almost as far gone as you feel.

“I can tell you’re close,” Joel rasps. “Your pussy’s squeezing my fingers. Can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock. You gonna come for me, sweet thing?”

He starts to move his fingers a little faster, rubbing against you a little bit harder. The extra friction tears a sob from your throat. You can’t help the way a few tears well up in your eyes, the pleasure Joel is giving you bordering on overwhelming. Your orgasm is so close, your body tightening against him while your thighs starts to shake from the sensation. You nod your head, a whispering chant of yeses falling from your lips.

“Go on then, baby. Come for me.”

Joel's words send you over the edge, coming hard around his fingers and pulling almost painfully at his hair. Your moans are obscenely loud, and if you had any wits left about you, you’d be embarrassed by your volume. But you don’t and you’re not. The only thing you care about in this moment is the feeling of Joel’s fingers working you through an earth-shattering orgasm, the pleasure flowing all throughout your body. You don’t even notice the tears that have fallen from your eyes until Joel’s kissed them away.

You whimper as Joel slowly pulls his fingers from you once your body has settled back down and your breathing has returned to normal. You release the grip you have on his hair, letting your hands drift down the sides of his neck to curl around his shoulders. He holds his hand up for you to see, his fingers wet with you. You watch, mesmerized, as he spreads his fingers, your slick webbing between them.

"Look at what a pretty mess you made of my hand," he murmurs as his eyes move from his fingers to you. "Better clean it up, yeah?"

Silently, you nod your head and Joel begins to lower his fingers to your mouth. He starts softly, running his fingers along your bottom lip, coating it with you. When your mouth falls open with a pant, he takes the opportunity to push his fingers inside, rubbing along your tongue. Your lips close around his fingers with a whimper, relishing in the groan he lets out as you suck them clean.

He’s panting almost as hard as you are by the time he pulls his fingers from your mouth. You can tell he’s reached the end of his rope, has worked himself up almost too much teasing and playing with you. He takes his cock in his hand, hissing as he strokes himself a few times.

“Gotta fuck you now, honey,” he says roughly as he lines himself up at your entrance.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper, attempting to lift your hips to pull him into you. “I want it. Please.”

Joel practically growls as he pushes into you, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt. Your nails dig sharply into the skin of his shoulders, your back arching off the bed and a broken moan falling from your lips. Joel is big, and no matter how much he preps you, how wet he makes you, the feeling of his cock pushing inside of you is always overwhelming.

“Fu-uck,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him. His breathing is ragged, and you know it’s only a matter of seconds before he loses control and fucks you within an inch of your life. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. He meets your eyes, takes in the way you can barely keep them open, how your mouth is open as you try to catch your breath, the way your lips are a little swollen from the kisses and bites he’s given you. When you sluggishly blink back him and give him a blissed-out smile, he’s done for.

He pulls out nearly all the way before snapping his hips forward, hard, the force of it making you yelp and cling to him even further. The pace he sets is brutal, and you feel your body moving up the mattress with every stroke. Joel grunts above you, reaching one hand down to grip your thigh and pull your leg up higher on his torso. It allows him to hit inside of you even deeper, almost impossibly so, the change in angle making you clench around him.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re—” Joel grits out from behind his teeth, cutting himself with a shout when you clench around him again. “Fucking hell, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

He trails his hand from your thigh and up the side of your body, the feeling of his hand moving against your skin making you break out in goosebumps. His hand grips either side of your jaw, and with what little brain power you have left, you’re captivating by how big hands are.

Your train of thought is broken, though, by Joel’s face coming closer to yours. You think he’s holding you in place to kiss you, but instead his fingers squeeze, forcing your mouth open.

“Stick your tongue out,” he pants at you. When you don’t comply right away, his order taking a moment longer than it normally would to process in your brain, he squeezes you harder, nearly snarling, “Now.”

You stick your tongue out and when you do, Joel leans down and spits into your mouth. Your eyes go wide at the feeling of it on your tongue, a wrecked moan slipping out. He lets go of your jaw and instead shoves his fingers back into your mouth, his digits moving in time with his hips. You gag a little on his fingers, a few more tears building and falling from the corner of your eyes in quick succession.

When Joel pulls them out, a trail of your spit connects his fingers to your lips. He grumbles a rough “fuck,” before moving his hand down to where your bodies are connected. His spit-slick fingers begin to rub fast circles against your aching clit, the shock of it making you shout and tighten around him.

“Jesus fucking christ, Joel,” you cry out. “Fuck, don’t stop, please, I’m so close.”

“Not gonna stop. Need to feel you come around my cock. Come on, baby. Let me have it.”

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you moan with a nod. Your orgasm had been building steadily, each of Joel’s rough thrusts dragging perfectly against your walls to send you higher and higher. With his slick fingers now on your clit, you felt you could snap at any moment.

Joel must’ve felt it before you did, yours walls tightening like a vice around him, making his hips stutter and pulling a low groan from his chest. Your whole body tenses up beneath him, the air knocked from your lungs, before everything releases. The waves of pleasure rolling through your body are intense and overwhelming, a wailing moan falling from your lips. You’re practically sobbing beneath him, unable to hear him talk you through it over the pounding in your ears.

He works you through it as best as he can, only managing to stay inside of you for a few more thrusts before the feeling of your fluttering cunt becomes too much for him. He pulls out of you abruptly and takes himself in his hand, working his cock as he lets your legs fall back down to the bed and quickly shuffles up your body to straddle your torso.

“Look’it you, all pretty and fucked out for me,” Joel grunts, his fist working his cock faster and faster. “You always take me so well. Let me use you how I want. God, you’re fucking—” His hips stutter and he moves to grip the base of his cock as he lets go, coming over your tits. You moan as the feeling of his warm spend hits your chest. A flicker of arousal lights in your core at the sight of him marking you.

“Perfect,” he finishes with a groan, stroking himself a few final times. When he’s milked his cock dry, he turns and flops down next to you on the bed, gathering you into his arms and pulling you against him. He doesn’t care that his come hasn’t even finished drying against your skin, that it’s getting all over him. All he wants right now—knows all you need right now—is for him to hold you in his arms. He leans down to press a few soft kisses to the crown of your head.

The two of you are silent for a while, taking the time to bask in the after glow and let your hearts and breathing return to normal. You snuggle down further into Joel’s chest, feeling your eyes growing heavy with fatigue. You blink slowly a few times, letting them fall shut.

“You fallin’ asleep on me, honey?” Joel asks you, the soft rumble of his voice lulling you even further.

You hum wordlessly, too exhuasted to try and formulate a response. His soft chuckle jostles you a little, but he settles quickly, pecking your head once again.

“Get some rest while you can, baby. ‘Cause it’s still early, and I ain’t done with you yet.”

It’s going to be a long day off for you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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spookykoolkat · 1 year

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the red j.m. | chapter three

CHAPTER THREE: PROTECTON

series masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

chapter summary: it's been three weeks since you decided to stay in jackson and you realized that your hatred and irritation caused by the man who let you live under his roof may be more than just that.

warnings: age gap (joel is 57, reader is turning 26), inappropriate thoughts, creepy joel if you squint, fluff/nicer joel, and a small breakthrough with joel, MDNI!

wc: 5k

na: HELLOOOOOO omg okay here is the third chapter of the red, my new passion project that i'm currently in love with. i have so many more one shots and ideas that i'm writing, including a request i hope to finish up before next week! i hope everyone is loving this series so far and i hope that you show ur love by reblogging, sharing you thoughts in a comment and liking :P i hope u luv this just as much as i do and hope y'all look forward to more chapters to come! (and oneshots and fics and stuff LOL) ps all love to my plus size girls i love u guys.

THREE WEEKS LATER

YOU

as the days went on, you found yourself falling into the routine of the world you live in now. you decided to stay, and it’s something you hadn’t second guessed either. part of it was nice, living somewhat normally, as normal as you could given the circumstances. It almost felt like a weight off of your shoulders. you could actually get rest most nights without the threat, some nights still being nerve wracking.

it was your anxiety that kept you awake, your thoughts of depression and paranoia created a difficult defeat. It was hard. and you struggled, just not in front of anyone. your father wasn’t the best father, but one piece of advice you took from him was to never let anyone feel like they have to take care of you, always handle your issues alone because quote unquote, they’ll just throw it back in your face.

the deal was, you get a job while you take a few classes in order to take patrol routes, and the job was the local clothing store that did trades and fixer uppers. you didn’t know much about sewing or making clothes, you just remembered watching your mother sew holes back up after you skinned your knee trying to get away.

ellie attended school, doing the best to get the education she needed before deciding what her role will be in this society. yours is being a merchant apparently, but you complied. it was money, at least whatever was comparable to money, and you needed it to get your own place. living with joel and ellie was fine, but you realized it was just you and joel most of the time. ellie managed to make her own space in the garage and joel let her, helped her even. he figured it’d be nice to have two different spaces for one another.

he felt the same about you. but didn’t ever tell you of course. he figured you already had enough on your plate for him not to breathe down your neck until you leave. you saw it anyways though because joel could not help the way his face said more than he needed.

he was used to being alone, until he met tess, then he got used to having someone there and accommodated to living with another person. he hadn’t gotten used to you yet. in the kitchen wearing shorts and a long shirt as you made breakfast, for the three of you until joel would say that ellie was already gone. he would eat his plate quickly, saying a quick thank you and not saying any words as he does the dishes you just made.

you would tell him you could wash them, that he didn’t have to, but he insisted you didn’t. not with his words of course, he’d just rush to do them before you could finish your plate. you didn’t know what to make of him yet.

“i got your plate, you’re gonna be late for work,” he would say, taking your cup and plate to the sink to wash. he’d always be right though, you were going to be late on days you cooked in the mornings. but he just seemed to want to be out of your way and as far away as possible from you. you even asked tommy how to go about living with his brother.

“best advice i can give you is to just do your own thing. he won’t pay no mind to you, like livin’ with a damn cat i tell ya,” he said playfully, but something in you made you believe it wholeheartedly. he truly was like a cat. quiet, reserved, does his own thing, and takes care of himself. you figured, how hard could it be? until actually living with him. now, you’re kind of bothered by the lack of interactions. you were here, you might as well get to know the people around you but he didn’t make it that simple. you didn’t either at first, so you’re patient.

but then you got in your head. you don’t need to let anyone in, you aren’t here to make friends or share dark secrets. being here made you gain small hope, but it didn’t last once you started thinking again. there wasn’t a way for you to have people in your life and keep them safe at the same time. you realized that everything you had to fight for and protect, you failed.

but you weren’t the only one still adjusting and battling themselves. joel put up a wall between him and everyone he’s ever interacted with. it was for his safety, and now ellie’s.

sometimes he’d be surprised by you in the wide living room with a book in your hands after work. it wasn’t that rare you constantly met him in the living room after his shift was up, because by the time he was coming back home you were getting up for work. sometimes vice versa, and sometimes, very rarely, would you and joel be leaving the house at the same time. but still, after almost a month of being in joel’s presence there wasn’t more than 20 words exchanged each day.

joel didn’t bother to get to know you, he didn’t ask you about anything and didn’t even ask you about your plans to stay or not. he just didn’t want you asking questions either. plus, he figured everything he knew about you was all that he needed to know.

you would think joel would like to know who was living under his roof, but truth be told he hardly knows the people he calls neighbors. to him it wasn’t his priority to meet new people and indulge in normal life activities like watching a movie or going to the bar they hold in the town. he molded perfectly into the role he and others gave him, which was to protect and hunt. to do his part to contribute to the new making of jackson’s society. in joel’s mind, he wasn’t in jackson to make buddies and go on dates, and he wasn't prowling for anyone either.

his mind was on survival, and calculating if every decision he makes will heighten the chances of him and ellie, now you, surviving. he wasn’t interested in the get togethers people invited him to, he couldn’t care for the annual small pot luck they have in jackson, all he cared about was making sure jackson stayed safe, that all three of you stayed safe.

so, he put off making friends and love, and focused on ellie. he didn’t need anyone else knowing him and his life anymore than they already do, and he didn’t need a stranger trying to pry his deepest and darkest secrets out of him.

the thing is, you wanted to know him. even if you were still unsure of him, jackson, yourself─you could admit that he did his part in making you nervous, drawing you to something. you still had a dislike for him though. you couldn’t tell which feeling overpowered which.

jackson was bigger than you thought.. there were at least two or three subdivisions of houses, a school, a church, one bar, one clothing store, one hardware supply, and a small park that was really two swings and an aluminum slide. maria told you as she gave the tour that it took a while to build up, but with time came something amazing. something the QZ or the fireflies could never achieve, it was peaceful. everyone relied on each other, everyone trusted each other. except for three people—the three people who live under joel’s roof. that’s what the three of you bonded the most over, the fact that you all have trust issues.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you noticed joel a lot more over the weeks. he was a grumpy man, a man who if he could, he’d get a newspaper with his coffee—straight black, and read outside on his patio as the sun rose. by himself, alone. how he wanted. and you understood of course, you know how it is to want your solitude. but, you also couldn’t help how eager you were to talk to him. surprised at every small good morning, or have a good day you get once and while from him.

he was sharp and cold with most people, offering a hand to compensate, and helping those who need it. joel realized after a while it’s better to make acquaintances rather than enemies in such a tight knit community, a community that relies on the people within. he couldn’t break that cycle, so he was friendly with those who he got to know.

you noticed how much stuff he would bring back on his patrolling days. a box full of female hygiene products, a box full of new clothes, or more ammo. you watched from the window as he looked around to see if anyone was looking, and would go to the shed he built that was in the backyard of the house. you wondered what he was doing to get all of these things, but you never brought it up to anyone.

