#joel miller x gn!reader

[cowgurrrl]

Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this. 

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles. 

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls. 

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle. 

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head. 

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates. 

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise. 

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be. 

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face. 

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired." 

"Why didn't you tell me that?" 

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you. 

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head. 

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you. 

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod. 

"Okay." 

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to. 

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles. 

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss. 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

[heartpascal]

the sun was collapsing

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel thought you moving to a college halfway across the country would be the worst thing to happen to his family

▹— a/n: first off. yes this is me projecting. second, this is a miller!kid fic HOWEVER. it is not specified whether reader is adopted or biological etc + there is no reference to looks/resemblance! edit upon finishing: this took a slightly different direction than i originally meant but erm. yeah. let me know if y’all want any more of this!

▹— warnings: reference to a suicide attempt / suicidal thoughts and feelings — it’s the last section of the fic, and if you wish to avoid it stop reading at “You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.”, i will also put *** at the start of it (joel’s, but still, be cautious), negative feelings about going to college, miller!reader (adopted/bio unspecified), regretting leaving home, outbreak day, angst!!, brief use of they/them pronouns

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop (pedro)

masterlist

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There had been a pit festering in the depths of your chest since the moment you had finished all of your exams. One which, no matter how many reassurances were provided, refused to go away, refused to allow you a moment of peace, of rest.

Strangely, it had only gotten worse the moment you had received your results, since you had received your acceptance letter, since your place at the college of your dreams was confirmed. As if all your hard work finally paying off was a bad thing, something to dread.

At first, you blamed it on the way Sarah had cried and held on to you for the way your chest caved in on itself. It felt reasonable to assume that your little sister could be the reason for such overwhelming trepidation about your impending departure. After all, you had always worried about her, had always looked out for her as best as you could, especially with everything that had happened with her mother.

When that didn’t explain away the uneasiness in your chest cavity, you shifted the blame to your father. Your dad, who you had looked after for what felt like the entirety of your life, who you had looked to in the best and worst times of your life. The very man who did his best to quell his own fear and worry about your move, just to reassure you, to encourage you.

Joel Miller was a self-made man, who raised two kids, a brother, and a business all in one short lifetime. He was a man who had struggled at practically every turn, and if this college was what would make you happy, was what would give you the head start that he had never received, he would welcome it.

You knew, really, that he would be fine. Your dad had raised you just fine, and he could handle your little sister without you, you were sure. For a brief moment, you had blamed that on the sense of foreboding within you; the idea that they didn’t need you. It didn’t take long for you to realise that they did, and that they would be glad to have you from miles away, rather than not at all.

So, you were at a loss.

It should have been an exciting time, something that you were looking forward to, rather than dreading. This was the start of the rest of your life, the reward for all of your hours spent working for the grades you had received, for the anxiety and stress of school. It was supposed to be a good thing. You couldn’t understand why your chest didn’t seem to get that memo.

The feeling persisted the entirety of the time that led up to your move, outlasting each brief flash of any other emotion. It continued the whole roadtrip up to the college, across multiple state borders, despite the multitude of karaoke covers that Sarah initiated.

Even when Joel and Tommy were taking your boxes up to your dorm room, you could feel it. Hell, when Sarah helped you start unpacking said boxes, it continued.

It was only when you were waving the three of them off, tears blurring the shrinking truck, that you realised just what was responsible for the feeling that had been bugging you for months.

You didn’t want to leave home.

Moreover, you didn’t want to grow up. You didn’t want to be alone.

The realisation was almost enough for you to call your dad, to beg him to come back, to pick you up and return you back home. Almost. Instead, you found yourself walking numbly back up to your dorm room, taking more than one wrong turn in the hallways which bled into one, and sitting down on the mattress which wasn’t your own.

For the next week, you breezed by, drifting along your timetable in some kind of half-there state. It was like you couldn’t fully comprehend that you were on your own.

You phoned Sarah on the fifth day, twisting the wire around your fingertip nervously, as if your little sister would ever ignore your calls. She answered on the second ring — unsurprisingly, given that was about how long it always took for her to answer the phone — and she greeted you with the most joyful call of your name you’d heard for a while.

“Sarah,” You responded fondly, tears immediately welling up in your eyes as you listened to her barrage of questions about your first week at college. “Slow down, Sarah, slow down!” You interrupted when her questions became intelligible over the spotty phone line.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sarah said, not sounding sorry at all. “I miss you. I wanna know everything.” She finished, which you already knew she would. Sarah was a lot like you in that way, curious and determined. You knew she was already thinking of what college she wanted to go to, and just how to get there. If she wasn’t swept up by playing soccer, neglecting her studies, that was.

Regardless, you smiled, just glad to hear her voice. “I know, I miss you, too. Is dad home yet?” You asked, unsurprised by her responding no, considering Joel Miller was renowned for his inability to stay on time, his tendency to overwork himself unrelenting. “Okay, well, you’ll tell him everything, right?”

“‘Course I will,” Sarah responded, sounding thrilled to get to relay such interesting information. She’d no doubt be sharing it with Tommy, first thing in the morning, too. “Now tell me!”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, before telling her as much as you could about what you recalled of your experience so far. Some of it was embellished, of course, mostly for Sarah’s benefit, though also slightly for your father’s. You already knew he’d be worrying himself sick over you.

That phone call was the only time the pit in your chest lessened, the whole time you’d been at college. As if the smallest dose of home was having a real effect. It only made you miss the house back in Texas all the more.

You felt worse afterwards, somehow. As if the call had been a harsh and unneeded reminder of the distance between you and your family. It had barely been over a week by now since you had left home, and you worried that you would never get used to being so far away. How could it possibly get better? How could you ever settle in when the people you love were so far?

The days afterwards were spent mulling over all of your life choices, spending your time soaking in all the regrets you were beginning to have. Why did you work so hard to get into this college? You were miserable. Not to mention all of the experiences you had missed out on in your determination to get here.

Luckily for you, you finally made your first friend.

He had sat next to you in one of your classes, and finally, after three classes of sitting in silence, the two of you had struck up a conversation.

Strangely enough, the two of you bonded over missing home. He was all the way from Nevada, and shared your debilitating homesickness. He talked a lot about his mother, and his older sister, and it was nice to have somebody to share that with.

Things were starting to look up. Life was a lot easier when you had a friend to share it with.

But all the talking about feeling homesick didn’t actually get rid of the feeling. Your heart practically ached each time you went home to your dorm room, where you were alone, where there was no little sister to come and bug you about dinner, or about dad getting home.

You called again, on the three week mark.

Much to your annoyance and happiness, your uncle Tommy answered the phone.

“Hey, uncle Tommy. How’re you doing?” You asked, the smile obvious in your voice. Even to your ears, it was the happiest you’d sounded since speaking to Sarah, a little over two weeks prior.

“Well, if it ain’t our little ol’ Nerd Miller.” Tommy greeted over the phone, that familiar teasing tone making you roll your eyes. “I’m doin’ mighty fine, kiddo. How’re you gettin’ on?” He asked, tone taking on a more soft note, which had your chest aching all over again.

Still, you shook your head and tried your best to seem as happy as possible, for his sake. “Oh, you know, just learning the ways of the world, n’ all. Where’s dad?” You questioned, not wanting to be rude, but also desperate to speak to the man who had raised you, and who had also missed your calls since you’d been gone.

“He’s out buyin’ some last minute supplies for tomorrow’s job. Keeping himself busy, I’d say.” Tommy replied, before you heard him calling out Sarah’s name, away from the phone. “Hang on, now, Sarah wants to speak to you.”

You wait, listening to the shuffling of the phone switching hands from across the country, endeared by your sister scolding your uncle for taking so long to tell her it was you. They argued for a moment longer, their joking tones familiar, but sounding vaguely different from across the phone line.

Finally, Sarah greeted you. “Hey, little sister! How are you getting on, over there? Tommy causing you trouble?” You asked in return, hearing him yell, some distance away, straining to be heard across the phone. It sent you and Sarah into giggles, and she had to take a breath before she could respond.

“As always. So, have you been to any parties, yet?” She asked, always insisting that you were the Miller child who caused the most trouble. You vaguely heard Tommy yell out a ‘sure hope not’ over the phone. Sarah shushed him, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“No, Sarah, no partying for me! I’ve gotta work hard, make this whole trip worth it.” You said, and though your tone was teasing, your words were feeling more true by the second. You had seen plenty of fliers advertising parties all across campus, even been handed a few as you exited classrooms, but you were uninterested. Your new friend had suggested you go to one, just yesterday evening, but you had declined. You were pretty sure that underaged drinking wasn’t the right way to cure your homesickness.

“You’re so boring. Dad’ll be thrilled.” Sarah laughed, the sound crackling over the line, and you smiled. There was no doubt in your mind that Joel would be relieved about your lacking party life, as much as he said he encouraged you getting out and living. Hell, the whole reason he hadn’t called you was so that you didn’t feel suffocated by him, so that you could live your life without feeling pressure from your old man. “Made any new friends?”

You hesitated, for some reason. “Uh, yeah! There’s this guy in my—”

“A guy?” Sarah interrupted, immediately. And there it was! The very reason for your hesitation. You heard a struggle over the phone, and Sarah was sounding more amused as time passed. “What’s his name? Are you dating?”

“Okay, enough of that!” Tommy said, and there was more shuffling as he presumably snatched the phone off of Sarah. You could hear her complaining through breaks in her laughter, but Tommy was refusing to hand back the phone. “Your old man does not need this one passin’ along details of your dating life, kiddo.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “There is no dating life, uncle Tommy. He’s just my friend.” You responded, though your uncle sounded unconvinced. “Anyway, enough about him. About dad’s birthday, next week—”

It was Tommy who cut you off this time, shifting the phone in his hand. “Woah! Don’t you go worrying about that, now. Me and Sarah have got it covered, don’t we, kiddo?” You heard Sarah yelling agreements, though you doubted she even knew what you were talking about.

“Actually, I was thinking about coming home for it. Surprising dad, you know.” You admitted, mostly in hopes that your uncle would help you plot the journey. And he was slightly better at keeping secrets than Sarah was.

“Oh, you just worry about yourself, up there. We’ll look after your old man! You gotta get out there, live your life!” Tommy responded, dismissing your idea immediately, even though he knew his older brother would have secretly loved the surprise. But it had only been a few weeks since you’d left, and if Tommy was honest, he wasn’t sure you’d go back if you came home so soon.

You frowned at his response, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “You mean to tell me that you and Sarah are gonna manage the birthday breakfast, presents and cake? No way dad’ll remember any of it!” You said. For the longest time, you had been the one taking care of that sort of thing. Joel was always much too busy taking care of you and Sarah as well as overworking himself at his day job to sort out his own birthday celebrations.

Sure, Sarah was old enough by now to do this sort of thing, but it was something that you did. Since you were— what? Eleven? You had been the one to do it. Each year, you made Joel’s birthday cake, and either bought his presents or sent Tommy and Sarah out for them. Would they manage it without you? Did you even want them to?

It was the one day of the year where nothing else came first. Not schoolwork, homework, studying, work, not anything. You always made sure that this day was free, no exceptions. What would you do with it now?