It wasn’t your business.

you didn’t bother to pry, and to be your usual curious self and ask him about it. you knew he’d shut the conversation down before it even started, and it wasn’t worth it to you. you did make a mental note to bring it up to him eventually.

a small part of you liked him though. despite the mystery, the coldness, the selfishness, the rudeness, you actually liked joel because he reminded you of you. a small part would be an understatement. you always seemed to be looking for joel. whether it was downstairs, in ellie’s space, or in public. constantly wondering where he was, or if he was looking at you. whether you realized it now or not, his presence brought a certain comfort to you.

you volunteered in the kitchen serving dinner from time to time, and when you did you fought hard to not stare at the miller brothers walking in with ellie. but, ellie didn’t make it hard to acknowledge their presence and notice them.. joel would just nod in your direction, you’d give a small nod back and get back to making plates. you practically fought yourself to not glance over at him, just to make sure he was still sitting in his usual seat next to ellie. and when you lost, you’d look up to his seat just to see his eyes peering over his cup at you.

It was an odd dynamic that left you wanting more from him. you wanted to learn more about him when he had moments of vulnerability, which was only twice over the course of your stay.you only knew he was from austin and was a contractor before everything started. you wanted to pry more, to know him, to know what makes him smile and laugh. and if you were going to learn about joel, it wasn't going to be through ellie or tommy, or even maria.

you wanted the accomplishment of getting to finally know joel all by yourself, it seemed like a challenge to you. everyone talked, people would ask you where you stayed here in jackson when a local notices that you’re a new face and would end up looking like they saw a ghost when the words, ‘i’m a friend of tommy’s, i’m stayin’ with his brother,’ came out of your mouth. he had a reputation obviously, but you didn’t know the extent. everyone knew joel miller and the little girl, and joel knew you’d get wind of the things people have said and feel about him.

he just hoped that that’s all you got wind of.

you were so confused at this new and sudden urge to be around someone all of the time, but it’s happening with joel even if you never act on it. you weren't going to force yourself around someone just because you wanted him near.

you wanted him to be the one to break first. to talk to you first and ask about you, even act like you exist a little more than he did now. you needed him to feel this way about you, and more. you weren’t going to get hurt, and you weren’t going to let it happen by the commune’s biggest asshole.

but then you would come back to reality. you realized joel miller had absolutely zero interest in you. not as a friend, not as a person━to you, he saw you as a temporary thing. and you would remember that the feeling of close proximity to joel and knowing who he was wasn’t going to make your life easier. It was a constant battle with yourself, fighting your vulnerability and settling for being the second hard ass in jackson.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2024.

YOU

it was late at night when joel came home from his interchanging shifts with other people in jackson. you were humming to yourself as you washed the pile of dishes that were stacked when joel walked in. with everyone trying to get settled, it was hectic. finding a new balance with being the new addition to the home, getting into a regular flow of things. so when you got home from work, you cleaned up as much as you could without moving things around even though you were desperate to. as long as you were here, this still wasn’t your house to mess with.

you stayed in places here and there, a shelter in waco, texas when your parents traveled there for safety from the QZ, a stranger’s underground hideout the first two years of it, many more people’s homes and abandoned buildings and escaping from QZ’s around the states.but you never failed to tidy things up while you stayed, you couldn’t shake it. you respected your surroundings and were grateful for the people who did extend their hand to you, even if they hurt you and made you regret not killing them.

joel walked in with a hard face and an unhappy sigh, looking towards the open kitchen and seeing you in a long sleeve shirt that’s risen on one side where your waistband carries the old walkman, your hair in a lazy put together bun—a part of him couldn’t look away if he wanted to. still trying to get used to this.

he had to be honest, he found it hard living in the same space as you. he noticed you getting a bit more hopeful these days, not looking as angry as he does every day, and talking more. not to him, but he watched from afar. always had an eye on you even when he wasn’t around. he made sure tommy looked after you, maria, he even made ellie make sure you were okay. making sure you weren’t completely out of your mind. not more than usual, at least.

he had something for you. he didn’t know if it was true, if he could be this far gone that he couldn’t stand to be around you because he wanted to take care of you in ways you would’ve never thought of? he hated that you made him feel like he wanted to protect you. he also hated the fact that you could never make him hate you.

you didn’t notice him of course, you continued to scrub and wash as he came up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder to tell you he was home, sending you to flinch and sigh. you removed your headphones and let them rest on your neck as you turn the knob of the sink.

“fuck!,” you said, putting a wet hand to your forehead as you tried to breathe in, “why are you always doin’ that? asshole.”

“watch your mouth,” he tried and you had to stifle a laugh as he plucked a beer can from the fridge and left the kitchen area to sit in the living room. it was always a little funny to see him irritated because of you, you couldn’t lie to yourself.

“bite me.” you spit, putting your headphones back on and rolling your eyes.

joel felt so wrong. your responses shouldn’t leave him wanting to hear more of your sharpness. he shouldn’t be curious as to what you sounded like when you laughed hard enough. he shouldn’t want to watch your every movement.

you were lost, confused, trying to find your way and here he was watching you like a creep from his spot on the couch. he would’ve loved to turn on a tv right now, ignore his instincts and feelings and turn into whatever show was on. all he has now is a dull radio ellie traded with the neighbors for, and he decided to put that on instead. it was a bit rare to find music, good music even.

by the time he found a soft 60s song, you were done and wiping up the area before drying your arms. you decided to grab a beer yourself, cringing at the dark bottle, and making your way to sit on the couch across from joel. he watched as you lifted the hem of your shirt to wrap around the cap of the bottle, twisting it off successfully. he couldn’t help but notice the exposed skin that was pressing into your black shorts.

“i uh, never thanked you or tommy. for saving me, bringing me here. i’m just, it’s a lot to get used to. i still don’t know if i’ll stay,” you broke the silence and took a swig of the beer, downing it quickly.

“don’t thank me, thank tommy.” he said coldly and looked at the burning wood in the fireplace against the wall. It was silent for a bit while joel’s eyes wandered from you to a nearby window, watching the snow fall. you couldn’t help but think about it, and before you knew it the words were coming out of your mouth.

“why did you want to leave me there?” you looked to him with the beer in your lap, sitting criss crossed on the couch and your fingertips tapping at the sweating beverage. he looked to you once and looked down and around, sighing.

“it ain’t personal. tommy and maria, they don’t take people in like that. it shocked me, is all. i just didn’t trust ya,” he admitted and drank his beer, getting comfortable.

“do you trust me now?” you asked and he kept his gaze on the floor. you didn’t expect a different response from him.

you kind of sat there, stilled and quietly listening to the music that comes from the radio. he doesn’t watch you anymore, he just drinks his beer until he finishes and lays there with his forearm over his eyes. a part of it feels normal, like coming home from a long day at work and cracking open a beer, going to sleep after and repeat.

“I’m trying, you know. trying to get my own place here, and work and make connections so I’ll be out of your hair.” you defended even though there was just silence. you felt bad, imposing on a man who clearly wants to be left alone. but he could be less of an asshole.

“I’m not tryna rush you out of here.” is all he says and you notice for the first time you’re actually having a conversation with joel miller. or the equivalent to a conversation.

“It feels like you don’t want me here. I’d ask tommy and maria for a room but, they’re a married couple and she looks like she’s about to pop. feels wrong to invade their space like that.” you said and drank your coldish beer, not enjoying the foam it created.

he sighs, sitting up from his slumped position and looking at you while your eyes are on the bottle in your lap. he didn’t speak immediately, so when his eyes trailed over you and your bare legs you could feel the heat from his gaze. It made you squirm a bit, your legs pressing together again as he makes your stomach flutter. you couldn’t help but look at the hand that grips his bottle.

“It ain’t that either. you’re just,” he sighed again, half lying, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows, “you’re unpredictable, is all. don’t ever know what that mind of yours is thinking, if you’re thinkin’ of hurtin’ yourself or if this is all a trap still.” he confesses and you form your lips into a straight line.

you stay silent for a moment, before meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to hurt myself, joel. or you, or ellie. I have no reason to. I just, when you found me i was alone. and i like being alone, don’t get me wrong. but it gets… scary. depressing. I mean I’ve lost everyone, i’ve killed anyone i ever loved because of those fucking things. I had no one who cared if i was alive or dead anymore, and it just got to me.”

“and i know everyone’s gone through the same thing nd more, it’s just,” you huffed and moved your eyes down to your bottle, “I’ve prided myself in being alone, that i don’t need anyone.I’ve shut everyone out and been so mean to everyone. but for what?” you asked rhetorically.

you thought about it a lot. what was the point of trying to kill everyone before they killed you first? what life are you living if you aren’t trying to make the best of it? these were questions you asked yourself daily, thinking about how many people you’ve scared off because you felt they were too good for you. too kind, too caring, everything you wanted and needed you sabotaged because in your eyes, you’d rather get the blow over sooner than later.

“your protection. and it works, it’s jus’ lonely.” he said, stealing the words from your mouth.

“It’s lonely.” you repeat after him.

for a moment, you felt yourself warming up to joel, understanding him more than you thought you would. solitude was something the two of you appreciated, but were tired of. having joel and ellie around made you feel less alone, like there were other people who understood how you felt. it’s why you liked talking to ellie so much, she reminds you of yourself when you were younger. she made you feel like maybe there was a chance to make things better for her, like joel wanted. you understood why he didn’t want to throw her in the world of being a protector at so young, she was just a kid. she deserved a chance to be just that. someone like that, someone who has fought and protected themselves and other people for so long, deserves a chance to be the ones being protected.

“where were you when it happened?” you asked, a new song coming on the radio. you figured maybe now that there was conversation happening, you could try to squeeze your way into his mind even if it’s for thirty seconds.

“bailin’ my brother out of jail. you remember?” he asked.

“yeah, i was like, playing with my dog. then it was like explosions and crashes and cars. it didn’t take my dad long to start boarding up the windows and doors. but yeah, i remember.” you said and he shook his head, wanting to say something but holding back. he paused, then spoke.

“I’m sorry about your family.” he said and you gave a tight smile, thanking him.

“I’m sure they’d be proud of you. survivin’ this long. It ain’t for the weak.” he said and that you agree on. you would’ve never made it had you been softer, or allowed yourself to be scared. you couldn’t be though. the two of you sat in silence as the static poured through the song, comfortable, together. he broke the silence first.

“I found some old cassette tapes in the house when we first got here, if you want them. ain’t got much use for em.” he said, standing up as your eyes followed him. you grew a smile, and he was watching you find joy in little things like old music.

“yeah, yeah of course.” you said and set the half empty beer bottle on the coffee table, standing and following him to where the cassette tapes presumably are. he ends up leading you upstairs, hitting left at the corner where you turned right all of the time, your doors were down the hall, directly across from each other.

“I stored em’ in case. I kept everything i found in here, never know when i’ll need it.” he said, and you smiled. he was actually being a softie right now, as soft as he’d get you supposed.

you appreciated it. more than he knew because you didn’t know how often he’d get this gentle.to a lot of people, this was just an act of kindness. but joel miller is not kind, and you wondered why he was being so nice to you all of the sudden. even if he was being snappy and short with you, he was trusting you to be in his solitary area, at least that’s the way you saw it.

he looked disarmed even though you knew he had a gun pressed into his back, and he looked comfortable. at ease, like he wasn’t expecting impending doom for once.

“It’s called being a hoarder, joel.” he narrowed his eyes on you before going into his nightstand and taking out around five tapes. Donna Summer. Beastie Boys. The Fugees. Bob Dylan. Prince.

“I love Prince.” you said with a small smile as you grabbed the tapes from him, looking through and inspecting them. you remembered your mother playing his 1999 album throughout the house when you were a small kid. It gave you a bit of nostalgia, and warmed your heart at the distant thought of your mother. It meant more to you than it meant to joel, and he could see it. joel was actually enjoying the fact that you appreciated this niche gesture for you.

“thank you, joel. I think Queen and Etta James will be grateful for a break.” you joked and the corner of his mouth tugged softly into a resistant smile. still better than no smile. joel glanced at the clock and noticed the big hand hit one, remembering how tired he was all of the sudden. or maybe more so acknowledging the fact that this is the most you and he have talked in a bit.

“you know you can ask me for anything, right? I mean, you know,” he struggled with the words but with your encouraging eyes, he had no problem continuing, “I’ll do what i can for the two of ya,” he said somewhat kindly, referring to ellie as well.

you wondered now what he truly thought of you. if he still saw you as a burden, a threat, or just someone he lives with. you also noticed he wasn’t too good at expressing his feelings, he wasn’t a visibly emotional person. maybe he really was just too desensitized to everything around him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, i’ve been okay.” you said as you held the tapes with grip.

“you don’t bother me,” he confessed, “anything you need, a’right?” he said with sure eyes, needing confirmation back from you. now you really couldn’t get a read on him. this was what sucked the most to you. you didn’t want to say it, but he was so bipolar with you. with everyone you saw him interact with, he was just short tempered and selfish. it never changed, he was mean to everyone and anyone who was near.

but with you, he just avoided you. and when he would come near, he was either angry or neutral. it was confusing to say the least, whenever the time came for the two of you to engage, it was always a surprise at which way the conversation led. It’s like you were able to get a read on him when he interacted with anyone else but yourself.

“yeah, anything.” you noticed you were more breathless than you intended to sound, so you cleared your throat, and averted his eyes.

you realized you stood in his room with a t-shirt as a dress basically, alone with the door shut. It made you nervous, and as your eyes examined the room just to fall on his bed, it made you wonder what it would feel like to be next to him as he slept. you bet it felt warm, cozy, safe. safe in his arms, held away from the world. but then you felt crazy. you don’t even know the guy and you’re thinking about sleeping with him? what happened to collectively hating joel miller?!

you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you until your eyes worked their way up to his, a small blush forming on your face as he basically caught you checking him out. but he didn’t look like he noticed, he seemed too dazed by you to notice you were even looking at him.

“I should go to bed. thank you again for these, joel.” you smiled sleepily, breaking the small silence. his gaze went back to normal, you seemingly saw the darkness in his eyes fade as his eyes locked on yours again. he looked softer.

“yeah, me too, and you’re welcome. I’ll see you in the mornin’,” he trailed off, you just nodded and awkwardly shifted out of the room, releasing a breath you were holding. you finally felt like you could breathe again, like the weight of his gaze was suffocating you.

that night you fell asleep with your headphones on, listening to Protection by Donna Summer, and thinking of joel.

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bucknastysbabe · 2 years

Note

Hi, :)

Can you write soft degredation for Tommy Miller where he is doing that to female reader. Tommy is a soft dom and the reader is a sub <3

Omg so sorry for the wait luv u for being patient E xoxoxo BUT I ENJOYED WRITING THIS IMMENSELY I need him especially when he shows up in tlou hbo HNGHFFJNN also I did use some twang bc they Texan also my fav thing is when Joel gets Distressed and the accent IS OUT

Kink Bingo - Degredation

Little slice o’ heaven

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: >2k

Tags: Soft dom, Tommy Miller is a sweetie pie who luvs his lady, pnv!sex, SOFT SAPPY LOVEMAKING, slice of life, set in Jackson, fake innocent reader, light Degredation kink, general warm n fluffies and orgasms

You couldn’t help but worry every time Tommy went on a patrol. But he was extremely capable, everyone in the safe haven knew that. Joel and Tommy once took out over 20 infected on a patrol, including those ghastly clickers and near impenetrable bloaters.

You stoked the fire in your shared cabin with your love, stew cooking on the stove. He’d radioed he would be back soon. You frowned, the asshole had been gone for a week. But you stayed busy, tending to the kids of the community, teaching them the ways of this new life. Well a life they’d only know.

There was a niggling feeling Tommy liked to go on extended patrols with Joel so they could bond. Which considering how volatile they were at first it warmed your heart. Padding back over to the pot of beef stew you stirred the contents, eyes flickering out the window.

People milled around, kids playing. You never thought life would become so…normal. Heavy boots and the creak of the door drew your attention, Tommy throwing off his jacket, running a hand through his long hair. He toed

off his thick boots, eyeing you softly. You smiled, putting a hand on your hip and teasing, “Bout damn time Miller.” He grinned and strode toward you, sweeping you into a big hug.

He nuzzled at your neck, drawling, “Sorry sorry, there’s my girl. You know how it gets up at those ski lodges.”

You rolled your eyes and teased, “Yep, playing guitar and laying on those couches you love. Leaving your poor pitiful baby at home, slaving over this stove and caring for the snotty children.”

Tommy’s grin widened, dark eyes sparkling. He kissed your lips quickly, big hands caressing your waist. In that southern drawl of his Tommy laughed, “Oh you’re fine, needy lil’ thing.” You harrumphed and turned back to the stove, pointedly shrugging off your lover.

Tommy snickered, coming up behind you and rasping in your ear, “C’mon baby, don’t you play cold w’me.” You turned to look, face innocent, “I’m almost done with the food, go on and sit down. Mercer gave me a bottle of wine he pilfered at a resort down the way.”

Tommy gave your ass a light smack, stomping to the rickety kitchen table. A pretty little flower from the greenhouse decorated the center. The fire crackled in the background. You poured the stew into some bowls, grabbing a loaf of bread to soak up the hearty flavor. Tommy called from the dining room, “You better be nice after we’re all fed, been thinkin’ bout your pretty self.”

You blushed and ignored the obvious sucking up. Carrying the plates to the table Tommy groaned, “Damn baby that smells good, much better than that dried shit Joel n’ I been eatin’.” You snickered, “Figured you’d need something to warm up.”

The pair of you ate in bliss, Tommy updating you on his adventures and you talking about the rowdy kids at the school. Time caught up, and the wine was drained. Suddenly you felt tipsy and flushed, Tommy’s lids lowering. You knew that look. Pillowing your hand on your chin you hummed, “What’cha thinking about stud?”

He leaned forward, a hand on your thigh, dangerously high. You’d been wet since his scent filled the room again. For y’all’s age difference, Tommy was insatiable. He crooned, “What d’ya think, sugar?” You couldn’t help the little whimper emanating from your chest.

That damn Miller man had you hooked since you stumbled into Jackson, half starved and crazed. He was kind and patient, teaching you more survival methods. As a former reluctant FEDRA teacher he found you a spot for schooling the kids. But with a much less militaristic, fascist curriculum.

People made jokes about Tommy being too old, but you liked it. He was dominant, rugged, and oh-so-sweet under the rough and tumble demeanor. Tommy snapped to get your attention, humming, “You all spacey already honey? Don’t take much for ya’.”

You trembled and whimpered, “Need you Tommy.”

He grinned, squeezing your thigh. The man hummed nonchalantly, “Why don’t you put up the dishes and I’ll get us all set up in the bedroom huh baby?” You nodded obediently, standing on woozy legs. The wine definitely did not help. Gathering the plates, a fork fell, clanging against the table.

You yelped and jumped, Tommy already up and assisting you to carry the dining ware. He sighed, “Sorry sweets, didn’t mean for that, here.” He walked you to the kitchen and pecked your cheek, his stubble brushing your soft skin. Your mind was blank as you scrubbed and put up the dishes, eager to get with your man.

The bedroom was dim, a single homemade candle you had crafted with the kids dimming the room. Tommy had washed, curls cascading to his shoulders— dark eyes gleaming. The heady atmosphere almost made your knees buckle. The Texan crooned, “C’mon over here darlin’.” You gulped and crawled forward, robotically beginning to shuck off your clothes.

Tommy grabbed you and pinned your trembling frame to the bed, tutting, “I get to undress my baby girl.” You whimpered, “P-please Tommy!” He laid plush kisses on your lips and neckline, rugged hands pushing down your pants. He ordered gently, “Up now, know how soft ya’ get.”

He shucked off your thick sweater, gifted by him of course, and the dreary long Johns underneath. Next came the bra, you shouting at the chilly air hitting your nipples. Tommy chuckled, warm hands palming the tender flesh. You mewled, “S-sheesh baby, feel so good.”

“I know sugar, young hot blooded thing like you needs this. Good thing your old man knows what to do. My girl.”

You arched into his lean body, hands pulling at his thick clothing. Little by little his tanned scarred body came on display. You simpered, “I missed you, handsome.” A calloused hand caressed your cheek, Tommy murmuring in your face, “Missed ya’ too hun, sweet thing. Can’t get enough.”

Tommy slowly crawled on top of you, smiling down softly, but the dark gleam in his eye betrayed the benign look. You spread your legs and laid back, outstretching your hands to wrap around the man.

Your lover pressed flush against you, nipping at your jaw while he adjusted himself to mold to your needy body. His hot length slid against your folds, sinewy thighs flexing. You whined his name, running fingers into inky curls. The man gasped, swearing lowly, “Christ you’re soaked sugar, can’t help yourself can ya? All sopping from me steppin’ into the room, naughty thing.” You flushed and scrunched your eyes, moaning, “You get me so hot- gosh- Tommy!”

He laughed again lowly, “You haven’t sworn yet.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You wanted Tommy to dick you down, not question your word choice. You spluttered, “W-wha?”

He replied as if you were a dolt, “Obviously I haven’t banged the schoolteacher outta ya’ yet.” You batted his shoulder with a scoff, thrusting up against his cock to get back to the matter at hand. Tommy groaned, hand gripping into the bedding beside your head. He grunted, “Fine fine, so needy.”

You watched as a scarred hand guided his dick into your core, mouth agape in ecstasy. You whined, “Yeah- yeah, god Tommy!” His pretty lips fell atop your own as he slid the extent of his hot, pulsing cock inside of you. The pair of you kissed softly, tenderly as he began to move. The old bastard was right, you couldn’t go (too) long without being fucked.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, softly moving along with his movements. Tommy murmured, “Everyone knows your secret baby,” he licked up into your mouth, “Prim little girly likes gettin’ it from ole’ Tommy Miller.” You whined and clenched around him, eyes darting away from his smug face.

He gripped your chin gently, guiding your vision back to his face. Tommy teased breathily, “Ain’t I right honey? You love being my little slut hm?”

You cried out softly, pussy convulsing around his cock. Which was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing all the right spots. You shoved your face into his dampening neck, whimpering at it all. Tommy cooed, hand skimming down the middle of your torso to play at your swollen clit.

“S’okay baby, I know. Don’t have to tell me none.”

His calloused thumb swirled around your bud, sending a lick of fire up your body in a wake of goosebumps. Your fingers dug into his back, moaning his name wetly into the tanned skin. Your thighs clenched harder around Tommy’s slim waist, mewling, “S-shit yes, m’yours yours!”

He groaned again, fucking into your pussy harder, thick tip bumping that spot that drove you wild. Tommy rasped, “Thas’ right, whose pussy is this huh?” You blubbered nonsense, panting and writhing under his undulating movements, earning a sharp crack to your ass.

You howled, “Yours Tommy! Fuck- my pussy is yours baby!”

“Thatta girl.”

Crack.

You scrabbled at his shoulders, moving your lips back to hungrily gnash against your lovers mouth. You moaned and whined between frantic smacks, drool collecting on your lips. You tightened around Tommy, pleasure making the world spin. You cried into his smiling mouth, “Fuck I love you, fuck me so good, m’so lucky.”

“Mmm, I’m lucky sugar, fucking hell, get the sweetest doll in Jackson. Ain’t nobody taking you away from me.”

He fucked brutally hard after talking, proving his point that you weren’t going anywhere. You yanked on his curls, the swirling on your clit sending you to the precipice. Tommy gasped and nipped your lip as you whimpered, “Closeclose, oh god, fucking god, Tommy!”

He moaned, “Yeah, yeah baby, that’s it, come for me.” He pressed his forehead to yours, panting roughly, the bed creaking under both of your panicky movements. Your eyes crossed as you throatily howled a wordless noise, cunt clamping down on Tommy’s cock.

You shivered and held to him, tears pricking at your eyes, overwhelmed mewls escaping your drooling mouth. Tommy swore and pulled out, painting your trembling belly with white streaks. He heaved, “Sshshit! Oh baby girl.” You replied, “Yeah, yeah, s’good!”

You blinked slowly, orgasm ebbing away sadly, Tommy blindly reaching around for a cloth to wipe you off. He did so lovingly, cooing, “Such a good girl for me. Love you.” He tossed the ruined fabric to the side, flopping next to you. Tommy laid on his side, arm draped around your waist.

You turned to face him, tucking a stray lock of his dark hair back. A goofy smile erupted on your face, sucking in a breath before teasing in a hoarse voice, “You been getting jealous? Everyone knows I’m yours.” Tommy rolled his dark eyes, pulling you closer to lay kisses on the bridge of your nose and lips.

“Maybe. Young bucks’ll get sent to the woods if I catch them hawking you down again.”

Snuggling closer into the man you giggled, tucking a leg between his own. You sighed, “I’ll make sure to give the kids a warning. Fool.” He shrugged and held you tight, a warm light in this strange world.

#tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tommy miller x reader #kink bingo #asks answered

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butterphii · 1 month

Text

I've Got You.

Our Kisses (Part 3)

---------------------------------------------------

TW: Drinking, kissing/making out, age gap (26-29, 58)

This is my first time ever writing a series! Please be kind!

--------------------Joel Miller--------------------

You looked at your phone as you stood up, trying to figure out who texted you, as it was just a number. "Hey bug! It's Joel. Dad gave me your num. Love u!" You stared at the text knowing now it was your favorite man. You closed your eyes, smiling, typing back. "hey leaf! luv u 2, c u tonight!!" Sending it before throwing your phone on your bed and dancing to your bathroom.

You were fixing up your hair in the mirror, trying to look good for Joel and your family. Your outfit was a light yellow sundress and cheeta print sunglasses with thick rims, your hair curled and in a half up half down style. You applied a ton of sunscreen on your face, knowing you'd be outside a while.

You hopped into your car, dancing to a song before looking to see Joel had 'hearted' your message. You smiled and started the car, pulling out onto your road and heading to your parent's.

You quickly stepped out of your car, fixing up your looks before walking to your backyard. "Aayyee! There's my baby!" Your dad said, making your mom die of laughter. Joel was sitting next to your mom in a camping chair, lifting his hairy arm to you. You watched the beer in his hand swish around in the bottle, sparkling in the sun. His hair was dark and glistened with silver strands, his arms thick and muscular, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, making you sweat.

You looked at Joel's soft smile, making eye contact with him and he noticed your blushed cheeks. He winked before going back to talking with your mom. You went to hug your dad before going inside the house to take a quick breather. You sat down on the toilet in your parent's bathroom when you heard a knock. "You ok, Bug?" It was Joel.

"Yeah, I'm fine, its just, you winked at me," You said, opening the door to see him leaning against the door frame. He was towering over you, atleast 6 inches taller. One arm was on the frame, and the other on his hip. "Did you like the wink?" He asked you, leaning closer to your face. "I..uh-.." You stuttered, flustered.

He took your face in his hand and pulled it close to his, whispering in your ear, "You know, we could do anything you want to, baby." His lips grazed your temple as he pulled away from your ear, letting you sit there with your shocked face, chuckling softly in amusment.

You stared into Joel's eyes for a few seconds before he kissed you. His chapped lips against your, arguably, very soft ones. You savored the moment, not ever wanting it to end.

He pushed you into the bathroom, one hand on your waist and the other shutting the door. He released you, panting softly, showing the soft grin that always turned you on. He gave you a look with his eyes that asked you if you wanted him to keep going. All you could do was nod. He pressed your back against the sink, picking you up from your upper thighs and putting you on the counter. Fuck, was he strong, and fuck, did it make you wet.

His tongue plunged into your mouth, exploring it while yours searched his. His brows furrowed as you passionately held onto his face, both of his hands on your waist and ass, squishing your soft cheek before moving up to grab your hair, intensifying the kiss.

Joel let go of your fragile lips, you both staring into each other's eyes. "Fuck, this is so wrong." He said, pushing away from you. He held the bridge of his nose as you longed for his kiss once more. "Is it wrong if I want it?" You said, a rhetorical question, making him turn around, eyes wide.