“I think we can manage, right, Sarah?” Tommy said, teasingly, clearly not quite realising the significance of the day for you. Joel was your dad, in all the ways that mattered. He did everything for you! Hell, he even moved you halfway across the country, just because you thought it was what you wanted. This was the one day of the year where you got to return that. Where you got to show just how thankful you are for him, even if he did annoy the hell out of you whenever the chance arose. His birthday was the one day where you could get away with buying him gifts, and Tommy wanted you to… what? Stay this far? Be uninvolved?

“Tommy, I—… I always help with dad’s birthday. That doesn’t need to change now.” You murmured into the phone, suddenly feeling left out. It wasn’t a feeling you enjoyed whatsoever, and especially when it involved such an important day.

Tommy tutted, the sound just about crackling through the receiver, and you could picture him shaking his head, all the way back in Texas. “You gotta live your own life now, kid. Can’t be worryin’ about us little people back here. It’s high time you started puttin’ yourself first. Don’t worry about Joel’s birthday,” Tommy said, softer then, less mocking. “Me and Sarah’ve got it, alright?”

With a frown, you responded. “Alright.”

“Alrighty, now we better get goin’, your dad’ll have a fit if I make Sarah late again.” Tommy told you, and you nodded, before cringing and realising he couldn’t see that.

The three of you said your goodbyes, with Tommy putting the phone down soon after, cutting off his yells to Sarah about getting her shoes on. In the silence that followed after, you couldn’t help but feel more upset than before the call. Logically, you knew your family missed you. You knew that they couldn’t wait for you to be home at Thanksgiving, and you knew that they looked forward to your phone calls home just as much as you did. But it was hard. Brief phone calls with them just weren’t enough, and just showed that life was going on for them as normal, whilst you felt stuck.

You also knew that they were trying to give you your independence, that they were trying to let you live your life. Especially Joel. But you were finding, more and more, that you didn’t want this much independence. You wanted your dad to be overbearing and overly interested in your life, because he just wanted to be involved. You wanted your uncle to drive you to and from school, to sneak you a bottle of beer at family barbecues. You wanted to walk your little sister around town, because she was too nervous to go herself.

Everybody you had known back home had always told you that you’d be just fine at college. They had always told you that you were independent enough as it was, that you were practically an adult already, and that it’d be almost no different to home. For whatever reason, you felt guilty to think that they were wrong about you. You needed your family. You couldn’t do everything on your own, it was too much. It was too hard. It was too… lonely.

Where was your support system? Where were the three overbearing family members that would crowd you when you were upset, until you finally felt better? Who would you turn to when you needed a lift all the way across town? Who would you persuade to watch shitty DVDs from the Adler’s with you? Who would save Sarah from the Adler’s clutches?

As awful as you felt about it, you couldn’t help but want your family to feel as incapable without you as you did without them. You didn’t want them to manage without you. You wanted them to tell you to come home.

Part of you was just hoping that they weren’t doing it because they knew you were looking for the excuse to come home. Because they knew that if they asked, you’d come. Without question. Without even a moment of hesitation.

Your phone rang again, and you jumped up to answer it, hoping your dad was finally home, finally ringing you back. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Your newest and only friend greeted, the sound of a party muffling his voice. You sighed, hand over the end of the phone in hopes he wouldn’t hear it and misread your disappointment. “You sure you don’t wanna come to this thing? It’s a lot of fun!”

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was the morning of your dad’s birthday, and you had barely slept a wink, despite having a class relatively early this very morning. It had been a night full of tossing and turning, full of regrets and ideas about going home at 2AM. In the end, your exhaustion let you sleep when it was nearing 6AM, and your alarm woke you up not long later.

You’d barely managed to refrain from micro-managing Sarah and Tommy, all the way from across the country. Instead, you’d let yourself believe that they’d be able to remember everything, despite your anxiety telling you otherwise. You felt awful enough about not being there for Joel’s birthday, the last thing you needed was to feel guilty about him not getting a good birthday, too.

Not that you thought that Sarah or Tommy would allow that, of course. But Tommy was almost as forgetful as Joel was, and it wasn’t like Sarah could borrow Tommy’s truck like you had, last year. She wasn’t even old enough to drive yet! Surely it wasn’t unreasonable for you to worry, right?

You held off from calling home until it was nearing the time they would be leaving for school and work respectively, in hopes of not making the three of them late. You knew that you’d have to leave for your own class soon enough, but it felt wrong to start the day without speaking to your dad. Hell, your sad breakfast of toast had already started the day off on a pretty low note.

The phone rang for an uncomfortably long time, and you were reaching out to hang up when somebody finally answered. No greeting came immediately, just shuffling over the line, alongside some distant yelling. Finally, Tommy said, “Hello?”

“Hey, uncle Tommy. Everything alright over there?” You asked, brows creased as you listened to the commotion going on within the house, audible even over the crackly phone line. It seemed that the day was not starting off as smoothly as it usually did, no doubt due to your own dad and his persistent snoozing of his alarm.

Tommy yelled something away from the phone before finally responding to your question. “All good on our front, kiddo. How’re you doin’?” He asked, though you didn’t miss how distracted he sounded as he asked.

“Um, fine, I guess. Is dad there?”

“Huh? Oh, hang on.” Tommy replied, before you heard the clunk of him placing the phone down on the wooden table it sat on. There were some crackles that you think were his boots against the floor as he walked away, and you distantly heard him yelling for your dad. “Joel, your kid is on the phone!”

It’s awkward — the waiting, that is. The second hand on your watch ticking away until the minute hand moves, and still, there’s only faint rustling on the other end of the phone. Finally, after almost three full minutes, somebody picks up the phone.

Sarah said your name cheerfully, and you smiled tightly, despite yourself. “Hey, Sarah. How’s it been, sorting dad’s birthday?”

“Oh, not so bad. Made him eggs this morning, because he forgot the pancake mix yesterday. And he’s picking up the cake later! But don’t worry! I’ve got his present sorted.” She rambled, barely pausing to take a breath between sentences. You can imagine that she’d been stressed, trying to sort everything. It’s not as easy when you’re young, and you know that from experience.

“I don’t doubt you for a second. Where is dad?” You replied, eyebrows creased as you waited for her response.

“He’s running late, as always.” Sarah answered, and you could picture her rolling her eyes. She was punctual by nature, and definitely didn’t get that from Joel. He was always too late.

“I’m here, I’m here.” You heard faintly, the words muffled across the line. “You, go get in the truck. We’re late! Hey, kiddo.” Joel said, talking to Sarah before finally addressing you on the phone.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but we really are running late. I’ll call you once I’m home, alright?” Joel told you, sounding apologetic and frustrated. He probably missed you — and your annual birthday breakfast — just as much as you missed him.

“Okay. Happy birthday, dad.” You responded, feeling increasingly down. You should’ve never listened to Tommy. Joel’s birthday would no doubt be a disaster without you. And you already knew he was going to forget to pick up his birthday cake before returning home from work. It was the whole reason you always baked him one before he got home.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Joel said, a faint smile audible in his voice. He hung up a moment later, already shouting to Tommy and Sarah before the call was cut off. You frowned at the phone in your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of your family back home. Moving away truly wasn’t a good idea, was it?

That was what your thoughts were stuck on, for the rest of the day. Even as you proceeded to go to classes and see your few friends as normal, you couldn’t help but feel that pit in your chest getting worse, like you really were making a mistake. It was suffocating, and it felt never ending.

When you finally got back to your dorm room — much to your friend’s dismay, after having left them in the library to do an essay alone — you waited by the phone for your dad to call you back.

But when the phone finally did ring, it wasn’t your dad on the other end. Sarah greeted you the moment you answered, sounding relatively tired. She started telling you about her day, and about how Joel still wasn’t home, despite it nearing the late evening. She also told you about having to go to the Adler’s house, and helping Mrs. Adler bake disgusting cookies, followed by how creepy her mother was. Sarah had always found the old woman to be creepy, with her motionless state and blank expression, but in her words, the old woman seemed even more creepy than usual.

You rejoiced with her when she told you the title of the shitty DVD she’d borrowed from their extensive collection, though. It was one of your favourite things about your dad’s birthday traditions, even though the movie was almost always awful.

The call didn’t last long, because Sarah wanted to get her homework done before the weekend started, so you let her go, and sat in your quiet dorm room, once more. It was lonely, more than anything, and even though you often just sat alone in your bedroom at home, it was different. There was no option of going downstairs to see your dad, or crossing the hall to see your sister.

Eventually, you fell asleep, the dim lighting of your room alongside your poor night of sleep prior meaning that you couldn’t wait for Joel to call any longer.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The first thing you think when you wake up to a world of chaos, is that you never got to speak to your dad last night.

Even as the world rages on around you, people going insane, reports of an outbreak, shots fired on the streets, you can only think of your family, who feel as if they’re half the world away. How are you going to get to them? Are they okay? Are they alive? What was the last thing you said to them? Did you tell them you love them?

It’s a quick downward spiral, one which you’re only pulled out of when your friend appears in your vision, gripping your arm with relief that is practically palpable in the air around you. He’s covered in sweat and dirt, and you think there’s blood staining his sleeve. Still, it’s a relief to see him, to see a familiar face as the sky turns dark and chaos rages on.

He’s pulling you down the street in the next moment, past the site of a car wreck, with three, four— five cars practically piled on top of one another, one of which is already ablaze. There’s glass and blood and bodies everywhere you look, and it’s a feat that you don’t throw up.

“Robbie, what’s happening? Do you know what’s happening?” You asked desperately, straining to be heard over the sound of people screaming and crying around you.

“I—I don’t know. We need to get out of here, it’s… it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.” Robbie answered, his voice shaking even more than it had when he’d been talking of home, missing his family. You imagine he missed them far more in this moment, just like you did. He didn’t look back at you, but he did lower his hand to your own, rather than gripping your wrist. You squeezed his fingers, breathing through the growing pit in your chest, through the weight settling in your throat.

You’re not sure how long the two of you walk, but by the time you paused, the sun was rising. Half of you is convinced that you’re in some kind of delusional state, delirious enough from your lack of sleep that this is some sort of illusion that your brain is creating. The other half of you, however, knows better. It’s the part of you that keeps that pit in your chest empty, that keeps it all consuming. It’s the part that knows something is very, very wrong.

You kept wondering how this happened. How did the world turn to chaos in a matter of days? Hours? Sure, you’d caught glimpses of news reports following what doctors believed to be some kind of virus outbreak, but that didn’t prepare you for this. It hadn’t seemed so serious yesterday.

Between lapses of silence on your trek with Robbie, he’d told you everything he knew. He told you about how he tried to call his family, about how all the phone lines were down. He told you about his roommate, who had tried to attack him the moment he exited his room. It was only thanks to a few passersby that Robbie had been able to barricade his roommate in their shared dorm.

It was a mass outbreak, it seemed, and clearly, the government had no idea how to handle it. The entirety of the state was in disarray, and there had been orders to shoot civilians on sight. Both of you were terrified of coming across anybody, whether they were Infected or just hostile, neither of you wanted to die. All you wanted was to see your family again.

You knew you never should have come to this college.

Neither you nor Robbie had brought it up, but there was an unspoken question about where you were going to go. Where could possibly be safe? How were you going to get to your families? The two of you lived in opposite directions, so what were you going to do? Split up and try to get back to your home states alone? There was no way to even tell what you were going to find, if you even made it that far. Would your family be there? Would they have left? What if they tried to come to you? What if they were already gone?