You hopped off the counter, walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso. "Bug, we really shouldn't. It's wrong." "But we both fucking love it, Leafy." You stood on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his lips tenderly. "We should..uh..get back outside. Dad's probably looking for us. I'll meet you out there?" Joel said, rubbing the back of his head. You frowned, looking into his eyes, showing him all you want it more of his touch. He quickly nods and blows you a kiss, letting you know that this wasn't over, and it never would be.

#smut #x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #tlou joel #joel tlou #tlou

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annasinterests · 1 year

Text

'cause you know it's you, babe

|| main masterlist ||

a/n: maybe it’s just because i’m in my feels right now that’s basically forcing me to write this up on the fly (kinda bc i be gettin distracted), but i’ve been really thinking about soft!joel and just finding such comfort in it. also this is barely proof-read and it’s past 2am so pls overlook any errors thanks love u all <3 also joel gif to reflect the mood/vibe

word count: 1k (awe)

pairings: joel miller x reader

warnings & tags: nothin but fluff n' luv for my beloved 🤍

joel miller. a mysterious, yet highly respected figure for his efforts towards jackson. there’s not a whole lot known about him, besides the fact that he’s related to tommy, and that he, you, and ellie basically belong to one another.

with settling, he realized that he didn’t have to be so strung out all the time. for once, he could take a breather– enjoy a conversation here or there, go for a walk within the safety of the walls.

but slowly, he found more— he found love.

well.. the love was already there. it had always been there. so, the better thing to say would be that he was finally allowing himself to love.

and the person in question? you.

when he first comes to terms with it, he’s shy– scared, even. the concept of that kind of intimacy is foreign to him at this point, but he forces himself to push forward, because life was short before, and it can be cut even shorter now.

and he’s got a lot of of catching up to do

it starts off small– brushing arms and shoulders in group settings. he doesn’t need a reason to be with or close to you, it’s simply because he just wants to be. in the rare occurrence that you’re not together, the minute he sees you, he’s glued to your hip for the rest of the time being. and after a while, you start becoming this official package that people grow to notice.

he appreciates being crammed in the corner of a booth next to you during the weekly get-togethers at the Tipsy Bison with coworkers because it’s one of the very few times where he doesn’t have to do much to get you pressed against him. in fact, he takes advantage of it, going a step further and throwing an arm around your shoulders to “make more space”. the act is bold but it works because you don’t hesitate for a second to get closer to him.

he opens the door for you wherever you go and pulls out the chair for you before you sit down– both acts never done without an accompanying hand on your lower back. when you walk side-by-side, he intertwines your fingers or gestures so that you hold his arm, a subtle yet loud display of affection that solidifies your relationship.

during slow songs, he dances with you on the floor even if you’re the only pair out there, putting aside his own aversions because there’s nothing better than having you in his arms. he radiates a warmth that you can’t help but be more drawn to him, every touch and glance at one another making your heart flutter with an incomparable fondness. he melts into you– the tension that stresses his body just about everywhere instantly rids itself once he’s got you close, knowing that you’re with him and you’re safe.

after long days, he finds solace in you– one of the few people he holds close to his heart. once he comes home and finds you in the kitchen making dinner, he curls his body around yours and rests his chin on your shoulder, watching as you continue to go about cooking and placing gentle kisses on your cheek. you know the best way to cheer him up, besides a home-cooked meal, is to offer to play with his hair or brush his beard, which he always takes you up on and pulls you into his lap for you to work your magic.

over time, it only gets better.

you have late nights on the porch together, sometimes graced by the presence of a new guitar of his. most of the time, there’s a bottle shared between you both that’s used between conversation and kisses under the stars. he smiles wide and his cheeks burn a deep shade of red, a sight that he isn’t likely to let anyone else see, but one that he can’t and won’t hide from you.

his bed becomes yours, and he wonders how he went so long without having you next to him every night. in some way, shape, or form, you’re always tangled with one another; legs and arms strewn over the other. and more often than not, you wake up to his chest pressed against your back, his arms curling tighter around you when you attempt to get up because he wants every second possible with you.

he gazes at you with those lovey eyes, always caught between wanting to outright profess his love for you and wanting to admire you in silence out of fear that he’ll just screw everything up because there’s truly not enough words he could string together to ever accurately describe just how much you mean to him.

he swears to himself that it doesn’t get better than this– you’re basically his, and he’s basically yours, right? what else could there be?

clearly, he didn’t think about you professing your love first.

you were sitting on the couch when the words nonchalantly left your lips, causing him to abruptly sit up from where his head was on your lap. he didn’t know what to do, but knew he needed to do something to let you know that it very much went both ways. he looks at you nervously until you’re done, immediately kissing you and engulfing you with his arms once you’re done.

and, oh, is he so in love.

he mumbles ‘I love you’s between breaths and can feel it in the tears that are slowly brimming in his eyes. he kisses you softly but passionately, overwhelmed by all the emotions going through him at finally admitting what had been there all along– and nothing has ever felt more right in the world.

his love is everywhere you look– being able to sink into it all and feeling it wrap around you.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #annasmasterlist #annawrites #anna may or may not still be in her feels

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airiat · 1 year

Text

northern sky, one. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

{ao3}

note: here. i've cut out my heart and laid it down beating and bloody on these pages. i needed to do this. you get to see it. this work is complete and will update every sunday bc tlou sunday. it'll be on tumblr in its entirety but also on ao3--pls just head to ao3 though i promise it's not scary there

anyway, i hope u enjoy and then comment to tell me u did thanks luv u

one. {8.5k}

Here it is. The witless beginning to the story you said you would never have. Here it is unfolding in the hallowed, wood-paneled walls of your small town’s bar. The one you always went to with your friends in high school because they’d never card, let the cheap beer flow like water. It’s the one that only plays 80s music, at home against the checkered floor tiles and the dull green vinyl of the bar stools.

There he is. The man with calloused hands built to cradle the very shape of your heart. You’d know that if you could see the grooves of his palms. You’ll know that soon enough.

He’s walking through the front door. He’s shaking snowflakes from the salt, mainly pepper, strands of his hair. He’s running a thumb over the etched-in crease between his brows, tugging the edge of his mustache, sitting down on the stool next to yours so heavily that melted snow wets your cheeks.

“Coming down hard out there,” your friend, the bartender, says as a greeting.

“Yeah, sure is,” the stranger says, coat-clad elbows against the bar top. “Don’t think I’ll be able to drive any further tonight.”

Your friend, the bartender, tilts her head in sympathy. “Well, what can I get for ya, then?”

“Beer’s fine,” the stranger answers. “Anythin’ you got on tap. I ain’t picky.”

Your friend nods and moves to fill a glass, setting it down in front of the stranger who wastes no time taking a gulp.

Here they are. The words you toss into the ether that you can never fish back out. Tongue loosened by your fourth glass of whiskey. Almost enough drink to let you trudge home through the snow, fall face-first into your mattress. Just hope you don’t drown in vomit before it’s time to wake up for the first appointment at your salon. Hope your hands stop shaking enough to give a decent haircut.

The sweaty tumbler in front of you is the wound slotted between your ribs, which coats your hands in just enough blood to make a ring slide off your finger. But just little enough to keep you dazzling, to make heads turn to you.

Still, nothing sticks. It’ll always be your palms alone pressed against that laceration at the end of the night.

“That sure is an accent,” you say. “Must be pretty far from home.”

Here it is now. The first time this stranger looks at you, like he’s only just realizing a full-blooded woman is sitting next to him. He blinks in surprise, long eyelashes framing eyes that must be brown. There’s a corner of his lip raised, but it’s humorless. Your whiskey eyes don’t delude you.

“Damn, that obvious? Here I thought I was blending right in.”

And there they are. His first words to you. You don’t see how the invisible threads are being tied into place by them.

It could have gone a million other ways. You could have been you in a bar five hundred miles from here, instead. Where they play 90s rock, and the seats are red instead of green. Where the night is warm and a girl, but sober, but with steady hands, will drive home alone and fall asleep in bed with an orange cat curled up with her.

Instead, here he is, sitting next to you. Here he is for you.

“Almost,” you say. “Don’t talk, and you’ll have it down.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he drawls, but then he pauses, seems to consider. “What’s your name?”

You smile, shake your head. “What’s yours?”

“Mysterious, are you? Mine’s Joel. Joel Miller.” The unneeded addition of his last name is pointed. He’ll give you more than you’ll give him. He always will.

“Where did you come from, Joel Miller?”

“The road,” he grunts, taking another swig of beer.

“The road from where?”

“Texas. Austin.”

“To?”

Joel flicks his gaze over to you. The furrowed brow does not go unnoticed. “You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl with no name.”

“I’m making conversation,” you counter. Then, you wave down your friend who would never cut you off, ask for another glass of whiskey. “You could make conversation, too, if you answered them.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna,” Joel Miller says, but he’s smiling at you, something small and secret, just for you.

“So, where’s the cowboy hat, Joel Miller?” you ask.

Behind you, another Tuesday night regular walks through the door donning the very thing. It’s Colorado, somewhere. Close enough to the mountains, far enough to block them out with a pinky over the horizon. It’s more ranches and dry plains, the endless expanse of watercolor sunrises.

“You think everyone from Texas is a cowboy or something?”

You shrug, take a sip of your drink. Tastes too much like water. You’d make a scene about it–you have before–but this moment with Joel is better than booze, better than yelling. If only for the time being. “Yeah. Aren’t they?”

He squints at you like he can’t decide if you’re fucking with him. “‘Course,” he says. “Just happened to leave mine in the truck.”

You squint back, but it’s to study his sun-worn face, his coat's old canvas. Maybe. But then you duck down beneath the bar to see his shoes. Come back up, grinning victorious. “Wrong kind of boots.” Work boots. The lace-up kind. “Bet you’ve never even ridden a horse in your whole life.”

“Sure I have. Once…when I was a kid.” He snorts a laugh. “No, I’m not a cowboy. And hardly anyone from Texas is.”

“How disappointing.” You give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor.”

You grin. All cheek. “So, you’re good with your hands, then?”

Joel won’t look at you, but the tips of his ears are growing red. You can’t see that it sweeps across his cheeks, too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answers gruffly into the bottom of his beer.

“Maybe that works out better for us, then,” you say in a low voice, leaning closer. “I’m certainly no horse, after all.”

This has to be the moment. You’ve decided you want this. Want him. Want the heat of him, the weight, his short breaths, the quick snap of his hips, your body pressed under his.

Joel finally turns to you, and his eyes pass slowly over you–your face, your chest swathed in an old flannel shirt, lace camisole peaking through the top.

“A horse?” he says in a voice like the snow falling outside in the darkness. “No, I wouldn’t say that you are.”

You reach out and brush his hand. “There’s a hotel in town, but it’s kind of a dump,” you murmur. “You could come back to my place instead.”

“Your place?” Joel chuckles. “Kind of you to offer, darlin’, but I can smell that whiskey on your breath from here.”

You smile. Darlin’. “Could be tasting it, instead.”

Joel swipes his tongue along his top lip. “Dunno if that’s such a good idea. You seem a little…young.”

“I’m being served at a bar, aren’t I?” But then you lean even closer, lips next to his ear. “I’m twenty-seven.”

The slope of his shoulders says you’ve eased him, but he still pulls away, shakes his head. “I should really just get to sleep. Have to finish the rest of my drive tomorrow.”

You shrug. You’re not gonna cry about it. This was never really the plan. You would have just been lucky. You say farewell with a soft hand on Joel’s shoulder as you stand up, tossing a twenty on the bar. For you and him, you indicate to the bartender who is no longer your friend.

“Safe travels, then,” you tell him. Kind smile. You’re good at this.

As you leave the bar, you’re stopped by something. It’s not him. No, it’s a voice singing a familiar tune, the one that goes, All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. You can’t go just yet. You like this one, actually like this one. Your hips are swaying as you go to the small space in the bar where people sometimes dance. You’re the only one there tonight, but this isn’t the first time. It never stops you.

But you’re not there for very long this time. Barely even through the second verse. There’s an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up, you meet brown eyes. Those long lashes.

It’s his turn to dip down to your ear. “Changed my mind,” Joel murmurs. “Seeing you move….” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. You’re already threading your fingers through his, tugging him back towards the way you came.

His truck is dusted with snow in the parking lot. It’s an older one. Utilitarian. Nothing like those flashy ones that only pretend they have purpose. You imagine his tools cluttered in the bed. Imagine him driving it, sweaty and tired after work.

But now he’s pulling the passenger side door open for you, holding your hand for balance as you climb into the seat, closes the door, and gets into the seat next to you.

You’re warm with him in the cab now. The interior is surprisingly clean, smells of leather and earth, of cigarette smoke, faintly. The stereo is on from how he must have had it before, down low, playing a CD of some artist whose name is on the tip of your tongue. Minimal, mostly guitar, only one voice like it in the whole world. It suits him. You imagine him listening to it on the lonely road, mouthing the lyrics, thumb tapping against the wheel.

Joel’s driving now. Only, his thumb is brushing against your knuckles, hand resting in your lap. He’s asking you how to get to your house, and you’re directing him as he goes, but your voice is drowned out by the feeling of his hand on yours.

You hadn’t expected this. Maybe he’d have his hand on you, sure. But it should have been on your thigh. Maybe even drifting in between your legs. He should be thoughtless. He should pretend that you are nothing more than a pocket of warmth on a cold night. You don’t know what to do with tenderness. It’ll flounder and die if it’s left up to your heart to hold it.

When it starts to feel like he’s grinding glass into your skin, you pull your hand back to yourself. He glances over, but you just grit your teeth and say nothing. You’re approaching your house now, anyway.

You don’t even have to direct him anymore. Yours is the only house at the end of the dirt road. Joel pulls into the drive, and you think you should be embarrassed. It’s old and neglected–chipping green paint, sagging porch, bare bulb over the front door. A farmhouse with only your garden beds left of the farm. At least it’s tucked into the trees, so no one really has to see it.

“You leave your car back at the bar?” is the only thing Joel says.

It isn’t what you’re expecting. “No,” you answer.

“And not one here, neither. So you, what, take a cab?”