There was no way to communicate with either of your families, and the uncertainty was wearing you both down. What if you got to them, and you infected them, somehow? How did you even know if you were Infected? Was there warning signs before you turned violent?

You didn’t know what to do, and it was making you even more anxious. You wanted, more than anything in the world, to be with your dad. A part of you just knew that Joel Miller would know exactly what to do. He would know how to keep you safe. It was the only thing that was giving you any semblance of comfort, the knowing that Joel would look after himself, Tommy and Sarah. All you had to do was find him, and everything would be okay. It had to be.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was nearing a month since Outbreak Day, as so many had taken to calling it, and everything still felt surreal. You and Robbie had stayed together, and had come across a group of three others who had some supplies. One of them, Benny, was an ex-military man, and coincidentally, he had known your uncle, back in the day. It seemed like too much of a sore subject to ask how, so you refrained. You hoped, however, that if you could manage to find somebody who knew your uncle in the midst of an apocalypse, you’d be able to find him. And with him, would, of course, be your dad and sister. They would have stuck together, you were certain.

Regardless, Benny was keeping you safe. You felt far more comfortable with him than you did the others with him, given he knew your family. There was something reassuring about it.

The five of you were travelling together, avoiding populated areas and sticking to forests and fields to travel when you could. It seemed to be the best way to avoid those who were infected, as many of them were clustered in cities and neighbourhoods. There was more than one time, though, that you came across camps which had been ravaged by the infection. Benny had shot someone on one of these occasions, when she had broke from the tree line and approached you at a run, sobbing through breaths.

You had been terrified at the time — horrified, really, but when you got closer, passing her body, you saw the infection crawling up veins, sprouting from her skin. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the sound of gunfire.

All the work you had put in to get into that stupid college seemed trivial, now. If you thought too long about it, you were almost certain that you would go insane. It didn’t matter how much you regretted all of your past decisions, it would never change where you were. It would never change the fact that you had no idea if your family were okay.

There was no doubt in your mind that you would’ve never survived if it hadn’t have been for Benny. He was strict with you, stopping you from eating anything that could’ve infected you, because he was certain that the mass outbreak must involve some kind of infection in the food supply. He kept you alert at all times, and refused to let you lag behind the rest of them. He kept you alive.

That fact became all the more clear when you when he woke you up, a hand pressed over your mouth. Instinctively, you had panicked, eyes wide and your limbs flailing until you realised who it was, and when he pressed a finger to his lips, you had nodded. You trusted Benny, for whatever reason, he seemed to care about keeping you safe. But Benny had a certain look in his eye that you didn’t like, the furrow of his brow had seemed deeper than usual.

When he pointed towards Robbie, you could see why.

He laid on top of a blanket you had found, his head turned towards you, eyes closed as if he was asleep. But his fingers were twitching, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. His skin looked dull, and when you squinted at him, you barely stopped the gasp from escaping your throat. Instead, it had gotten stuck, and you couldn’t breathe as you stared at the Infection raised upon Robbie’s veins.

You had looked towards Benny, and he shook his head. You knew what that meant.

The four of you tried to leave in silence, but Robbie had woken up anyway. He squinted over at you, calling your name in a slurred voice, and his eyes had looked all wrong. Against your better judgement, you turned back towards him, Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “Where’re you goin’?” Robbie slurred out, his voice failing halfway through his words, and he had stumbled to his feet. You had taken a step back at his approach, and he noticed. He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed, eyes taking in the way his fingers had twitched, and he shook his head. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” He had yelled, stumbling around before he had turned back to the four of you. “This ca—can’t be happening.”

“Robbie, I’m—I’m sorry.” You had answered, voice cracking over the words, as you stared at the boy who would never make it home to his family. You had wondered if you would meet the same fate.

“C’mon, kid,” Benny murmured, eyes stony as he had stared at Robbie, his shoulders tense and his hand had hovered over the gun at his hip. “We need to go.” He had said, hand firm at your shoulder as he turned you away from the first friend you had made at the college you’d dreamed of. How had this dream turn into such a nightmare? “Robbie… don’t make me do it. We need to go our separate ways.” Benny had yelled at Robbie, when he had tried to approach the moment your back was turned.

“I’m not infected!” Robbie shouted back, though his twitching limbs and the way he seemed to lack control of his body said otherwise. His eyes were bloodshot, red around the edges, and you had known what was going to happen next. It didn’t make it any easier.

You didn’t look back after the shot went off, after there was a distinctive thud behind you. You knew that you would never get used to the sound of a gun being fired.

∘₊✧───── ─────*───── ─────✧₊∘

***

Joel Miller tried to kill himself.

He doesn’t know how to respond to the fact that he failed. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really know how to respond to anything. He’s not even sure that anything that’s going on is real. How can it be? How can there be zombies in the world? How can his daughter be dead? How can he have no way of knowing if you’re alive?

It’s all been blurry, after Sarah. Joel spends more than a minute thinking about the fact that there’s an after her. She was meant to outlive him — you both were. And here he is, very much alive, while his daughter is dead, and you may be, too.

The world is turning around him and Joel just can’t get his bearings, can’t get past the pain at his temple, the sound of gunshots. How could he live through a bullet to the skull, when his daughter is dead? How could his daughter be dead?

He’s vaguely aware of Tommy at his side. Joel is vaguely aware of everything, really. He can hear all of the screaming, the crying, the questions, but he isn’t really listening. He isn’t really listening to Tommy begging him for something or other, either. And if he had any capacity to feel anything, Joel thinks he might feel bad for ignoring his younger brother, the man who had relied on Joel his whole life, but he just can’t.

All Joel can do is close his eyes, and watch his daughter die in his arms all over again.

All he can do is hear the sound of the severed phone line upon trying to call you. All he can do is think about how scared you must have been, alone in an unfamiliar state, with no way to get home. All Joel can do is revel in all the ways he failed his children.

What does Tommy expect from him? How could Joel possibly go on when he has just lost the most important people in his life? The only people who mattered? Of course, Joel loves his little brother, and he would do almost anything for him, but this? This is asking too much of him. Expecting him to live when his daughter is… when you could be… It’s all too much.

“Joel,” Tommy says, his voice quiet in the raging chaos behind the curtain around them, and he stares at his older brother as if he’s a stranger. The bandage across his head makes him look weird, and the despondent look in his eyes is one that Tommy doesn’t recognise. “Joel.” He says more urgently, grasping onto his brother’s shoulders, seemingly trying to shake him back to reality. “We have to keep going.”

But Tommy’s urgency means nothing to Joel, who can barely see his brother with the way his eyesight is blurring.

Tommy continues nonetheless, grasping Joel’s shoulders more roughly, unable to rid the image of Joel pulling the trigger from his mind. This was his older brother, the man who had almost raised him, who had protected him at every turn. To see that man so… hopeless, so done with the world, it was jarring, even more so than the apocalypse.

“You can’t give up on me, Joel, we gotta go find them.” Tommy says, getting louder and more desperate as the time passes and Joel continues to look dazed and far away. This seems to catch his attention the slightest bit, and when Tommy says your name, Joel’s eyes clear up slightly. “They need us, okay? They need you.”

It might be true, Joel considers. But he’s not sure what he would do if they found you anything other than healthy and well. If you’re dead, too, then that cements Joel’s failure, ensures his passage to join you.

“Okay,” Joel murmurs instead of voicing anything else, realising through the muddle of his thoughts that if you were alive, he needed to find you. “Alright, Tommy, I’m… I’m here.”

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite JOEL MILLER Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 1

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 2

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 3

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 4

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 5

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 6

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 7

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 8

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 9

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 10

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 11

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 12

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 13

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 14

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 15

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 16

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 17

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 18

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 19

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 20

Joel Miller Fic Recs - Part 21

Will be added to as I find more...

Jett's Pedro Character Favourite Fic Recs

[rrickgrrimes8]

Skater

summary: crossing over a frozen lake shouldve been a simple task - not with a tonya harding fan

Joel Miller x platonic!reader -- gn!reader, except Joel calls reader babygirl

warnings: almost drowning, near death experience, angst, hurt/comfort, father figure! Joel, soft Joel

masterlist

request guidelines (new)

requests are open!

word count: 1.2k

Trailing behind Joel and Ellie, you hum an unfamiliar tune. You walked to the beat, hands flowing as the nameless song played through your mind. Joel shot you a look, rolling his eyes and told you to hurry up. 

You ignored him though and found yourself mesmerized by the snowy landscape. You had never seen this before – well you’d never seen anything before really. Growing up inside the QZ in a brainwashing school by FEDRA didn’t exactly allow you to see the world like you so desperately wanted to. It was as beautiful as you imagined. 

Yes, there was infected, clickers, raiders, bloaters but none of that mattered as you walked through the forest with your new family. You had lost another part of your family months prior - Henry and Sam - and your heart still ached for them. Ellie’s did too. Joel, on the other hand, was stoney and stoic as usual. 

The teen stared ahead at the frozen over lake, a frown on you face. “We’re going over this?” 

Joel grunted in response, stepping forward to show them it was okay. 

Ellie went next, holding out her hand for you. “We’re okay,” She assured, “C’mon.” 

You sucked in a harsh breath and nodded, taking your first of many steps. 

“Did you ever ice skate, Joel?” You asked, slipping as you did. 

Joel quirked a brow and glanced over his shoulder, “How do you know about ice skating?” 

“Books,” You shrugged, “Found a book on Tonya Harding.” 

“Christ, haven’t heard that name in a while,” He chuckled. 

“Who was she?” Ellie spoke up, confused. 

“Ice skater… amongst other things,” He told them. 

“So have you?” You repeated, eyes flickering to either side of the lake – where the sun was falling and the bright hue was getting lost behind the terrain. 

“I have,” He confessed, “Once or twice.” 

“Really?” You perked up, “What was it like?” 

“Slippy,” He remarked, trudging over the ice – halfway at this point. 

“Sick,” The teen muttered, “I woulda loved to, you know?” 

“Still time, kid,” He shot you an earnest look before grunting, “We should speed this up though, lights going.” The teens nodded, Ellie quickening so she was closer to Joel. 

You stayed slightly behind though, willing yourself to glide rather than walk on the ice. Joel said there was still time and there’s no time like the present, right? 

You let your right foot lead, stumbling on your first go but quickly catching yourself. You tried again, soon after, and slid for way longer. “Joel, Ellie look,” You exclaimed, ready to do it again. 

“Just walk, kid,” He rolled his eyes, not sparing you a glance. Ellie too continued to walk on, arms wrapping around her chest to warm her. 

Pouting slightly, you paused before forming a perfect idea – you just needed to catch up to them and then they’d see. You straightened your back, lifted your foot from the ground before heavily stomping it down and began to glide, faster than before. 

It was going well at first – maybe a little clumsy as you closed in on the oblivious pair. 

But then you heard a crack, and without even a second to call for Joel, you felt a rush of cold, painful water. 

Ellie sighed as they neared the ¾ mark, turning to speak to her friend – breath catching in her throat when she heard the same crack. She snapped her gaze to you but felt an overwhelming fear grip her when she realized all there that was left was an empty space and a gaping hole in the ice. 