You don’t like what your response ought to be. You don’t like that he’s even asking. “Why are you asking?”

“Just confused, is all. How were you plannin’ on getting home?”

“Woulda walked.”

“Alone in the dark? In the snow? And taken you something like thirty minutes?” He’s bewildered. He shouldn’t be. This is how it always goes, and you are always fine.

“I like the fresh air. The adventure,” you reply. “So, are you coming inside…or?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry.” He shuts the truck off, and you both exit. You don’t wait for him before you march up to the front door. But he catches up when your unsteady hands take too long with the keys.

“You, uh, you sure you’re alright?” Joel asks.

You won’t look at him; you only catch a glimpse of the white cloud his breath makes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just got a medical condition, okay? I’m basically sober. I barely drank anything.”

Two truths. A lie. But maybe you don’t like playing this game anymore. Maybe Joel and all his questions are more trouble than they’re worth. And so, you snap, “Look, if you don’t actually want to do this, you’re welcome to leave. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

And here it is. The choice. The first exit. The proof of…the proof of what? Desire? Integrity? Pity?

“Just want to make sure you’re…y’know, that this is what you want,” Joel says.

You finally get the key in and shove the door open. The house is as dark as it always is when you arrive. Quiet, too. Like the inside of the pine box you should have been laid to rest in. But you didn’t get one. You were meant to go on. To live with that.

“Come with me,” you whisper to Joel, careful not to disturb the slumbering darkness.

He follows you as you lead him to your bedroom, just as quiet, honoring the stillness. As though the Earth has paused its orbit and will only begin again once you’ve told it to.

You reach the room and stop to light the single vanilla-scented candle on your dresser. Joel starts to reach for the lamp next to your bed, but you hold a halting hand out.

“No, don’t,” you tell him.

He pauses to look at you, face golden with candlelight, warm like the final rays of a sunset. “Alright, darlin’. Anything you want.”

And what you want is to step slowly towards him, press your hands to his chest, rise on your tiptoes, and kiss him. But you don’t. You pause with your lips a breath from his.

“Never got the chance to tell you how pretty you are, did I?” Joel murmurs, palms sliding against your jaw until his fingers are laced in the hair at the nape of your neck.

You freeze a little because this isn’t what you’re supposed to hear. Hot, maybe, Sexy, maybe. But pretty? That’s meant for someone without ghosts haunting them. You were never meant to be more than warm flesh. You don’t have eyes, don’t have lungs or a heart. He isn’t meant to tell you otherwise.

But you can’t help how your eyelashes flutter, the bloody corpse of your hope reanimating. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, you are,” he says. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You think this has to be a lie. You make yourself presentable because your business is beauty. Keep up with your hair color, do a face of makeup. But right now, you’re in old jeans and a holey flannel, breath tainted with stale whiskey, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you think so.”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells you. “Now, c’mere.”

Finally, finally, Joel leans in and kisses you. You can’t help your immediate sigh, open-mouthed and slack against his lips, can’t help your hands from fisting at his chest, almost pushing him away. You can’t help it. You’re not familiar with this kind of gentleness.

Joel pulls back, and your sigh becomes a quiet whine, hands clutching at his coat. If you let him go, he’ll become a wisp of smoke. You’ll wake up and realize that none of this has been real. That your mind is finally deranged enough to concoct such a beautiful illusion.

But those dark eyes looking down at you are too fathomless to be something you conjured. Your sickness would never let you create something so complicated, would never even realize that a life must exist inside of them. Because you see it all there in those eyes: every moment he’s lived, every teardrop, every piece of happiness witnessed.

“You have nice eyes,” you tell him. It’s all you can say.

“Thank you,” Joel says softly. “Now, here, just let me….”

He relocates your hands from his coat to the front of his shirt before he shrugs out of it, draping it over the back of your vanity chair. This is an appreciated change; now you can feel the shape of his muscles, slide your fingertips up to trace his collarbones.

This time, you kiss him, surrendering to your sadness as your lips meet his, aching. This kiss becomes your arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes to press yourself against his chest. His hands find the skin of your shoulder blades underneath your flannel, warm and rough on you. Warm and real. You break away long enough to tear at the buttons and let your flannel fall to the wooden floor. You still have your camisole on. It isn’t too scary.

But you find yourself backing into your bed, sinking onto it when the mattress presses into your calves. Joel is leaning over you, your head craned up, so the kiss never breaks. But, then, it does, and he’s kneeling in front of you, pulling your boots off, then gripping you behind your knees. Kissing you again so soon that it’s like he never stopped.

You wouldn’t have cared about the boots. You would walk through a sea of mud and still get tangled up in your sheets if it meant Joel would be there next to you. But he’s too considerate to even dream of it. He must be. He must care. He must want to make sure there is nothing about this that you’ll regret.

“You still doin’ alright, honey?” Joel pauses to ask you.

In this new stillness, you notice the heaviness in your chest, realize your breaths are coming short and nearly frantic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you gulp.

He releases one of your knees to soothingly rub your arm. “We can always slow down, you know. Still got all night. Or, we don’t even have to do anythin’ at all.”

You smile at him. You can’t help it; your mind, in all its sickness, never could have dreamt up a man so gentle. “Are you hungry?” you ask him. “Got some leftover pasta, I think.”

He blinks once in surprise, but a smile comes to his face. “Yeah, sure, I could eat. Actually…that sounds pretty good.”

“Perfect,” you say. “Food, then.”

Joel rises to his feet and holds a hand out to help you up. You walk together to your kitchen, then to the fridge. Opened, it emits the brightest light you’ve seen since the sun as you and Joel stand before it. “Well, I said pasta, but I also have….” You rattle off a litany of dishes you’ve made. The fridge is full of these leftovers, the drawers still bursting with ingredients. You love to cook. You would cook endlessly, make enough food for everyone and then some, but everyone is really only just you.

“You made all of this?” Joel asks, glancing at you, but can’t help but bring his eyes back to the food.

“All of it, yeah. It’s kind of a hobby, I guess.”

“God, wish I had that as a hobby.” He steps back from the fridge. “Well, I couldn’t possibly decide. You pick.”

You hem and haw for a moment before settling on a foil-wrapped dish that contains chicken pot pie. Then comes the decision to warm it up in either the microwave or the oven…the microwave, you decide. It won’t be perfect, but Joel probably won’t mind. You’re still thinking about what came before this. You imagine he is, too.

When it’s out of the microwave, you slice two squares and plate them. Joel’s sitting on a barstool at the island–you put one in front of him and yours at the other seat. “You want anything to drink?” you ask him. “Got wine…other things.”

“Just water’s fine. This looks good, darlin’. I’m sorry, you mind if I…?” He looks at you with his fork hovering over the food. “Think it really has been hours.”

“No, no, please do,” you insist, then watch for a moment as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes and lets out a quiet groan.

“Yeah, damn good,” Joel confirms.

Satisfied, you turn to the cabinets to find two glasses. With his water glass in hand, you hesitate to reach for a wine glass. It won’t look very good…he’s having water, and you’re…you snatch it off the shelf. Your house. You’ll do what you want. And when you sit down at the island with your wine and his water, he says nothing. Doesn’t even seem to notice, really, except enough to take a drink.

“So, you never told me,” you begin, picking at your food, then relenting and taking a drink of wine. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I didn’t?” he says with a mouthful of food. “Headed to Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “What’s there?”

“My brother and his wife just had their baby. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Oh, nice. Girl? Boy?”

“Boy.” Joel smiles. “Be good to have a nephew. Have a daughter, myself.”

You glance down at his hands—no ring to be found—but you still feel funny about it. You take a long gulp of wine. “You do?” you make yourself ask.

“Yeah. Sarah. Think she’s plannin’ to be there, too.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, she and I…she and I haven’t been speaking lately.”

You don’t think you should press, but the wine has reignited your earlier haziness, so you’ll do it anyway. “Why’s that?”

Joel looks over to you, gaze lingering like he’s deciding something, but then he bows his head back to the plate of food. “First, it was that she just started college. Thought I’d give her a little space to grow. But then, she came home this past Christmas with a girl, introduced her to me as her girlfriend.”

You furrow your brow. “You don’t like that your daughter has a girlfriend?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know what I thought about it. It wasn’t how I was raised, you know? To think something like that is alright. And my own daughter?” His voice comes quiet, and he’s picking at his food, too. “We fought about it, and then she left early. Haven’t spoken since.”

You stab your fork into the pie crust. “If I had a kid, I’d just want them to be happy.”

“Yeah, I know. I did eventually come to see it that way, too,” Joel replies, almost defensive, but then he sighs. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.”

If he were anyone else, you wouldn’t want to reassure him, but he’s Joel Miller, so you say, “I bet she will. You seem like a good dad.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Maybe,” he says. “But thanks. Sweet of you to listen.”

You shrug. “I do a lot of listening. Part of my job.”

“You some kind of therapist or something?”

“Hairdresser,” you answer. “Almost the same thing.”

“Huh, yeah,” Joel agrees. “You been doing it for long?”

“Five years.”

“You like it?”

“Well enough, I guess.”

“Surprised you can, y’know–”

“Why, because my hands shake?” You cut him off with a snap. “All that came after. I can do my job just fine. It’s muscle memory.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. Just that it’d be impressive.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter. You’re taking it out on him. You know it. But your haziness will have you let it fester. The vengeance rolls across your tongue in waves. It’s all you can do not to say it.

Joel leans in towards you, sweeps your hair away from your neck. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve been so sweet to me.”

The vengeance dies when you let him press a small kiss on your cheek. Your cheek. You’d forgotten you could be kissed there. It feels better than you ever thought such a simple thing could. Like a bandaid smoothed over an old wound.

“You done eating?” you murmur.

“This, yeah,” he says, nudging the plate, face still near yours. “But maybe I’m, y’know, still a little hungry for something else.”

You giggle. Actually giggle. It’s a corny line. You know it, but it’s working on you. You’re not ashamed to say so. “Yeah? Well, I have a whole fridge full of other stuff.”

Joel shakes his head, tickling your cheek with his beard. “Not quite what I had in mind. Maybe…maybe I should just show you.”

“Yes, please do,” you whisper.

“Alright,” he says with a small smile. “But first, these have gotta go.”

Your gaze follows his movement down to his boots, which he unlaces with deft fingers. It’s the kind of thing that makes your mind wander, imagine what else he could use them for. You’ll find out soon enough.

Joel leads you back to your bedroom with your hand in his. He doesn’t let go until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, and even then, it’s only to replace your hand with your hips as you stand before him. He’s looking up at you silently, waiting. You’re breathing in the vanilla of the air, marveling as it mixes with his scent: the woods in summer, a piece of the sky, something almost like blood. You could hold it all against your chest when you lay down under the trees and pull the earth over yourself. You’ll remember it.

But you’re not there yet. You blink, and the house comes crowding in around you, too fast and too much, but you feel Joel breathing beneath you, and you settle. His hands slide from your hips to cup your rear as you sink into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Drape your arms over his shoulders, press your face into his neck.

“You smell so good,” you say against his skin.

Joel exhales. “Can I kiss you again, darlin’?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Please do.”

He lifts your head with gentle fingers underneath your chin, pauses long enough that you start to melt into those dark eyes, but they’re moving over your face, lingering on every feature. Finally, his lips, with their perpetual M-shaped slope, curve up and kiss you.

All the night’s previous slowness is abandoned as Joel’s fingers thread into your hair, tugging at the roots, as you clutch at the back of his neck, forbidding each other from ever letting go. Not as though you would. Not when he’s parting your lips, licking into your mouth, drawing out a quiet moan. Not while his hands travel the road of your shoulders and down your sides, fingertips cautiously dipping under the hem of your camisole.

“Can I…?” Joel murmurs into your mouth.

You don’t answer him yet, instead moving to the buttons on the front of his shirt. You want to undo them, but your shaking hands prevent it. He notices, gently takes your place.

His shirt is discarded along with the last shreds of your hesitation. You resist the temptation to sink your palms into his chest to find the warmth of his heart. You let him continue.

First is your camisole shucked off, and then you’re sitting there in your thin bra, bracing yourself as he sees you. There’s nothing wrong with you; you know there isn’t. You know about the shadow of your ribs, the constellation of your beauty marks, the crescent moons of your breasts. There’s nothing ugly about it. But you can only unravel when he smiles, kisses the dip of your collarbone.

Your breath hitches when Joel reminds you of his tongue, licking up the junction of your neck, and again when he introduces you to his teeth as he softly drags them against your skin. You tighten your hands against his back, long fingernails sinking into his spine. He hisses through those teeth, pulling you tighter against him, arms a band around your middle.

“You gonna be sweet for me, honey?” he asks, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t have to be so gentle with you if that’s not what you want.”

Your lips part at his words. Maybe you’d be drooling if you didn’t have your decorum–or if you’d had just one more drink. “I–I don’t know what I want. But I’m not…fragile.”

“No, no, I know you’re not,” he says gruffly. “Well, then, I’m gonna stop asking you about everything. But you’re still going to tell me if you don’t want something to happen, or if something hurts in a way you don’t like, or if you just plain want me to stop. Alright?”

You nod, docile and brainless.

“And you’re not gonna be shy about it, either. You’re gonna be honest with me. Right, darlin’?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” you say softly. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, this first.” Joel slips his fingers under the band of your bra, unhooks it with his thumb. “Been wantin’ to see you. Know you’ll be beautiful.”

Goosebumps shimmer on your skin as he guides the straps down your shoulders, slow, making it feel like your arms go on forever. When he’s finally revealed you to him, a shiver wracks through you, probably because of how he’s looking at you: like he’s just sifted through all your layers, reached the empty space in your chest. But it’s not empty, is it? No, the light bathes his face.

He smiles. “Just as I thought. Beautiful.”

You giggle, press your bare chest against his, just as bare, and a kiss to his lips. “And what about you, huh? Most handsome man that’s ever been in my bed.”

“Probably only could have said that about me ten, fifteen years ago,” Joel disagrees lightly.

Then, as if to distract you, he wraps his arms around you and flips you around so you’re on your back. As if to make you forget the thought entirely, he kneels over you and frames your face with his hands, feathering kisses over your mouth, your cheeks. You’re grabbing his shoulders, breathless, floating, but you haven’t forgotten.

“No,” you speak hoarsely. “I’m saying it about you right now.”

His answering chuckle rumbles against your chest as he drags his lips down, attaching themselves to a nipple. You moan when his tongue flicks against it, clutching at his hair. What were you trying to tell him? Something about–he nips at you, just a little bit, and the sensitivity has you seeing stars.

You let it all go as he moves to your other nipple, as one hand grips your waist, slides down to the curve of your hip, where your skin becomes your jeans. There, his hand is all you can pay attention to, knowing what he’s asking of you.

“Joel, please, take them off.”

“You take ‘em off. I got other matters,” he tells you.

His “other matters” are to return his lips to yours and to not let you forget about his tongue, moving against yours in a new way, one that gives you some idea of another use for it. Flooded with the feeling, you’re fumbling with the button and the zipper on your jeans, pouring frustrated sounds into his mouth until he finally reaches down and yanks them off himself. When your hands meet as you go for your underwear next, he laces your fingers with his and presses your hands next to your waist.

“Be patient, pretty girl. Leave them for me.” His voice is like thick smoke.

A small moan is your agreement, enough that Joel gives your hand back, only for you to latch onto his arm braced next to you. His muscles move under your fingertips, and you consider his strength. How your hand was going nowhere, how badly he could probably hurt you, how he never will.

And it’s true: he won’t. Never in all your life. But you deserve at least that much. More.

Joel doesn’t make you wait for very long. His will probably isn’t made with as much iron as he’d have you believe, but his fingers feel sure as he slips beneath your underwear, finds the hollow below your stomach, careful to only just brush the hair there. Maybe he’ll have you beg for it. You look up and see him watching you with a contented little smile. All you can do is blink slowly back.

“Joel…” You try, but your words don’t form.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. Just let me relish it.”

“No, now. Please.”

His smile morphs into something more wicked at your plea, when you reach down and grab at his wrist. He lets you guide his hand toward your center but won’t let his fingers go where you need them. He’s using his strength for that control. A frustrated whine falls from your lips. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he is an endless well of restraint. He doesn’t even kiss you–only lets his eyes roam your face.

But your own well is more akin to a puddle, on better days, the shallow end of a swimming pool. You show him this when you pull his head down, kiss him so hard that it hurts your lips. And finally, with a growl of surrender, his fingers travel down the length of your slit. Your moan drops into his mouth, his name strung after it.

“God, all of this for me, baby?” Joel rasps at the wetness gathered between your legs.

You can’t answer him because his fingers have made it to where you’ve needed him most, gliding over in slow, but firm circles. You’re tugging at his hair, holding his head, making sure his lips are there to catch all of your noises, to match your shallow breaths to his.

After a particularly sharp pull to his hair, he groans, and then his fingers move down to your entrance, lingering but not going in. There’s almost no sensation, almost unbearable after him having just worked your bud. Your frustration and exasperation have you yanked at his roots, wrapping your hand around his arm in a vice, trying to hold him there so you can move your hips to meet him. But you can go nowhere; his other hand is holding you still at your waist.

“Joel,” you whine, tears pricking at your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, pausing before he leans in and kisses you softly. “Bet I could keep you like this all night, have you delirious by morning. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath comes quicker with panic, but somehow the thought is still a temptation. To let him work you down until you’re nothing more than your body, until you’re mindless and bent to his every word. It would be a pricklier sort of heaven, but heaven all the same. “Yes, I would. I would,” you say between your ragged breaths.

“Thought so,” Joel says, smug. “But I won’t. Not tonight.”

With that, he sinks two thick fingers deep into your wet heat. Throat bared as you toss your head back with a moan, he closes his lips around the thin skin, nipping until you feel raw, burnt as though by the sun. Your cries are sharp and thin as his fingers work you apart, legs splayed, hands clutching at anything in reach: him, the sheets, your bare breasts.

Soon, the tides change, and Joel pushes himself up, deftly maneuvering so that he’s kneeling on the floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed, all while keeping his fingers inside you. Propped up on your elbows, you gaze down at him between your legs, chest heaving as you realize what will come next.

But your underwear is still devastatingly on, and his mouth is miles and miles away from your center. His lips are on the inside of your leg, yes, but only at your knee. Still, you cannot complain–his fingers have started moving again, and this time, his thumb rubs at your bud.

“Joel,” you breathe, tipping your head back. “I’m gonna die waiting. I’m–I’m…please, my underwear.”

There’s a little spark of surprise as he immediately rips them off you, but you let out a thin wail when he pulls his hand away, leaving you cold and empty. Your arms shoot out to reach for him, but he eases you back with a hand on your stomach, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, breath sweeping across the sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me. It’ll be worth it.”

“Please,” you whimper as he brushes soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, trailing down closer and closer until he finally presses one right onto–

His name falls like fluttering leaves from your lips as his tongue licks up through your folds. There is no easing into it this time; he eats at you like your body is something exquisite. Lips capture your bud as his tongue flicks over it, and you dissolve into a thousand flower petals as you sink into the bed.

“Joel, please, I need your–” Your moan is loud and throaty as his hand snakes between your legs, and he plunges his fingers into you, immediately curling them, all before you can even finish your sentence.

And this will do it. You know it will. The release is already coiling up in your stomach, heavy and tight, and you think maybe you’ll faint before you can get there. That’s how perfectly he works you. That’s how skilled his tongue is, how steady his fingers are in their movement. It’s like he had spent years studying your body, countless nights giving you this divine pleasure.

But you’ve just met him. You can’t explain this, and you’re not meant to.

You forget the thought as the warmth pools in the depths of your core, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh so tightly that it aches. There’s a sound coming from deep in his throat; if you could, you would pull it from him and cup it in your palms. His tongue is ceaseless, and his fingers are tapping against the spot inside you that sends your sense scattering.

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there, Joel,” you gasp, clenching down on him, drawing your thighs tighter around his head. He can’t go anywhere. He can’t stop. You need this. You’ll die without it. You’ll–you’ll–you’ll– “Fuck.”

The release envelopes you like an avalanche, pinning you down so that all you can do is arch your back into his mouth. You can hear his low groan amid your rapture, but you are otherwise so lost, so gone. You are meant for this. This is how you should always live. If it was forever like this, you could make it. His mouth, his fingers, him. Yes. Just like this.

It ends so soon. But your woe is interrupted by the simple sight of Joel, lips wet and glistening from you, shaped into a sloppy smile. He’s stroking the outside of your thigh as he untangles himself from your legs. Then he rises and crawls over you, kisses you soft and gentle, letting you taste the tang of yourself. The wetness of the fingers that were inside you trace against your jaw, leaving it cool in the air.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Joel murmurs into your hair, holding you closer to him. “So fucking sweet.”

You sigh contentedly into his chest, but you’re still buzzing, still yearning for more of him in different ways. It’s almost without thought when you reach between your bodies and slip your hand into his jeans. He’s already almost hard in his boxers, and as you trace his length, you bite your lip at just how much there is.

He groans, low and quiet, against your neck, pushing himself more into your hand. “Ah, fuck, baby. You don’t–” he swallows. “--you don’t have to.”

“And I’m not going to,” you say. And it’s true: that was never in the plan. It’ll be a while before you let him into your mouth. You’ve never liked doing it, only would if you loved him. “But you are still gonna fuck me, right?”

He chuckles lowly. “That even a question, darlin’?”

“Good. Then, these–” you withdraw your hand to pop the button on his jeans, yank down the zipper “--need to come off. Right now.”

He instantly sits up, tosses you a cocky grin. “Yes, ma’am. Anythin’ you want.”

You sit up to watch him as he gets on his feet to do what you ask. But, god, he still has the reins in this moment. You know this as he takes his sweet time pulling them down, letting you soak in his body for the first time.

And fuck, how had you not noticed all this?

All the delicious muscles in his torso were built by hard labor, not at the gym, but still with a leanness–long lines, not bulk. His arms could lift you like you’re nothing. The expanse of his shoulders could eclipse you underneath him. But his jeans are hanging low on his hips, and your eyes drop immediately to the v-lines now exposed, to the wisps of dark, coarse hair peeking over his briefs.

“You’re teasing me,” you accuse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Tellin’ me you don’t enjoy the show?”

“I do. I just–god, I need–” You’re stammering. You’re gesturing frantically with your hands. “Fuck, Joel, I need you. I can’t fucking stand how–how sexy you are.”

The rich sound of his laugh is at home in the flickering candlelight, but he finally lets the jeans drop to his ankles, standing there in only his tight briefs. Your chest is clenching with stifled pants as he returns to the bed, climbing over you until all you can do is flatten down onto the mattress, caged by his arms and legs.

“I…think…you forgot something,” you whisper as his lips dip down to your neck.

“Did I?” he murmurs between kisses. “Maybe you should fix it for me, hm?”

You exhale a trembling breath as your hands find his hips, a breath that he captures with his mouth on yours. You manage to get his briefs down somewhat but can only move so much with him over you, with his hand cradling the back of your head. At your frustrated squeak, Joel reaches around and takes them the rest of the way off.

Finally, finally.

But he curses under his breath and pulls away. Your heart feels like it’s sunken into a hole in the ground as you stare back at him. The absence of him kills you. “I don’t have anythin’ with me,” he admits, looking like he could punch himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t fuckin’ remember.”

“You mean, like, a condom?”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Might have one in my truck, but this isn’t–this isn’t somethin’ I usually do. And everything’s probably closed now and–”

“Joel.”

He quiets, brings his eyes to yours.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, sitting up. “I don’t really do this either, so I’m clean, and you can just pull out. I…trust you.” You say that last part so quietly. You can’t meet his gaze now.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he says softly.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Joel. You’d be the least of them,” you say. “I think you’re a decent man.”

“You just met me. How can you be so sure? I coulda, I dunno, killed a bunch of people or somethin’. Just because I’m decent to you don’t mean–”

“Have you killed a bunch of people?”

“Well, no, but–”

You tilt your head, cock a smile. “You’re acting like a dad. Cut that shit out, and please, just please fuck me, Joel.”

He exhales, his shoulders relax, and the easy smile slides back onto his face. “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”

You don’t wait before pulling him to you by the neck, smashing your lips to his. And he’s quick to push you down to the bed, hand behind your back, you arching over it. Your lips never separate. You’ll die if they ever do. He’s roughly palming your breast, licking into your mouth, hot and hungry, desperate and keen. And then, his hand leaves your chest for a moment, finds its way to where your bodies will meet. You tense, knowing what’s coming, and when he eases himself in, your moan shatters into his mouth. The start of his slow, deep thrusts has your eyes rolling back, has you clutching him closer by his shoulders, tossing your head so his teeth scrape your chin.

“Yes, yes. God, Joel, t-thank you,” you gasp.

He lets out another of his low growls before he grabs your head back to kiss you again, quickening his motion as he does. In this way, he continues until your body and your mind belong entirely to him. Every movement you make is to bend with him, to let Joel mold you into something perfect for him, to bear his roughness and welcome his gentleness.

It’s how he holds your jaw between his fingers to keep you still, but how achingly tender are the kisses that come after. How he hooks your leg under his elbow, folding you into yourself almost painfully, but how attuned to every twitch of your body, every time you react–tempering himself at a wince, going deeper when he earns a moan.

And your every thought belongs to him, too. Every time you catch a glimpse of his dark eyes, the tendons in his neck, the expanse of his shoulders, your world shrinks until it’s taken his shape. And then, before long, it’s just him, and him, and him.

It’s how he’s looking at you, too, like you’re the woman who filled his lungs with the breath he’s used to make all his beautiful sounds. Every fervent moan, every sweet little nothing he’s poured into your mouth, next to your ear. All because of your shaky hands that coaxed him into being.

“Baby, I’m gonna…I’m sorry, I have to–” Joel chokes out, bracing a hand next to your head.

His thrusts come rougher, but looser, like they’re out of his control now.

You reach up and let him lean his cheek into your palm. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you breathe.

Not a moment later, he jerks out of you and spills onto your stomach, tugging at himself, groans hanging in the air. You’re stroking his cheek, admiring him in quiet awe, still so perfectly handsome even at his most animal. The prominent veins in his hands and arms, bowed head, face contorted in an unholy mask of ecstasy. Yes, probably, even more so.

When Joel finishes, he leans over to snatch his shirt up from the ground and uses it to wipe your stomach clean. He’s holding you as he does this–arm slid under your shoulders, lips pressed unmoving to your forehead. You’re still and stiff in his embrace; this isn’t what you expected. The shirt, maybe, sure. His tenderness? Never.

“Sorry, darlin’, usually’d have a towel for this,” Joel tells you, wadding the shirt into a ball–messy part inside, it’d seem–and tossing it back to the floor.

“You got your shirt dirty for me,” you say. “You didn’t have to.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I got more of ‘em in the truck.”

You extract yourself from him, springing awkwardly to your feet, still a little unsteady. It was nice, you have to admit. But you can’t let yourself linger with him. It’s not supposed to work like that. “Let me put it in the wash for you, anyway. You thirsty or anything?”

He’s sat up as though to follow you, a bewildered expression on his face. “I’m not worried about the shirt, darlin’.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure in my life.”

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. Now, what do you do? You’re standing at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands. You can’t stay here all night, can you?

“You seem lost,” Joel says gently.

“I–” you start but can’t admit to it. “What now?”

He cracks a little smile, but it doesn’t seem at your expense. “Well, much as I’d love to stay up with you, I’m tired, and I’ve still got a long drive tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay, you should get some sleep, then. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I do need something, actually, yeah,” Joel says.

“Sure, what is it?”

“You in this bed with me.”

You freeze. Not what you expected. “Oh, um, okay. If you really want,” you say, but you’re still stationary.