Having not heard, Joel continued, only stopping when he heard Ellie screaming your name. Wasting no time, he span to face them but was only met with Ellie, who was sprinting over to a hole in the ice. “No,” He shuddered, realization hitting him. 

Joel ran faster than he thought he was capable in that moment. His breathing was heavy in his chest, ears ringing – missing the panicked yells from Ellie – and collapsed beside the hole. He called your name, shakily and frantically – hand plunging into the freezing water, struggling to grab you. Joel felt a strange sensation overwhelm his chest – a fear he hadn’t felt since he lost Sarah. 

Forcing back some tears, he dived into the abyss – Ellie screaming as he did. He had forgotten how hard it was to open your eyes underwater but he ignored the burning and searched for a glimpse of you. And it didn’t take long. You were there – still, unmoving, corpselike. He almost let out a sob as he saw you – pushing against the liquid and pulling you into his arms. 

Joel got the pair of you out the water quickly, lying you against the ice as Ellie watched in fear, tears welling up. Looking at you then, Joel felt as if he was too late and maybe he was – he eyed your chest, motionless. It didn’t rise or fall, and your eyes didn’t open. 

The world seemed to vanish for a moment for Joel. His vision blurred and his body moved on autopilot. Hands finding your chest, he began to beat down on it – recalling briefly some first aid training he received 30 years ago. You didn’t move as he continued the chest compressions. 

“C’mon, baby,” He cried for what felt like the first time in 20 years (it probably was), “Come back to me. Come back, babygirl.” 

You looked dead, Ellie thought as she observed Joel’s attempts at saving you. She thought it was almost futile, that Joel couldn’t do a damn thing now and that terrified her. 

Lips finding yours, he forced a breath into your lungs, causing you to begin to splutter. Joel delicately, moved you onto your side as you continued to cough up the murky water. He let himself exhale as he helped you – you were here, you were alive, you were breathing. 

“Oh baby,” He called out to you, pulling you close to his chest. You seemed at once surprised by his actions before sinking into it soon after. The heat from his body radiated, quelling the shivers that didn’t seem to die down. “You’re okay,” He croakily voiced, more to himself than them, “Oh, babygirl, you’re okay.” You nodded against his chest. 

Ellie called out your name, tearfully and joined the pair of them, hand holding yours. “I thought you were dead, asshole,” She laughed but it seemed hollow – the comment far to genuine. 

“I-I wanted to skate,” You told them, “I w-was doing i-it.” 

“And you can’t do that again okay,” Joel scolded, “Damn near gave me a heart attack… no, you can’t do that to me- to us again.” 

“O-okay,” You shook, eyes closing as you snuggled into his chest. 

“Hey, b-baby,” He tapped your cheek, “You stay awake… keep your eyes on me.” 

You frown, groaning as your eyes felt so heavy, “S-so tired.” 

“Not yet, okay, baby?” Joel stressed, getting up – Ellie following with their bags on her shoulders, “We gotta get you warm first, okay?” 

“O-okay,” You mumbled, voice dazed and confused, “T-Thanks for s-saving me d-dad.” 

He inhaled sharply, more tears falling but he couldn’t bring himself to respond – the lump forming in his throat. All that mattered was getting you better. 

All that mattered was your life.

[prentissluvr]

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body. 

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds. 

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.” 

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?” 

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief. 

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.” 

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel. 

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off. 

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot. 

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

,

part two here !!

[multimuseficreblogs]

❅ pedro characters a-j ↳ including pedro pascal, dave york, dieter bravo, dio morrissey, din djarin, ezra, frankie morales, jack "agent whiskey" daniels, javi gutierrez, javier pena & joel miller ❅ pedro characters k-z ↳ including pedro pascal, marcus moreno, marcus pike, maxwell lord, max phillips, pero tovar, tim rockford, zach wellison

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you taste like home

(whoops my hand slipped and I wrote a drabble based on this post)

Joel Miller x gn!reader

words: 636

summary: Joel feeds you an orange.

warnings: soft Joel gets his own warning, nothing else really? it's erotic but not explicit. not only unbeta'd but I did not even read it through after writing it, so.

divider by @saradika-graphics

“C’mere,” Joel says, patting one of his splayed thighs where he’s sprawled on the threadbare sofa. He snubs his cigarette on the makeshift ashtray. 

You reluctantly rise from your nest on the ground by the radiator, blankets puddling in your wake, your favorite trailing behind you. He meant for you to sit on his lap, but you’re still pushing away the haze of sleep, so you lay with your head on his thigh, gazing up at his gristly scruff.

His lips quirk, and he shakes his head, but doesn’t try to cajole you up. “Got ya somethin’,” he says.

You perk up a little, eyes narrowed. Joel doesn’t do gifts. 

He’s too busy rifling through his backpack to roll his eyes, and the suspiciousness falls abruptly away when you see what he’s clutching.

It’s an orange. A real, honest to god, actual orange—though it looks more like a clementine in his meaty palm. 

Your mouth falls open. You might be drooling, not that you’d notice. Your hand drifts up to brush the peel and you’re mortified when tears spring to your eyes.

With one finger trailing the pimpled flesh, you look up at Joel.

He can see the question you’re trying not to ask. “Want it now?” he says.

“Yes,” you say on a soft breath. Your ribs are constricting, squeezing you, and you swear you can taste the zest when he cracks the peel. 

He tugs it away with ease, thick finger sliding between skin and plump meat to rend them apart. When he digs his thumbs in either side and splits it, juice dribbles down the side of his hand. He licks it off and grimaces.

“What?” you say. “Sour? It looks ripe.”

“Forgot how much I hated oranges,” he says. He’s not embellishing, but there’s still an amused glint in his eye as he anticipates your reaction.

“You hate oranges? The hell is wrong with you?” 

He shuts you up efficiently when another drop rolls down his skin and he holds the finger to your lips. 

You envelope it in your mouth immediately, eliciting a moan from both of you, though for very different reasons. 

He separates a wedge and presses it to your lips, which part eagerly, tip of your tongue darting out to catch the spilling juices. You further split it with blunt teeth, exposing the pulpy innards.

If he wasn’t hard before, the way your eyes roll back in your head does it. You take your time, savoring and letting the acid burn the split in your bottom lip.

“Passes your standards, Miami?” he teases. 

It does so much more. You feel. You feel the sting and tang. You feel the breeze off the coast, salty and clean in your lungs. You feel the kiss of the heavy afternoon sun. You feel him, solid and real. 

It’s home. All of it. 

You think he can see the brutal rawness consuming you, but he just feeds you the other half and brushes his hand over your head. 

“Did you just get juice in my hair?” you whine.

He groans. “Now you’ll smell like the damn thing.” 

It gives you an idea. “Hey, can you save the peel?” Maybe, just maybe, if you can trade for wax, you can approximate a faint candle. 

You stay there in his lap until the sun fades, lazily satiating your heart and stomach. When it’s all gone, he holds his sticky hand out and lets you greedily lap at the leftovers, tongue flicking the webbing between his fingers. 

Finally, you sit up and straddle him, arms around the back of his neck. “Thank you, Joel,” you murmur, something deep stirring behind your aching chest. 

You kiss him, and he thinks he could stand the taste of oranges every day if it made you this happy again.

[softlyspector]

pairing; joel miller x f!reader

wc; ~0.6k

a/n; Happy Friday! Have a drabble! I wrote this when I was supposed to be working (a classic, we love to see it) on this very snowy afternoon. Inspired by some of the insane posts I've made about Joel's arms . Also, this is a very tiny apology for the grief brain fic I inflicted on some of you earlier this week.

Anyway, here is a love letter to Joel, and his arms and hands. Feral arm posts here and here.

You would never admit it, but the first thing you ever noticed about Joel was his arms. If he ever asked, and he never ever would, you tell him something more romantic - the lines around his eyes, the hazel of his irises flecked with green. He is, at the core of himself, a little bit of a romantic.

He'd like to hear that kind of thing, even if it made him squirm, even if it might embarrass him. He would still like to hear it and would never say so.

But you hadn't noticed those things.

You'd noticed his broad shoulders and his thick arms folded across his chest, the way he shifted on his feet and scanned the face of each person that came through the door of the restaurant. And even though it had been a bit of a blind date, you'd liked that the face he was looking for had been yours.

His eyes landed on you and only then did you see his salt and pepper hair, the lines by his eyes, the crease in the center of his bottom lip, and the scar on the bridge of his nose. Still, all of that came second to the forearms crossed over his chest, the way they strained at the rolled sleeves of the button up he wore. The veins that pooled blue and green beneath warm skin, collecting in strong looking, well worn hands.

It didn't matter how you ended up on that blind date together, set up by friends of friends, but you would forever be grateful that you had.

And, you didn't know it then, that it was important that you get the first impression just right. That you wouldn't just like his arms and shoulders and the shade in his eyes, but that you would like pretty much everything about him. You would love almost everything about him, and the things you didn't you could deal with well.

Even much later, you would love those strong hands that never seemed to be anything but just that, strong and sturdy, careful and protective. Sometimes teasing, somedays anxious.

You didn't know that the chorded muscle and fine veins would one day be scarred but hold you just the same, that you'd trace that thick muscle and vein in the dark of night, the tug of his arms pressing you more firmly into his chest, a place you'd always be and feel safe. You didn't know then that his would be arms you would watch flex in the early morning light as he: pulled a shirt on over his head, peeled an orange for you with deft fingers and handed you each slice, poured a cup of coffee for himself, braided his daughter's hair.

The same hands that would pluck all the mushrooms off your slice of pizza before it was handed to you, even if he teased you as he did. The same hands that would cradle your fingers in his when you needed to check your blood sugar and couldn't be bothered, so he did it for you.

It was something of a miracle, then, that he found you funny and charming when the first thing you said to him, instead of hello, was, "I bet phlebotomists love you."

You winced, and then been equally as charmed, when he replied, "Are you one?"

"What?"

"A phlebotomist?"

You blinked at him, surprised. "Well, no."

"Then it don't matter what they think, does it?" And then, tilt of his head, one big have stroked over his bearded chin. "What makes you say that anyhow?"

There was a glint in his eyes, teasing like he already knew exactly what, even if he shuffled his feet, a little awkward with it.

You smiled. "If this date goes well, maybe I'll tell you."

He offered his hand to you, veins curling like smoke beneath his skin, “Joel.”

[burntheedges]

KATE! Your conversation heart says: SO SWEET!

And now your ask!!

Joel acts like he doesn't care about Valentine's Day, but you know he secretly likes a little fuss. How would you surprise him?💗

I love this question, Megan! I was thinking about it all last night and then whoops, I wrote this.

hearts

joel miller x gn!reader | 1.4k words | ao3 tags/warnings: fluff, post-outbreak, established relationship, drink mention (coffee), not betaed

...

Joel closed the front door behind him and slumped against it, tired. He was always at least a little bit tired, these days, but today had really been something else. From his patrol partner's horse throwing a shoe to their slow trek back that took twice as long as normal to Tommy yanking him into some meeting about renovations for the dining hall to Maria pulling him aside to talk about patrol assignments, it was getting to be too much. He wasn't used to having all of these people looking for his advice or needing his time, not anymore.