Joel shakes his head. “Not want, need.” Then, he casts his eyes somewhere to the side and says so softly that it’s almost inaudible, “Please.”

Your exhale tumbles out, but you nod, going to your dresser to find a clean set of pajamas–little shorts, big t-shirt. You let him watch you dress from afar and then return to his side slowly, cautiously. Like you think he might pounce, claws out. Instead, he stays where he is but leans in to kiss your bare shoulder slipping from the shirt.

“Would you–?” you begin, passing him his discarded underwear.

“Sure, honey,” Joel murmurs, standing up to put them on. But before he returns to bed, he goes over and blows out the candle. The room is almost completely dark, and you’re still until you feel the mattress dip down next to you. That’s when you lean into him, pressing against him like a cat. “Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t leave that burning overnight.”

“Sometimes I do,” you admit.

“I’ll bet you do,” he answers, chuckling. “But don’t, alright?”

You yawn wide, the dark conjuring exhaustion into your bones. “Alright, Joel.”

He gives a sigh of defeat, then you feel him peel back the covers and slide under. When you look over, you see the length of his body in the soft shadows. He’s stretched out on his side, head propped in his hand. The space he leaves is perfect for you.

You need to fill that space. Just not with your body. “You want me to set an alarm or anything, or I could–”

“Darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down with me.”

You quietly arrange yourself next to him: on your side facing him, a delicate river of space between your bodies. But he’s so warm. He radiates it. And it’s snowing outside like it’ll never stop, and your old farmhouse is so drafty, and the candle’s snuffed, and your pile of pillows is just not gonna cut it tonight. So, you bury your face into his chest, and he wraps his arms around to pull you closer, wraps you both in blankets.

His heartbeat thrums like the pulse of the earth, and you let yourself be lulled by it.

#well two months later and we're finally here #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #my posts #my writing #sun & sky

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absolutewhore101 · 7 months

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guys??? thank you so much🥹 ive gained so many followers since i started my joel miller series, and i want all of you to know how i grateful i am that youve chosen to stick around. luv u longtime🫶

#x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #taylor swift title series #absolutewhore101

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jupiter-soups · 9 months

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thank you for the tags babies!!!!! @futuraa-free @janaispunk luv u queens!!!! <3

last song: HOT TO GO! by chappell roan

currently watching: i'm watching the boys with beautiful angel cousin @futuraa-free!!!!! controversial opinion but... i think homelander may not be a good guy......🤔

three ships: i currently only consume x reader fics and i don't care what anybody has to say about it!!

favorite color: pink and purple!!

currently consuming: a can of pepsi max and a 11k fake relationship no outbreak joel miller fic....delicious

first ship: the og........ dramione

relationship status: this question is actually so rude and i'm choosing not to answer

currently working on: i'm doing this fun thing where i open google docs and get really deeply sad at my own inabilty to write and then i close it again but uh 2024 guys watch out!!! it's all gonna happen!! i swear!!

last film: i haven't watched a movie in SO long but i think it might have been no hard feelings?

np tags!! @huffle-punk @punkette1026 @noxturnalpascal @gasolinerainbowpuddles @lumoverheaven @ktheunready @chronically-ghosted @pastelnap

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the-orange-tabby-cat · 2 months

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Howdy! 🤠

I'm trying to better organize the approximate launch dates of my current series' next chapters and because of this, I need a little help from those who read my work (luv u). If you need a reminder, I've included my masterlist here. All my series are about Joel Miller at the moment, I'm obsessed with the man lol.

#help a cat #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #updates from the barn

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endlessthxxghts · 6 months

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Dr. Miller - Pt 2

Orthopedic!Joel Miller x afab!Reader | W/C: 4.8k

Summary: It’s time for your second appointment with Dr. Miller.

Warnings: canon-divergent - no outbreak, medical professional au. Reader (she/her) has female anatomy and is able-bodied. No physical description of race. Reference to reader’s clothing, but no sizes mentioned (everything is neutral). Pet names (darlin’, angel, girl, etc). Most definitely doctor malpractice LMFAO. 18+ MDNI. Inherent power imbalance (doctor-patient relations). Dirty talk. Hickeys/biting/marking. Fingering. Slight begging. Praise kink. Multiple orgasms. Spit kink. P in V unprotected (wrap it before you tap it, guys). Cum play/cum swallowing…snowball kisses🥴. Daddy kink… and last but not least, the ending.. I’m not gonna say what, you’ll just have to read, but I’m sorry😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 although I’m foregoing a warning or two for plot purposes, please let me know if they should be up here! I’ll fix it accordingly!🫶

A/N: Here goes round 2! As far as the series goes and as far as posting it goes LMAO!! This hellsite deleted my first attempt in posting, so hopefully it stays up this time around. And I’m giving a big thank you to @honeyedmiller for proofreading and catching my horrendous grammar mistakes lololol I love you🩶 Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy!!! I’d love to hear what you think :) luv u guys xx

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifs blog

<- PREVIOUS

Friday. 4pm. Your next appointment with Dr. Miller was tomorrow.

This was the first ever doctor appointment you’ve ever been excited for. The automated text their system sends out didn’t tell you to arrive early, and you’ll admit, you were bummed.

You’ll show up early regardless. Maybe he’d be able to see you sooner if his schedule allows. At least, you can hope, anyway.

After your appointment with him last week, you were left hurt and wanting. You knew the hurt was a natural reaction to the sudden dopamine drop, and something tells you Dr. Miller is a guy who’s adamant on aftercare. So, you swept those emotions under the rug easily.

Not so easily, however, was your needy cunt and the way it drooled and throbbed for nearly an entire week straight, craving the one thing she almost had. She barely had a taste, but she was already hooked, addicted even.

Your fingers, your vibrator, your purple dildo that’s helped you come plenty of times – nothing could get you off. Not anymore.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Miller had the exact same problem. Well, okay – he could ejaculate just fine, but the want never seemed to leave his system. Ever since he’s had his taste of you, he could never reach the feeling of satisfaction. And it has taken an absolute toll on him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dee snarked. Only she could ever talk to him like that. She keeps him on his toes.

“The hell is wrong with me?” he huffed.

“You’re being a grump, doc,” she replies.

He rolls his eyes. “Ain’t I always?”

“Yeah,” she says thoughtfully. “But you seem more… miserable.”

“Gee, Dee, well thank you for that,” he replies monotonously.

“You’re welcome,” she snickers. She comes closer, voice hushed. “Seriously, though. Do you need to get laid or something?”

He chokes on the coffee he now regrets bringing up to his lips. “Jesus,” he coughs. “Time and place, Dee,” he says, trying to collect himself.

She raises her hands up defensively. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya, doc,” she smirks, howling out a laugh as she puts Dr. Miller out of his misery by returning to her desk.

He just shakes his head in response, fighting the blush on his cheeks at the thought of you taking care of the needs Dee so outwardly pointed out he had.

Dr. Miller wouldn’t have to wait much longer, though. Your appointment was so soon, only one more work day before he’s able to be blessed by your presence again. That is, until Dee finds another opportunity to shit on Dr. Miller’s mood.

“What do you mean we’re supposed to close early tomorrow?” Dr. Miller gruffs.

“Exactly that, Miller,” Dee treads lightly. “It was in the calendar. Too many people have off in the afternoon tomorrow. It’s Easter weekend. You’ll be sorely understaffed.”

“Then who booked the patients after 2 if us closing early was in the calendar?” Dr. Miller is never one to be an asshole, dictating boss, but his irritation is very much getting the best of him right now.

Dee whispers her next response. “…The new hire. But don’t blame them. I should’ve caught it sooner,” she reasons.

Dr. Miller takes a steadying breath. “So how many people do we gotta disappoint right now?”

Dee pulls up the calendar on her phone. Dr. Miller watches her shoulders physically relax. “Oh! Actually, you’ve only got one person. At 4. I’ll call right now to reschedule,” Dee says with a finality.

“Wait- who?” Dr. Miller asks. He knows who it is.

Dee looks confused for a moment, but she indulges and reads off your name to her boss.

“Y’know what, Dee,” Dr. Miller waves her off. “I’ll take care of that appointment, it’s fine.”

“Dr. Miller, are you sure-”

“‘Course,” he cuts her off. “I’m the only one in this damn office without Easter plans, anyway,” he huffs. “Empty nest or however that sayin’ goes.”

Dee nods in understanding. “How’s she doing?”

“Fuckin’ amazin’,” Dr. Miller marvels. “She just surprises me more ‘n more everyday.”

Dee smiles before she returns to their situation at hand. “Are you sure you don’t want me to reschedule?”

“I’m sure,” Dr. Miller states. “Listen, I know this practice wouldn’t be able to run without any of y’all, and without you especially-” Dr. Miller explains.

“You flatter me,” Dee butts in with a straight face.

He smirks before continuing. “But have some faith in this old man, why don’t ya? I think I’m more than capable of doin’ the whole check in, check out thing.”

Dee takes in a sharp breath. “It’s much more than that, Miller, but nonetheless,” she holds her hands up in surrender. “I’ll put some faith in ya, old man.”

“Thank ya,” he drawls. “Now please go talk to the new hire about their mistake, I think they’re still afraid of me a lil bit.”

She laughs in the affirmative, shutting Dr. Miller’s office door on her way out.

Holy shit.

His plan to get you alone just worked itself out. Thank you, newbie, he thinks to himself.

Dr. Miller’s office is less than ten minutes away from you, yet somehow you decide that if you left any later than 3, you’d keep Dr. Miller waiting, and you certainly didn’t want that happening.

The parking lot is completely empty, a lone vehicle – a hefty truck – sits only two spaces away from your own. Your tummy swirls, knowing exactly whose car that might be. However, another swirl of nerves swarms through you. Why are there no other vehicles?

Swallowing the anxious lump in your throat, you step out of your car and make your way inside the office. Inside is even further void of life than the parking lot.

You make a beeline for the check-in window, picking up the pen from the cup to begin filling out your information when a deep drawl of your name startles you.

“Dr. Miller,” you jump, your eyebrows flying to your forehead.

“Shit,” Dr. Miller chuckles. “Sorry, darlin’,” his voice was much softer, careful. “I do that a lot to my staff- sneak up on ‘em, they call it. Say I need a bell or somethin’ ‘round my neck.”

You laugh with him at the little anecdote. He motions for you to come on back already, dismissing the check-in process since it’s only you, he explains.

“Why is it only me?” You ask. Well, okay – you know why it’s only you, but how is it only you is the question. He did not just send everyone else home since you’d be here. That would raise too much suspicion.

Walking you to the patient room furthest from the potential public eye, he retells the new hire’s mistake. You find yourself in the same mindset as Dr. Miller as you silently thank them for not being more careful.

“You could’ve rescheduled me, you know,” you tell him, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I know,” he quips as he opens the door for you.

You step inside, turning around to face him. “So why didn’t you?”

The door clicks shut, and Dr. Miller’s now face-to-face with you, head tilted down to meet your challenging gaze. The air in the room becomes dangerously charged.

“I think you know why, angel,” he says, scarily smooth.

You don’t back down. “Enlighten me.”

He takes a step closer to you, forcing you to step back. “Why should I? When that very reason is right between those legs already crying for me, huh? I bet she’s a fuckin’ mess already, ain’t she?”

You gulp as your ass hits the exam table, not realizing that Dr. Miller has been slowly cornering you.

Without giving you a moment to respond, his lips are crashing into yours, his large hands grabbing onto either side of your face to keep you against him as your body melts into his hold. His tongue licks across your bottom lip, and your mouth opens, letting him in. You mewl into his mouth, each of your tongues lapping one another’s flavors, your senses immediately being consumed.

The kiss breaks, and you both are frantic. Your hands grab onto the exam table behind you and you hoist yourself up, your fingers already finding the hem of your shirt as you rip it off, letting it fall to the ground. Dr. Miller practically growls at the sight, his chocolate brown eyes blackened with pure need.

He shucks off his white coat, letting it join your top as he pounces on you again. He nips at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop as he drags his scruffy face across your jaw and down your neck, biting pretty little bruises everywhere his mouth touches.

Your hands find the bottom of his shirt, taking the liberty of pulling it off and whining when it gets caught over his broad form. “Patience, angel, I’m not goin’ anywhere this time,” he coos, his eyes genuine.

You huff out in mock annoyance, your eyes silently thanking him for the reassurance. You pull back to let Dr. Miller take off the upper portion of his scrubs. Your irritated façade is quick to fade as your eyes coast his body: his broad shoulders and tanned chest, the product of laborious activity throughout one’s life; your eyes drag down to his softer middle, the product of a happy, indulgent life. Your spit is suddenly thick.

Dr. Miller’s thumb comes up to rub across your bottom lip. “Ya alright? Got a lil bit of drool right there,” he taunts.

You tilt your head and take his thumb in your mouth, letting your spit coat his digit generously as your hands pull him in by his waist, your fingers scratching the expanse of his sides and his belly. “So fucking sexy,” you murmur, eyes alight with hunger.

Unable to verbally deal with the compliment, Dr. Miller pulls his thumb from your mouth, settling his hand on your jaw as he pulls you in to kiss your lips again. It’s much softer this time, more savory. He takes his time with it, and it has both your resolves breaking as Dr. Miller’s free hand finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it with ease, the article joining the haphazard pile on the floor.

Dr. Miller kisses down your neck once again, your body leaning back to give him more access. His mouth goes straight for your hardened nipple, his tongue circling the entire area before putting as much as he can in his mouth and sucks.His hand fondles your other breast while he works the one in his mouth. You’re moaning and writhing at the stimulation, your pussy utterly leaking past the barrier of your pants and onto the exam table.

“Dr. Miller, please,” you gasp. “Please- need more,” you moan, eyes rolling back at a particular nip to your bud. You can feel him smile against you, his mouth relenting only to move to your other breast. Dr. Miller is all about detail, of course he needs to make sure every part of you receives ample attention.