He was home early for once, but he was absolutely exhausted. He took a moment to just breathe, leaning against the inside of the door, eyes closed. He marveled briefly at the fact that he was standing in his own house, a house that he somehow shared with you, and took a deep breath. He shook his head and reached down to pull off his boots.

As he did so, Joel’s attention was caught by something unexpected.

There was a small paper heart sitting in the spot where he normally left his boots by the front door. His brow furrowed as he reached for it. It was blank, but he flipped it over and saw the number 1 in what he suspected was your handwriting. He huffed a short laugh, shaking his head.

He slipped his boots into their normal spot and stood with a muffled groan, heart in hand. He glanced around the hallway but didn't see any other hearts, so he pocketed it and headed for the kitchen.

Standing at the counter, his hands moved almost without his conscious input to reach for his mug and the coffee pot. If he hadn't been keeping an eye out, on alert for something, he surely would have missed it. He glanced down just as he was about to pour his coffee and found another heart waiting in the bottom of his mug.

Fighting a tug at the corner of his mouth, Joel slipped it out between two fingers and flipped it over. Sure enough, the number 2 greeted him. He fought a smile as he tucked it in his pocket and poured his coffee.

Turning slowly, he let his eyes sweep over the rest of the kitchen, but didn't see any hearts. He decided to follow his normal path and started to walk to the living room, coffee in hand. He set it on the side table and fell back onto the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and closed his eyes, taking a moment to rest after his long day. 

Shaking it off, he glanced over the living room, but he didn't see any hearts in here, either. As he reached his hand out for his coffee, though, he felt it brush against something, and looked over to find a heart tucked underneath the corner of the picture frame on the side table. The picture was a polaroid of you and Ellie, making silly faces for the camera. He couldn't fight the smile this time as he flipped the heart over and found the number 3 waiting for him.

Joel reached into his pocket for the other two and lined them up on his thigh, looking at them as he sipped his coffee. He wasn't sure what to do next. Were there more hearts waiting for him? Where would they be? He usually came home, took off his boots, grabbed a drink (coffee, typically, on long days) and sat on the couch for a bit. Sometimes he read a little or played guitar, but he’d finished his book last night and he could see his guitar on its stand by the fireplace. No hearts.

He rubbed his jaw with one hand as he finished his coffee, considering. He tucked his hearts back in his pocket as he stood and headed back to the kitchen to put his mug in the sink.

As he did so, he looked through the window over the sink to the front yard, and noticed a heart tucked into the frame of the window on the right side. He wouldn't have been able to see it from his spot by the coffee pot earlier, he realized.

Fighting an outright grin, he slipped it out from behind the frame and flipped it over – 4. He tucked it into his pocket carefully.

Exhaustion lifted from his shoulders as he spun around, on the hunt now. You'd predicted his every move so far and he wracked his brain to figure out what you'd think he would do next. He started heading for the stairs, thinking about how sometimes he liked to change his customary flannel out for a sweatshirt on cold days. You'd found one for him on a patrol and beamed when you gave it to him, proud of the gift.

Joel almost jogged up the stairs, turning into the bedroom you shared and heading straight for the dresser. He slid the drawer open and frowned as he saw his sweatshirt was not in its usual location. But then he shut the drawer and turned, and realized it was lying on the bed like you'd carefully set it out for him. He'd missed it as he’d almost run into the room.

Sitting right in the middle of the Texans logo on the front of the sweatshirt was a heart – 5. He couldn't fight the grin anymore as he slipped off his flannel and slipped on the sweatshirt. There was a warm feeling building in his chest at being so seen, so known. 

Hearts in his pocket, Joel turned and headed back into the hallway. He stopped at the top of the stairs, unsure what to do next. 5 hearts, 5 stops on his usual path after arriving at home. But what next?

As he stood there, wondering where to go next, he heard the unmistakable noise of someone walking down the back porch steps into the backyard. He smiled and headed down the stairs, turning sharply at the bottom to look for you.

The sight that greeted him in the backyard chased away any remaining worries he was holding onto from his day. You were standing in the middle of the yard, arms crossed, back to him as you relaxed in the afternoon sun. He leaned against the porch railing and watched, smiling.

"You comin' down here, Miller?" You didn't turn as you called out to him, but he could hear the smile in your voice.

"Appreciatin' the view." His voice was deep and gravely, and he watched with interest as you shivered. He pushed off the railing and walked down the steps, long strides making quick work of the grass between you. Before you could even start to turn he slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck.

"What's all this about, baby?" He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and you sighed.

"Did you find them all?" You smiled as his arms tightened around you.

"I found 5. Were there more?"

"Just one." You grinned even though he couldn't see it and guided his hand to slip inside your jeans pocket, where the last heart was waiting for him. This one wasn't numbered, and you leaned into his embrace as he flipped it over to read it over your shoulder.

Happy Valentine's Day, Joel. I love you.

You watched as he carefully closed his fingers around the heart and felt him pull you even closer. "I love you too, darlin'. Sorry I don't have anything for you."

You shook your head. "I already got what I want, valentine."

He huffed, and you knew he knew you meant him. "You sure about that? Seems like a bad deal. Might be gettin' swindled."

You turned in his arms and slipped yours around his waist, looking up to meet his eyes. He looked apprehensive, which just wouldn't do.

"I know you, Joel Miller. And I know that you're exactly what I want."

You watched his smile take over his face before he ducked his head.

"Well, in that case, let me make you dinner, baby." He pressed a soft kiss to your lips and you smiled into it. "And then I’ll show you how happy I am to be your valentine." He kissed you again.

"Deal." You let him turn you and you walked back inside your home with his arm around your shoulder and yours around his waist.

...

[lavendertales]

imagine finding a jar of coconut oil and giving joel the best back massage of his life, maybe even a full body rub down, and then a handjob. and he literally just curls up and falls asleep afterward. lord knows that man needs it

YO this has me shook. LOVE IT.

relief || Joel Miller x gn!reader**

word count: 1k

warnings: handjob, Joel being needy & tired simultaneously.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

You held the jar with both hands, still recovering from the incredible find. It wasn’t often that you found remnants of a happier past life, but this one was just equal parts bizarre and interesting.

“Joel, you won’t believe what I—“

You stood still as you entered the dusty living room you had settled in, noticing Joel supporting his back with both hands and grunting.

“What’s the matter?”

“My back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Must be the weather.”

You refrained from chuckling, although Joel resisted the same urge.

“Okay grandpa, sit down,” you smiled.

He did not question you; he never did. Joel learned to trust you almost blindly, and while it may not have been an easy road to follow, the two of you have only gotten closer through mutual trust and respect.

Breaking Joel’s tough shell had been a challenge. He’d been through the worst trauma, like a lot of people, and him allowing you in, being vulnerable around you, that had turned out to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

Now, many months later, you could easily have him eating from the palm of your hand or wrapped around your finger with a single look.

So Joel did not hesitate in sitting on the couch, frowning as he noticed the jar of the white substance in your hands.

“What’s that?”

“Coconut oil.”

His frown merely deepened, to which you smiled rather flirtatiously.

“Do you trust me?” you asked.

“Yes, always.”

“Okay. Then take off your clothes.”

Though unsure as to when did things take a heated turn for you or what it was that made you give such an order, Joel obeyed. He stripped of his flannel shirt, revealing the bronze and scarred skin beneath that always made your mouth water in appreciation, followed by the removal of his boots, socks, pants and boxers. The sight was already one for the ages, but you focused on the task at hand.

Within the following seconds, you settled behind him, opening the jar and grabbing a handful of the oil. You opened your mouth, blowing hot air onto it to warm it up a little, then you began to spread it over his back. You made steady, circular motions around his shoulder blades, moving almost teasingly to the small of his back. Joel groaned, a low, guttural sound.

“Is that good?” you checked.

Another groan. “Yes.”

You smiled, continuing your motions. There was something inherently relaxing about being able to soothe what was arguably the tensest man you’ve ever met. You carefully rubbed his back for as long as you could, earning more grunts from his side.

Eventually, your hands moved to his chest, faintly tweaking his nipples in the process, and Joel released another grunt.

“Still good?”

“Mhm.”

You reached inside the jar to grab more of the oil, then moved to the other side of the couch, getting the chance to see Joel’s face. He seemed beautifully fucked out in a way, and his eyes roamed over your face, darkening with each passing second.

You didn’t say anything as you began rubbing the oil on his chest and belly, repeating the same motions as you did on his back. Joel’s eyes never left your figure, oscillating between your face, ever so focused, and your hands working their magic.

But when your hands moved treacherously to his thighs, Joel sucked in a sharp breath. He may have been tough and gruff, yet when it came to your touch, your presence, always intoxicating, he was a weak, needy man.

And you both loved that.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your palms rubbing his thighs, way too close to where he needed you the most, and yet never touching.

Joel gulped, feeling his throat dry and his mouth watering, a stark juxtaposition to feel. He felt himself grow harder with each movement of your hand and was barely able to contain his whimpers.

But his hips bucked upwards of their own accord, receiving a surprised gaze from you.

“That what you need, baby?” you asked him sweetly, resting your hands on the insides of his thighs, driving him even further over the edges of lucidity.

You’ve always encouraged Joel to be more outspoken, at least with you. You liked hearing him voice his thoughts and opinions, and you could tell it did him good, too.

“Please,” Joel could barely get out.

With a fatally saccharine smile, you wrapped one slippery hand around his cock, now fully erect. Joel groaned, half in pain and half in arousal, his breaths shallower as you began to stroke him. Your thumb swiped across his bulbous tip, reddened and almost dripping with precum. Thanks to the coconut oil, stroking him was easier and far more pleasant, visibly so for Joel.

His hips bucked upwards again, clearly needing more friction, so you stroked him a bit faster, watching his face contort with ecstasy and neediness. You loved that he turned into putty in your hands. You loved that you were the only one who ever saw him this vulnerable, this human. It made you feel like you were indeed someone special in his life.

And maybe you were.

“Fuck—“Joel moaned. “Fuck, you’re s’good—“

He leaned forward to kiss you sloppily, and you welcomed him eagerly. When he moaned right into your mouth, you knew he was close. You whispered a few sweet nothings in his ear to help him get where he needed to be, and sure enough, Joel came with a particularly husky grunt, spilling himself all over your hand and on the couch.

You kissed him again when you were done, noticing his face brighter, calmer.

“Does your back still hurt?” you cheekily asked.

“Nothin’ hurts, darlin’.”

He pecked your lips, remaining seated on the couch while you went to grab something to clean the mess with.

Needless to say, you were surprised to find him fast asleep on the couch when you returned, curled underneath the blanket.

[trulybetty]

honey, I won't be home.

pairing: jackson!joel x reader word count: 1,712 warnings: tlou2 spoilers, angst, mentions of a wound, mentions of blood, neither in graphic detail, bee stings, mention of alcohol, no descriptions of reader, use of a nickname, no y/n estimated reading time: 9 minutes summary: ellie arrives at your door with news that turns your world upside down ao3: linked

a/n: I went back for a rewatch of tlou2 play through for research and ended back in my jackson!joel feelings and leaning into what I want to write as opposed to trying to make other things work and this was the result. if you want to read it in relation to Drip you could read them as the same reader.

honey, I won't be home.

It was early evening, you were drying dishes when the first shouts could be heard through Jackson. The glass in your hand slipped out of your wet fingers, hit the lip of the sink. The crack of glass on ceramic sounded like a shotgun in the quiet of the kitchen while the screams and shouts from outside echoed. Your attention torn you reached into the sink and recoiled instantly when the bite of cut glass hit your open palm. 

“Son of a bitch,” you hissed as you pulled your hand back, the soapy water already turning pink, the gash on your hand hard to see for the blood muddled with the watery suds. 

As you rinsed off the soap and inspected the wound, you winced at the sight of the jagged cut as the metallic tang of blood tickled your nose. Your eyes darted around for a clean dishcloth, panic at your heels for both the open wound on your hand, and for whatever it was going on outside as the shouting sounded like it was getting closer. 

Just as you found a dishcloth there was a booming knock at the door. 

“Dammit,” you cursed again as you wrapped your hand with the cloth you’d just been using, wishing you could have found a clean one. But the shouts were coming from behind the door now and with the continuous banging of the door, it felt like if you didn’t let them in they’d knock the door down. 

“For Christ's sake,” you muttered as you unlocked the door swinging it open, half expecting to see Joel there sheepish for being gone so long for the patrol he’d left in the early hours for and then for forgetting his key again. 

But instead, it was Ellie. 

Maria was at the bottom of the steps, frozen in a shout she’d been poised to let out at Ellie, but with your arrival, she’d fallen silent. 

You looked at Ellie, her face pale and bruises blooming at the side of her face, her lip split. If it weren’t for your hand wrapped tightly in the damp dishcloth pressed against your chest coupled with the intensity of the moment, you would have reached out to take her face in your hands to inspect her injuries. 

The usual spark in her eyes was gone, left was just a hollow emptiness that seemed to age her beyond her years. You looked down to the bottom of the steps, Maria, usually the picture of authority and composure within Jackson stood as a silent sentinel, her expression unreadable and her eyes avoiding yours.

“Honey,” Ellie’s voice cracked.

You still inwardly cringed still at the nickname all these years later. You wished you’d adopted it through a means of a term of endearment, something sweet bestowed upon you as the name suggested.

Eugene had christened you with the name years ago. You’d tried to remove a beehive from a property being prepared for new residents. You’d thought the hive was dried and inactive, but no — you were wrong. In the process of trying to remove it, you’d been stung multiple times, earning you a painful trip to the infirmary.

Then, that night, under the dim lights of the Tipsy Bison Eugene’s deep voice had carried over the general chatter as he regaled the tale. The clink of glasses and laughter had echoed around you as you sat centre of unwanted attention. Eugene had raised a glass of whiskey, sweetened with his prized honey salvaged from the hive, and toasted to you with a mischievous glint in his eye, using the new nickname he’d bestowed upon you.

It was also the night you’d first met Joel.

Your heart, already racing from the accident in the kitchen, now threatened to beat out of your chest. Your throat felt tight and your mind was swimming with possibilities of what the tension between Ellie and Maria meant, what the shouting before you opened the door was about. Then came your sudden realization that Joel should have been back from patrol with Tommy by now, especially if Ellie was back.

It all accumulated in a fear so intense, that it was nearly paralyzing.

“Ellie,” you spoke cautiously, breaking the heavy silence. It took a moment or two to control your breathing with the new weight that sat on your chest, so heavy it threatened to have you on your knees, “Ellie,” you said again, your voice strained and barely above a whisper, “what’s happening?” the weight was crushing, the tension in your body only serving to keep you on your feet, “Where’s Joel?”

Ellie’s tear-rimmed eyes looked up at you, she looked as if she was carrying all the weight in the world. For a brief moment, you mourned the childhood she should have had. That she shouldn’t be outside of the walls of Jackson on patrol, that she shouldn’t have witnessed the things she had in her short eighteen years. 

“Joel,” she started, her voice a volatile cocktail of grief and anger and you felt the heckles of panic at your heels again, working their way up to your chest, the moment stretched out so far it felt like hours before she spoke again, “He… he’s gone.”

The simplicity of her words belied the complexity of emotions they unleashed.

Gone. 

Gone.

The term was too small, too simple for the enormity of what it implied. Joel, your Joel, the man who had been a constant in your life since arriving in Jackson. The man who had seen you through so much, who had become not just your partner, but a part of you, could simply not be ‘gone’.

Your mind reeled as you tried to make sense of Ellie’s words, but it was like grasping at smoke. The world was suddenly tilting, just falling into confusion and disbelief. 

“Gone? Ellie, what do you mean gone?” The urgency in your voice rose, the panic evident, the grief in your throat growing, threatening to choke you, “What happened? Ellie?”

Your voice now a desperate plea for this to be a misunderstanding, just all a mistake.

Ellie’s eyes flooded with tears, spilling over as she looked at you, a tempest of tragedy on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely holding it together, trembling with the weight of the news she was delivering, “I– we… we were too late. The weather delayed Dina and I. Something went wrong. He–Joel… he was attacked. He was attacked. He… he,” she bit her lip as she tried to force the words out, “he didn’t make it,” her words broke, shattered by the sheer force of her grief.  

The cold winter air around you felt thick as time itself paused in the face of such inconceivable news. Ellie took you through what had happened, you tried to listen, but the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears threatened to drown her out. Left only with your thoughts of Joel, Joel Miller, the pillar of strength and safety in your world, the man who had survived against all odds, whose resilience and will to protect had been unbreakable, almost stubborn, was no more.

The newfound foundation of your life in Jackson, built together with him, had been ripped away in an instant. 

The pain in your hand, from just mere moments ago in what felt like another lifetime, once sharp and demanding, faded to nothing against the gaping wound in your heart. 

But as you clutched to the doorframe for support, the world spinning out of control, you saw Ellie. Really saw Ellie. Not as the bearer of some of the worst news possible, but as the young woman who had been thrust into a world of loss and survival from too young an age. The girl who had lost so much, yet fought so fiercely for those she loved.

The girl who in that moment, needed you just as much as you needed her.

Instinctively, without even realizing it, your stance softened, your grip on the doorframe released. Ellie, who had seen Joel as a father figure, even through the hard moments, who had been a constant presence in your lives, was now a part of your family through shared grief as much as shared love.

With a shaky breath, you reached out with open arms. She paused, just for a moment, causing you to hold your breath in anticipation. Then before you could say anything she collapsed into your embrace, her body wracked with sobs. You held onto her so tightly, as if your hold on her would keep you together, that as long as you were holding each other, the world around you couldn’t completely fall apart.

You stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort, that felt hollow in your own ears, but it was all you could offer, “It’s going to be okay,” you lied, because in that moment, nothing felt like it would ever be okay again.

But for Ellie, you could be strong. You had to be because if you couldn’t, you knew you would surely fall apart.

The cold Jackson air whipped around you, your bare feet were numb a contrast to the warmth of Ellie’s body pressed tightly to yours, her arms tight around you. You could feel her heart beating against your chest, fast and frantic, mirroring your own despite your seemingly straight face.

“You did everything you could, Ellie,” you whispered into her hair, knowing full well that nothing you could say could possibly erase any of the weight of guilt or responsibility she felt for Joel’s death.

Maria, who had silently been observing until now, approached cautiously. You glanced up, meeting her eyes, a silent exchange passing between the two of you tears glistened in her eyes mirroring the ones threatening to fall from your own that you were fighting to hold back.

The night was falling fast, the shadows of Jackson stretching long across the ground, it felt like an ominous presence mirroring the grief that had crossed the threshold of your home, a sanctuary no more. 

As the first stars of the evening began to peek through the dark clouds you squeezed Ellie a little tighter.

For now, you hoped it was enough to get you through the night.

[heartpascal]

i think any sort of joel x overly sensitive reader would be so cool, platonic or romantic. like they've survived through the apocalypse and you'd expect them to have hardened up a little but they're still so easily brought to tears 👀 joel is like annoyed by it at first but starts to realize that he'd rather they be a bit sentimental than shut off and guarded like himself

break beneath the weight

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel struggles to deal with someone who isn’t as emotionally constipated as he is

▹— a/n: idk what i was doing with this. but. here!!! thank you for the req i apologise if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind :’)

▹— warnings: mean joel, emotional reader, FEDRA lockup, corrupt guards, dare i say… comfort?, (not sure what else! lmk if i missed something) not proofread!

▹— taglist: (ALL) = @rhymingtree (PEDRO) = @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel Miller knew from the moment he saw you that you weren’t made for life in the apocalypse. He could see it, clear as day, in the way you held yourself, in the way emotions played loudly across your face, in the way your fingers trembled around the blade in your grip.

Perhaps it was pity that led him to take you in, or the absence of his younger brother, who had always had a harder time keeping his emotions in check in comparison to his older brother. Whatever it might have been, he wasn’t sure it was a wise decision. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for Tess’s unexpected care for you, he might have kicked you to the curb already.

But instead, he found himself stuck with your presence. For whatever reason, which he couldn’t begin to understand, you had taken to clinging onto his side, following him wherever he went. Which included going on jobs during the day, and tearing up when he put his foot down after you tried to follow him to a deal.

It was irritating.

And while you had never openly burst into tears in front of him, it wasn’t like it was a secret when you went down the hall, shutting your door behind you.

Maybe, if he had met you before the outbreak, he wouldn’t have been so frustrated by you. Maybe, he could have been kinder to you, could have been the person you deserved. But the reality wasn’t going to fade any time soon, and Joel knew that. He just wanted you to realise it, too, before something happened that made you realise it.

But Joel had to realise that you had lived through this apocalypse just as he had. That you, too, had lost everything. The family you once had, the home you once lived in, and you couldn’t bear to lose yourself, too.

“No.” Joel said, before you had even had the chance for the question to leave your lips. He didn’t even glance in your direction, only continued packing the the bag in front of him. He glared at the bag as he spoke again, cutting you off as you opened your mouth to respond. “—What did I just say?” He asked, finally turning his head to look at you.

“You didn’t even give me the chance to—” You started, brows furrowed and throat tightening at his dismissal.

“—That’s right, I didn’t. So don’t start.” Joel reprimanded, tone flat as he turned back to his backpack. His brows were furrowed, expression practically made of stone, and you wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking.

You frowned, “Joel.”

“Mind your tone.” Joel responded immediately, still unbothered by your persistence. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it was the same tone he used for Sarah, when she was younger than you are now, to remind her of her manners.

“Can’t you just listen to me?” You asked, practically begging him, which might have been dramatic, but you couldn’t help how desperation arose at his carelessness.

“No.” Joel said flatly, unimpressed by the emotion crowding your words. Dealing with your overly emotional nature was so low on his list of priorities, in fact, it wasn’t even on there. It was the very last thing he needed to do with himself, given the demanding nature of the deal he was headed to, courtesy of Tess’s orders.

It was frustrating for you, too, having to dampen your reactions when you were upset, just for his and Tess’s benefit. It was hard to be so alone in your emotions, to feel so isolated even when living with the only people you trusted.

They didn’t understand how you were still so capable of emotion, after everything that had happened. It left you vulnerable, which meant they were vulnerable. But you couldn’t help the way you felt, could you? Was it fair for them to ask you to numb yourself just to be more convenient?