He releases you with a pop, a devilish grin on his face as he stands back to his full height. His hand snakes to your front, the pads of his fingers rubbing softly at your clothed center, your slick completely soaked through. “Ya need more?” He drawls. “Tell me what you need, baby,” he says sickeningly sweet, his entire hand moving to cup your sex, the squelch of your arousal making his cock twitch.

“Fuck-” you squeak, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. “T-touch me, p-please,” you stammer.

To outsiders looking in – hell, to even you – it’d seem as though Dr. Miller is entirely calm and collected, at ease in the way he’s been teasing you. Yet, with the way his cock is straining the material of his scrubs and the way his chest heaves, he is anything but. He is so far gone, he nearly wanted to rip your clothes off in the waiting room and take you over the fucking counter. But he didn’t, much to his displeasure, but he tells himself the buildup is worth the wait. And, fuck- with you? It’s so fucking worth it.

“I am touchin’ you, darlin’. Touch how? Use those words, sweet girl, I know you can,” he tells you, squeezing your cunt in a way that has your belly doing flips.

“Oh, God-” your head rolls back, body on fire. “F-fuck me, Dr. Miller, n-need your- fuck- need your cock, need it so bad,” you plead, eyes tearing up the more you speak. The man finally broke you.

Dr. Miller smiles wildly. “Atta girl,” he rewards you, “I’ll give it to ya,” he breathes. “Lord knows you’re all I been thinkin’ ‘bout,” he admits as his fingers begin nudging your pants down.

“Yeah?” you breathe softly as you lift your hips for him. Even in your aroused craze, you can’t help but soften at the admission. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” you tell him.

This is so much more than a fucking hookup, you both think. But you ignore that fact for later.

Shaking off the emotion, as soon as your pants join your clothes, you lean back, settling your elbows behind you to keep you up. Letting your legs fall open, you quirk your brow. “Well, cowboy?”

That brings his attention back. His eyes are fixed on your shiny cunt, his tongue twitches to drink you up. But, no, this is about you this time. And what you want is to be full. He’ll give it to you. But, first-

“I was too big for you last time,” he states matter-of-factly.

“I-” your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“I hurt you last time.”

“No you didn’t-”

“I could tell it did,” he rebuttals.

Without another word, he steps out of the exam room. A beat passes and he’s back – with a fluffy pillow.

“Um-”

“Lift,” he states.

You lift your hips up, and Dr. Miller places the pillow underneath your lower back. “This should help open your pelvic floor more,” he says. “And ease the tightness of the position,” he adds.

And it does.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Thanks,” you say, your cheeks heating up at the action.

He leans over you to kiss your tummy before his hands settle on the insides of your thighs. “You okay?” He asks. His thumbs rub up and down, dangerously close to where you’re leaking for him.

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your voice anymore.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he says.

“Oh, God, please-” you whine impatiently.

“But I needa touch you first, angel, I don’t wanna hurt you. Please?”

How can you say no to that? To his thick fingers and the way you know he can use them so expertly? How can you say no to the hands that have built his career or to the hands that’ll easily make you fall apart just as much as you know his cock would? You’d be an absolute dumbass to say no to that.

“Okay, Dr. Miller,” you say, voice shaky in anticipation.

“Joel,” he offers.

Your heart skips a beat. “Joel?” you question.

“Mhm,” he hums. “My name- well, first name, I guess,” he pauses. His fingers move closer to your core, the softest of touches ghost through your seam. You take a sharp breath in. “Just tellin’ you cuz I wanna hear you moan it when I make a mess a’ you. I bet it’ll sound real pretty, baby.”

His thumb finds your clit, then, and you do exactly what Dr. Miller – Joel – wanted. You moan out his name deliciously, sending him groaning at the pang of desire shooting up his spine, his cock weeping for attention.

“Fuck yeah, angel, that’s it. Knew you’d sound so fuckin’ gorgeous, fuck-”

His thumb continues its assault on your throbbing bud while the middle finger on his other hand rubs through your wet folds, collecting up the arousal before he pushes into your entrance.

It’s an easy push, his fingers are thick, so there’s still a slight stretch amongst the pleasure. The work he puts in with both hands has your hips bucking in his touch, and it eases your body enough for him to slip his ring finger along his other.

His two fingers fuck into you at a sweet pace, the length of him reaching places your own fingers have never felt before. It’s pure ecstacy. “Oh, Joel, yes- shitshitshit, that feels so fucking good,” you cry, your head lolling around like a bobblehead, your body falling weaker and weaker the more he plays with you.

“Yeah, baby? Like that? That feel good?” He grunts, his heart beating a mile a minute at how fucking pretty and wild you look and sound from his fingers alone. “So fuckin’ wet, baby,” he snarls. “You know what, pretty girl?”

“What?” you whine, trying your best to keep your eyes open and on him as your head begins to tingle from how hard you’re panting.

“I think you’re ready to take me, baby, I think she’s so fuckin’ ready,” he grins, his fingers adopting a come-here motion, your sobs reverberating throughout the tiny exam room.

“Come for me first, pretty girl, make a mess on my fuckin’ fingers, and I’ll give what you’ve been crying for,” he all but demands as he looks down and lets a big glob of his spit fall directly onto your clit, his fingers gliding over you even quicker in the mixture.

“Fuck- Joel!” you scream, the spit being the action that completely throws you over the edge.

“Jesus, angel, fuck-” he stills his fingers, letting himself feel the flutter of your warmth as you cream all around him.“So fuckin’ perfect comin’ all over my fingers, goddamn, messy fuckin’ girl,” he rambles, his eyes roaming every inch of your body, taking in every twitch, shake, and mewl your body is giving him.

Your breathing starts to slow, muscles relaxing but not quite over its shaking. He pulls his fingers out of you and brings it directly to his mouth, his cock nearly bursting at the taste of you on his tongue. Another time, he thinks to himself as he bends down to pull the rest of his scrubs off, using the moment to place a chaste kiss to your puffy clit. You yelp at the sensation, a lazy, blissed out smile blesses him, and he can hear his heartbeat thrum in his ears at the sight.

Joel crowds himself between your thighs again, pumping his cock a few times, his thumb reaching for the precum leaking at his slit and spreading it all over his length.

“How you feelin’?” Joel checks in.

“So fucking good, Joel,” you respond, doe-eyed but entirely honest.

He wants to kiss you so fucking bad.

So he does.

He leans over you as best as he can in this angle, his length rubbing against your folds as he leans in, his hand wraps at the base of your neck, pulling you in for an open-mouthed kiss – wet, hot, and slow. He pulls away with a blush across his cheeks, and your face is entirely engulfed by flames, too. Did that kiss make him nervous? Did it make you nervous?

Unable to look away from each other, you utter the first thing that comes to mind. “Please,” you whisper, though you don’t really know what you’re pleading for.

“I got ya,” Joel whispers, pulling himself back to line up his erection with your entrance.

Even though Joel’s fingers were a stretch all on their own and your body was quick to adjust, you genuinely don’t think anything could truly prepare you for the length and girth of Dr. Joel Miller.

Last week, it was damn near impossible. Thinking back to it, honestly, you think you might want to even thank the nurse that interrupted you two. Still, if Joel hadn’t prepared you today with his fingers, you definitely wouldn’t have been able to take him as fast as you are now.

He pushes in just the tip, and you both gasp at the initial pleasure. Your mewls are more pleasurable than painful this time around, and Joel takes that as the go-ahead to keep going.

“You tell me if I needa stop, darlin’, I’ll stop immediately,” Joel grunts, trying his best to keep slow.

“God, fuck- Joel, I swear to God, you better not stop- need you so bad,” you lament. He finally pushes himself to the hilt, your rambling continuing as he does so. “Please fuck me, baby, fuck me hard, da-” you gasp and slap your hand over your mouth, catching yourself before you let yourself finish that word.

Joel pauses all movement, his hands tightly on your hips as his purely black eyes stare down at you. “What’d ya say, angel?”

“J-Joel, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“Not my question, babygirl,” he warns softly. “What’d you call me?”

You gulp, opting to just stare at him, silently begging him to spare you of the embarrassment.

He withdraws from you, all the way out to the tip, then, oh so slowly he pushes back in. He pauses halfway, eyebrow raised. Words.

“Please, Jo-” you start. His hand squeezes your hip in warning. “Please… Daddy, please,” you whine, finally giving in. With that, he pushes in roughly to the hilt, knocking all the wind from your lungs as pure pleasure flows through every nerve in your body. “Oh, fuck!”

“That’s it, angel, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he moans, his thrusts slow but calculated. “Makin’ daddy feel so good, baby, shit-” he tells you, his own eyes finally fluttering shut as he revels in the feeling of the warmth of your walls, tight and fucking perfect.

“How’s daddy’s girl feelin’, baby? Feelin’ good? Hm?” he grunts with a particular thrust forward.

“So- fuck-” you try to get out, your sweet cries of euphoria cutting you off and forcing you into incoherency. But you’ve experienced enough in this short time with Dr. Miller – with Joel – to know he needs this communication. He thrives on it. So you try your damn hardest. And fuck, it nearly sends him to his end.

“F-feels so good, so so good- mmm, shit- love your cock s’much, daddy,” you slur, eyes nearly going cross-eyed as Joel’s hips start to move faster, his fingers gripping tight enough to leave little bruises on your waist, a matching set to the marks across your neck and chest.

The wanton moans spilling from your mouth spurs Joel on, his brain short-circuiting at the feel of your velvety core consuming him. You feel him twitch before he feels you flutter. The sensation wakes you up a little, a wave of confidence overtaking you despite the fervent drive of his hips.

“You’re close, daddy,” you whine, a mischievous grin across your face. “Can feel you,” you tell him, thrusting your hips softly, attempting to meet his every push and pull with the help of the pillow gliding underneath you.

“Fuck-” he chokes, his hips only faltering in pace for barely a moment. One hand lets go of your waist and falls where you two are connected. “Need you- shit-” he pants. “Need you to come ‘round daddy’s cock first, pretty girl.” His thumb finds your nerves, slick and sensitive, and wastes no time in forcing you to the brink of another orgasm.

His fingers circle you, matching the rhythm of his hips, and instantly, your eyes clamp shut, back arching deliciously as you let your legs open impossibly further. “Oh, daddy- oh God, oh fuck- I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-” you yell as your throat becomes hoarse, your chest sinking and rising as you let your body relish in the fire that Joel is throwing you into.

“Give it t’me, lemme feel you, angel,” Joel urges, his lower tummy flexing as he feels your inner walls spasm and soak his pulsing length.

“Oh, yes- yeah, fuck- please,” you babble mindlessly. Pulling yourself to sit up, your hand planted behind you, you pull Joel in, lips ghosting each other as his quick breaths fan against your lips. “You gonna come? My pussy that good, daddy?”

Your random spurts of teasing has Joel in all sorts of panic. Usually, he’s one to call the shots, and all his past partners never wanted or requested anything different, but it seems as though he has finally met his match. “Fuckin- Christ, doll- pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby, daddy’s gonna fuckin- oh fuck-” he keens, pulling out just in time for his cock to spill his entire worth across your mound and your lower belly.

“Oh my god,” you moan to yourself, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of him all over you.

Joel takes a minute to catch his breath, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he didn’t just violate every Doctor oath he’s ever taken.

“I think I need to be the one to check in this time,” you let out in a breathy laugh. “You okay?”

He still isn’t looking in your eye, and it makes you nervous. Is he regretting everything now? “Joel?” you call, barely audible.

His eyes snap to yours before they fall back to where he was looking before. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, baby, I just, uh-”

Cutting himself off, he bends down slowly. You watch him, confused but intrigued. He sticks his tongue out, flat, and licks. From your mound to the lower part of your belly, he collects up the salty, milky liquid on his tongue.

He brings his mouth up to you, his hand finding purchase at the back of your neck. He pulls you into his mouth, his tongue invites itself into your space along with the heady musk of his come, and you welcome it greedily, swallowing every little bit of his arousal that you can.

You break away just before his watch beeps: 5:45pm, fifteen minutes until closing. “That was-”

“I’m sorry, that was disgustin’ I don’t know why I jus’ did that-”

You lean in to nip at him, pulling away with a suck to his pouty bottom lip. “That was hot, Dr. Miller,” you smirk.

Dr. Miller’s exam rooms, although not often, can see a lot of bodily fluids. Obviously not the kinds that you two have exchanged together, but with the notion of removing casts and such, sweat is bound to get everywhere. So every room holds baby and/or sanitizing wipes just in case.

He grabs a pack of baby wipes underneath the cabinet and takes out a few. He wipes your entire lower half down, and grabs some more from the pack to wipe himself off. It’s a dance of wobbly limbs as both of you help each other dress back up, you being particularly whiny at how stiff the scrub material is when you try and blame it on his big size.

“I thought you liked how big I am?” He quips, your eyebrows shooting up in response as you slap his chest.

All dressed up, you two walk out of the exam room, both you and Dr. Miller on cloud nine as you make your way back to the front office.

Before reaching the door, he grabs on your waist, pulling you against the wall, towering over you. That beautiful Southern gentleman smile bright on display, the kind of smile that has your knees wanting to buckle.

“I- I had a great time with you,” he says, a little bashful. Sure, the things you did together were otherworldly, but the things that came after? How he was able to help clean you, dress you, and simply just be with you afterwards? He really can’t remember a time he’s felt so right.

“I did, too,” you tell him. “But, I think…” you trail off.

His stomach sinks. Here it comes. We shouldn’t be doing this anymore, he knows you’ll say.

“I think I can’t be your patient anymore,” you whisper with a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Dear God, you just about gave me a damn heart attack,” he huffs, burying his head into the crook of your neck, littering playful nips anywhere he can reach as payback for scaring him.

You two break out in laughter, it slowly turning into an impromptu makeout session as his lips find yours again, both of you insatiable for one another’s taste.

You’re so caught up in each other that neither of you realize the front door of the office unlocks, nor do you realize someone is entering the hallway you two are currently in.

You also don’t hear the gasp coming from the person either, not until-

“Dr. Miller?!”

Shit.

NEXT (coming soon) ->

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