All you were trying to do was ask to join Joel on his deal, ask him to show you the ropes. That was all. But he would never even hear you out, and it upset you. Why shouldn’t it? Joel and Tess may have taken you in if their own accord, but that didn’t mean that you wanted to remain completely unhelpful to them.

“Seriously, Joel, I’m just trying to—”

“How many times do I gotta tell you no before you’ll listen?” Joel huffed out, voice raised, as he whirled around to face you. It was instinctive, the way you flinched away from his almost-yelling. He stared at you with unreadable eyes, his expression changed from anger to something you didn’t recognise.

You bared your teeth at him, nose twitching with the effort of holding tears at bay. “Fine! Whatever.” You spat out, spinning around and storming down the hall, slamming the door behind you before you slumped down against it, hands covering your eyes, as if that could stop the inevitable. The tears fell regardless, the tight feeling in your chest making your throat ache. You just couldn’t understand him — you hadn’t even done anything.

There was no need for him to make you feel so… small. He didn’t need to dismiss you like that, and he certainly didn’t need to be so loud about it. Joel knew well enough by now that you were easily upset, a fact which seemed to be a great annoyance to him, which only made you more upset. You were trapped in one prolonged, vicious cycle with him.

The door to the apartment slammed shut only moments later, leaving you in the deadly silence that followed Joel’s exit, without his pottering around to provide any background noise. It made the ache in your throat worsen, and you sniffled, cursing yourself for your tears even as more fell down your cheeks.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel was ready to kill you, really.

He told you to stay inside, to hide in the apartment where there was the slightest semblance of safety, and this is what you do? You directly go against his word?

Now, he didn’t tell you why he wanted you to stay in, which he knows, may have been a big mistake, but really… was it so hard for you to just trust him? When had Joel ever done anything that wasn’t to ensure your safety? He told you to stay inside. That shouldn’t need a discussion, in his eyes. After all, he was the adult, you were the kid.

But instead, Joel had come home to an empty apartment, with no sign of your presence for the past hour, at least. And given the gunfire that had sounded just as Joel ascended the creaking steps with his equally aged knees, he knew that if you were out there, you were in danger.

He knows you’re not with Tess, either, because Tess was in another sector, closing a deal with another smuggling ring to bring them into the fold. She had left Joel with the responsibility of keeping you safe, and he had already been nervous the moment she had stepped out. After what happened the last time he was solely responsible for a kid, who could blame him?

Yet, Tess had silenced him with a “Get over yourself, Joel.” So what choice did he have? It was a reminder that Tess had lost just as much, and a reminder of how much better she was at coping.

If Tess got back, and you were still gone, what would he say? What could he say? She would be back by tomorrow evening, which meant Joel had a limited time to find you. Even worse, Joel had that sinking feeling that if he didn’t find you in that time, he never would. Which was something he couldn’t even consider.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to collect you from FEDRA custody, the very next morning, after searching all night for you. His time had been spent ducking into tunnels, speaking with contacts, avoiding FEDRA guards who were on patrol, and yet he caught wind of your presence in a facility just as the sun broke the horizon, reflecting the break of curfew.

When he walked in, approached the desk with a familiar FEDRA guard sat on the other side of it, he didn’t notice you immediately. But when he looked past the guard, into the crowded cage, he saw your tear-streaked face, staring at him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Miller,” The guard greeted, sending a grimy smile his way, eyes showing a spark of interest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked distastefully, fingers splayed across the dirtied pad of paper in front of him.

Joel knew this guy — and he also knew that he preferred to deal with Tess. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here. But Joel had no qualms with convincing this guy to do what he wanted.

“Sorenson.” Joel grunted out, nodding his head. “Kid’s mine. Let ‘em out.” He demanded, crossing his arms as he stood casually in front of the desk. Joel glanced in your direction, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the way fresh tears were rolling down your face.

“Oh, is that so?” Sorenson asked, glancing back and meeting your eyes. He smiled, maliciously, before turning back to Joel. “What do I get, if I do?” He questioned, as if he was in any position to negotiate. Which, to be fair, he kind of was. Only because of your presence, which limited what Joel was willing to do, in the way of putting you in unnecessary danger.

Really, he was probably making a mistake revealing his hand. Claiming you as his. It was just ammunition for dirtbags like Sorenson to come at him with, to come at Tess with, but what choice was there? He couldn’t well let you rot in this cage, even if you did ignore what he told you, because who knew when FEDRA would let a kid like you out? They’d try to recruit you into one of their schools, if nobody came for you.

Joel sighed through his nose, clenching his hand into a fist and ignoring the way his skin stung with the motion, a reminder of the last guy who had gotten in Joel’s way. “I can give you the next two weeks, free of charge.” Joel relented, expression stony as he glanced between the guard and you, as you stood with your face pressed against the bars of your cage.

“Two weeks? C’mon, Miller, I’m doin’ you a favour, here! Help me out!” Sorenson said, voice low, but louder than ur should’ve been. He glanced nervously around as if somebody would come and snap him up, before setting his sights on Joel once again. “Your kid’s in a lotta trouble, man. Four weeks.”

“Three.” Joel replied, firm.

Sorenson tilted his head from side to side, before shuffling through his papers with a nod. He took out a stamp from the drawer at his side, and pressed it onto a piece of paper with your name written at the top. He stood up, making his way over to the cage with a heavy sigh, and counted through his keys until he finally found the correct one.

You practically leaped out of the cage, the moment the door was open, and you headed straight for Joel. He said nothing as you gripped onto him, only putting his arms by his sides as opposed to having them crossed in front of him.

“Three weeks, Miller. Don’t forget.” Sorenson said as Joel ushered you away, and Joel said nothing to him. But Sorenson had dirt on him now, so it wasn’t like he could go against the deal. Tess was going to lose her shit.

He said nothing to you, the whole way back to the apartment, instead choosing to stew in his anger as you clutched his arm, sniffling.

You flinched when the door shut behind you with a slam, letting Joel go and practically curling in on yourself. It wasn’t entirely your fault, you might have argued, if Joel didn’t look so angry. He didn’t tell you that he knew about a Firefly attack in FEDRA, if he had, you would’ve never gone out! You only wanted to go and trade for some new shoes with the cards you had been saving up.

“Joel, I’m— I’m sorry.” You finally said to him, when he was quiet for far too long, when picking at your fingernails wasn’t enough to distract you from his silence. Vaguely, you noticed that your fingers were still trembling when you stopped picking at them, likely from the leftover fear.

Joel scoffed, rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. What he was looking for, you had no idea, but it was distracting him from giving you that scathing look, so you were glad for it. “You’re sorry.” He muttered out, disbelieving. He shook his head, glaring at the drawer in front of him when he finally stopped rifling through it. “What’d I tell you?” He asked, glancing up at you, eyebrows raised.

“To stay in the apartment.” You murmured in response, feeling your eyes well up once more. It wasn’t your fault, not entirely. You couldn’t help the way your body responded to people being angry at you! It wasn’t exactly something you could control.

“To stay in the apartment.” Joel repeated, staring at you with wide eyes. He shook his head again, apparently exasperated by you. “And what’d you not do?” He questioned, staring accusingly at you by now, his hands resting on the counter in front of him.

“Stay in the apartment.” You repeated, frustration coating your words. You knew full well that you had made a mistake, so did he really have to do this? Did he have to rub it in your face? That he was right, as always, and you were wrong? “I said I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Joel wipes a hand down his face, feeling his age like never before, and sighs at the distinctive tremble in your voice. You were going to start crying, any moment, Joel knew it. And it seemed, given your desire to get away from him as quickly as possible, that you knew it, too.

“I—I made a mistake. I should’ve listened to you, I know.” You continued on in response to his silence, to his exasperation. He didn’t know what to do with you. Raising a kid before the apocalypse was hard enough, but here you were, a kid he hadn’t raised, who he was trying to parent, nonetheless. He doesn’t remember it reaching this level of difficulty, before the outbreak. Maybe that was why.

Joel didn’t exactly understand you, and he had never really bothered to try. After all, his time was spent keeping you and Tess as safe as possible, providing for you as best as he could. He may not understand you, may not know the ins and outs of your mind, but he cared for you. He wasn’t your dad, not exactly, and he’s not sure you could ever be his kid, exactly, but it’s about as close as he thinks it’d ever get.

Joel looked back at you, softening the slightest bit. “You gonna start listenin’ to me, now?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. It was more of a you are.

You nodded, movements jerky but without an ounce of hesitation in them. He frowns at the sight, brows furrowed, and sighs once again. “Are you alright?” He asked, then, after everything else was out of the way. With the way your eyes immediately started brimming with tears at the question, he was leaning towards the answer being no.

He stepped around the counter after a moment, in front of you in mere seconds, and his hands on your shoulders ushered you towards his chest with certainty. You gripped his shirt tightly, holding on to any ounce of comfort as if it was the most you had ever been given, and he said nothing even as your tears wet the material.

“I was so scared, I—I didn’t know what was hap—happening.” You confided, and it was exactly how he knew you would be in that situation. It was exactly the reason he had told you to stay in. But still, he’s somewhat sure that you know that by now, so Joel just gripped you tighter, as if he could squeeze the remaining fear out of you.

“I know,” Joel murmured, another sigh leaving his lips, blowing into your hair just below where his chin was resting on your head as he practically curled around you, hiding you from the world. “It’s all alright, now.”

He was still annoyed at you, still irritated by the way you disregarded his direct instructions, and the way you’re so easily emotional, but this was more important. He knew that much. So, he’d hold you as long as he needed to, as long as you needed him to.

And when Tess returned later in the evening, brows quirked at the way you were sound asleep already, Joel’s only response was a tired sigh.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s late one night, when Joel comes to a realisation.

The sun had long-since disappeared into the horizon, and he and Tess had been asleep for at least a few hours when he woke up to movement in the next room over. It was concerning, because you were usually asleep long before either of them. So, why you were up, Joel had no idea.

Whatever the reason, though, he couldn’t imagine it would’ve been a good one.

Which is the reason he got up, waving Tess away when she stirred awake from his movement. She squinted at him, as if questioning what he was doing, but settled back down soon after. She’d had a long day on jobs, Joel knew, which was another factor contributing to him dealing with whatever was going on with you.

He knocked your door, shuffling it open after less than a moment, and froze when he saw you kneeling on the floor, frantically shoving things back into a space below a loose floorboard. Your expression was scrunched up, as if you were trying to physically hold in your emotions before Joel could be exposed to them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said, hesitantly, “Everything alright?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed, and hand still holding onto the doorknob. He frowned when you nodded wildly, squinting past tears in your eyes to look over at him, to silently urge him to just go. Instead of obeying the silent request, Joel made his way inside after shutting the door until it was just ajar. “What’s all this?” He questioned, peering down into the gap in the floor.

Your lips were trembling, eyes downcast, and you didn’t respond, even as Joel took a seat on the edge of your mattress in front of you. It might have been the most closed off Joel had ever seen you. It was certainly the most effort you had put into hiding your emotions from him, and especially into hiding the cause of them. It was… concerning. Not like you, actually, and Joel found that, as much as your emotional nature irritated him, you being distant was much worse.

His eyes were stuck, for a moment, on a single photo amongst the things in the gap. There you were, far younger than you are now, stood with a gap-toothed smile, beside who Joel could only assume was your father. He had never asked what had happened to your family, and there had only been a handful of times where you had hinted at it. Still, he had never taken the bait, instead choosing to avoid dealing with your emotions.

Today, Joel decided, would be different.

He reached down, plucking the photo from the gap, not saying anything when your hand hovered as if to stop him. He quirked his brows as he studied the photo, glancing between the present-you and the past you, and found more than one similarity. In the photo, he could see the shine of emotion in your eye — happiness, back then. Now, however, the gloss over your eye was one of sadness, despair. Nostalgia, maybe, or even grief. Joel wasn’t the best at detecting emotions.

“This your old man?” He asked, tilting the photo, watching the way the glossy print of it caught the dim light in the room. Joel looked back at you, then, focusing on you properly for the first since grasping the picture, and he found you struggling to hold onto the control of your feelings. “It’s alright, kiddo,” Joel said softly, smiling as best as he could at you, as comforting as he could manage. It had been a long time since he had tried to comfort his child. “You can talk about him, if you’d like.”

You shook your head, rising to sit beside Joel on the lumpy mattress. You plucked the picture from his grasp, turning it over and looking at the faded handwriting on the other side. It was unmistakably the writing of a child — of you, Joel realised, but below it, faded until it was almost invisible, was a translation of whatever you had been trying to say.

“I miss him.” You said, instead of anything else. You thought, perhaps, that this was something Joel could relate to. That it was something he could share with you.

“I know,” Joel sighed, placing an arm around your shoulder, squeezing as gently as he could manage to. He wasn’t good with emotions, not anymore. Feelings weren’t a Joel Miller special, and he preferred it that was. He preferred not to linger in his pain, in everything he had ever suffered through. He didn’t want to feel it.

But you… you were something else. Something purer, than him, he thought. While you were quick to tears, easily scared or stunned, you also radiated a certain happiness. It had taken over the apartment, so much so that Joel couldn’t even remember the shade of grey it had looked before you started staying with them. No, with you here, everything seemed warmer. And Joel Miller wasn’t an emotional person, anymore, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be again, but you made him feel something. Even if it was just a bit of warmth in such a cold world.

Despite your tears, Joel thought that you might just be the strongest of all of you. After all, he didn’t possess the strength to face his emotions, not like you did. He couldn’t bring himself to feel. But if you could, if you could manage to retain some sort of happiness, if you could hold on to some of the happiness that came with these tragedy-tinged memories, why shouldn’t you? Why should he shame you for that? For being stronger than he is?

“I know.” Joel repeated, frowning down at the picture in your hand. Not for the first time, he wished that he had a picture of his Sarah. “I miss her, you know.” Joel told you, lightly, voice right. It was possibly the most you would ever get out of him, but as you looked up to him, teary eyed and aching heart, you knew it was enough for you. Even this slight glimpse into his feelings, it was enough.

“I know.” You responded, squeezing Joel in return, and you felt the way a slight smile lifted his cheeks at your gesture. “It’s going to be okay, right?” You asked, glancing back down to the other bits and bobs you had kept, all to remind you of what you had lost, of what you had had.

“I think,” Joel paused, shaking his head at himself after a moment, before he squeezed you tighter. “You’ll be just fine.”

[morallyinept]

Hypothermia - A Joel Miller GIFLET

Uh, Jett, what the heck is a GIFLET??

Just a short, 500 words or less drabble, based on inspiration I got from a GIF. Simples.

Pairing: Joel Miller x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It's you, bub.)

Word Count: 479

Scoville Smut Rating: None, it's all fluff. You're safe.

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

GIFLET MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

This GIFLET was inspired by the below GIF by @joeldidnothingwrong 👇🏻

Joel opens his eyes.

"Stop fidgetin' n' go to sleep," he mumbles around his teeth.

His back is facing you, swathed in the brown jacket pulled tight over his shoulders.

The two of you are camped out on the cold, hard ground. Hidden in the tree line, but still open to the elements.

It's a cold night out in the open like this, and the layers you're wearing aren't really helping to trap the heat. Neither is the singular sleeping bag that he insisted you take. It's full of holes; the stuffing is leaking out at one end in a wormy cloud, and it offers little warmth. 

You shuffle again and knock into his lower back.

"Christ, what's wrong with ya?" He gruffs glancing at you over his broad shoulder. He immediately softens as he sees you visibly shivering. 

"It's so c-cold," you chatter, rubbing your hands for warmth. 

"I know. Don't think 'bout it." He sighs, and rolls over again. He's hugging his own hands, tucked right under his armpits to keep his fingers from icing over and falling off.

He sighs out, closing his eyes; his breath is a wiry, gossamer mist escaping his nostrils. 

"I read something once, about s-sharing body heat to s-stay warm." You mutter, pressing your forehead against him, just below his shoulder blade. He can feel your subtle rumbles and shakes against him. 

"You did, hmm?" Joel's eyes open again. "What did it say?"

You rattle again, blowing into your hands. "That you can stave off hypothermia s-simply by sharing body h-heat." 

Joel thinks on it for a moment as you jolt into him again. 

"Alright," he grunts, rolling over onto his back and holding out his arm.

You immediately wiggle into it as he holds you against his body. He pulls the sleeping bag up over your ears. 

"Better?" Joel asks you a few minutes later, his nose pressing into your hairline; the tip of it warmed slightly by your crown. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes once more and humming out gently.

"The article mentioned that for it to be effective, both parties should be naked..."

You hear Joel snort amongst the ebb of his heartbeat now in your ear as you settle into a comfy position on his chest. Your shivering soon dissipates. 

"Forget it." He grunts and you smirk.

But he pulls you tighter around him still; you slip your hand inside his jacket pocket to keep your fingers warm.

After a few moments, his own thick, worn digits, cold from the bite of the air, find their way inside too, and rest on top of yours.

You feel Joel stroke gently at your knuckle skin. 

"Completely naked?" He questions a minute or so later.

"Go to sleep, Joel." You smile, the tempo of his heartbeat increasing as you close your eyes, finally warmed enough to drift off by his heat.

[prentissluvr]

feverish — joel miller

gn!reader, platonic!reader, fatherfigure!joel , sickfic , cw : mentions of fever & coughing, sickness in general, mostly unedited , wc : 1K , anon i hope you enjoy it !! <333

joel notices immediately when you begin lagging behind him and ellie. but you don’t say anything, so neither does he, just pausing occasionally to let you catch up.

in the end, it’s ellie who says something.

“hey, are you okay?” she asks you once you’re all settled by the fire. joel, whose attention seems to be solely on the meat he’s cooking, is peering at you subtly, listening intently for your reaction.

“i’m fine,” you wave off her concern, “just a little tired today, is all.” your answer’s not a complete lie, it’s true that you’re tired, but what you don’t tell them is the way you can feel the sickness starting to settle in your bones. really, it was yesterday you first started feeling it, but it hadn’t begun to slow you down until a few hours into hiking today.

“well then, we’d better get to sleep right after eating,” joel advises. “best get as much sleep as you can for tomorrow.”

you heed his advice, curling into your sleeping bag the moment you can in hopes that good enough rest will prevent you from truly falling ill. ellie talks for a few minutes the way she normally does before sleeping, but joel cuts her off earlier than normal tonight for your sake. with that reasoning, she actually listens to him and settles down to sleep herself.

—

your hopes of escaping sickness are unfairly stolen from you in the morning when you wake up with the sun, groggy and completely out of it. your nose is stuffy, throat sore, and limbs heavy when you rustle about in your covers. you just turn to your side and do your best to drift back into what turns out to be a quite restless sleep.

the next time you wake, it’s to ellie gently nudging your shoulder for you to get up as joel finishes cleaning up camp. you groan in protest, halfheartedly pushing her away.

“it’s almost time to go,” she says, “joel let you sleep in.”

you let out a huff of breath, wishing you could lay in bed all day before struggling to sit up. rubbing at your eyes, you take in the state of your tired, compromised body and decide it’s certainly best if you say nothing about it. no reason to make anyone worry or slow down your journey.

so you push past your discomfort, standing up and quickly packing up your bag. but your plans to cover up your sickness do not go as well as planned when you begin coughing and sniffling uncontrollably.

about the fourth time you lean against a tree to support yourself during a coughing bout, joel stops completely, handing you water and waiting until you’re done to speak.

“you’re gettin’ sick, kid,” he states, very aware that you’ve been quiet in order to prevent causing an inconvenience to him and ellie. you shake your head, so he continues. “you can let us know if you’re not feeling well, you know? that’s not something you can control. what d’ you say we make camp early and rest for the day?”

“no!” you exclaim, “no, that’s alright, i’m fine. i swear. i don’t even feel that sick, it just sounds like it,” you try to explain away the actual extent of your sickness.

he says your name, gentle and firm like the hand he places on your shoulder. “you look like you could fall over any second. i ain’t buying any of that, alright? you need to rest so that you don’t get more sick, you understand me?

you want to keep trying, to convince him and a watching ellie that you’re fine, but it seems you can never argue with that tone of voice he uses when he’s truly serious about something.

“fine,” you relent with a sigh, feeling half grateful, half guilty, and one hundred percent sick as you trek along until you find an appropriate campground.

joel orders you to lay down when you try and help set up, only asking you to move once a fire is going so that you can soak up it’s warmth. as you lay there, it seems as if all of your stubbornness is catching up to you, and you can’t resist it when your eyes drift closed despite the sun still being clear in the sky.

with a mind too groggy with sickness and sleep, you don’t process much even when you’re awake. ellie stays close by to your laying form, silently worried by the sickness that’s visible in your face and the coughs that wrack your body. she jumps up each time joel asks her to do anything, eager to help you rather than just sit by and do nothing. joel too is dedicated to caring for you, his soft palm feeling your forehead for signs of fever as you slip in and out of sleep. he does his best to create a broth from bones and freshly hunted meat throughout the hours that you sleep for you to eat when you wake.

when you squirm uncomfortably in your sleep with your brows furrowed, he does his best to calm your distress with gentle touches. past memories of caring for a sick child are clear in his head, both hurting his heart but helping him to help you the best he can.

you try to resist his help again once you wake, but the weakness in your limbs doesn’t let you get far, so your resolve crumbles far faster this time. he helps you drink and eat all while ellie does her best to cheer you up with corny jokes and over exaggerated retellings of things that have happened throughout your journey all together. it works well, her words resulting in your laughing so hard that you begin to cough and a non-threatening glare from joel in her direction.

but soon, you tire again, so joel insists you go back to sleep, just as twilight fades into total darkness. you don’t argue this time, nor at all the next day as he and ellie patiently nurse you back to health until you’re spry and well again.

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[pedroshotwifey]

Joel One Shots

Joel Fucking Miller Joel Miller x f!reader - You and Joel Miller have been sworn enemies from the very start, at each of you other’s throats since the first glance. What he can’t know is that you have been harboring a stubborn crush on him this whole time—until he has you up against a wall and you realize he feels the same way. (Can be pictured as either video game or HBO Joel) (8.1k)

Without Words (Joel Fucking Miller pt. 2) Joel Miller x f!reader - You want to show Joel how much he means to you…but maybe in a less classy way. (2.6k)

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Should’ve Stayed Bored Chump!Joel Miller x fem!reader - You really need to learn to lower your expectations. (1.4k) (crack fic)

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