#qz!tess

[arcane-fox]

Big Dick Walking.

Guard Dog Joel does things to my brain I can not reconcile and I need him. Please send help.

Pedro Pascal as Joel Miller, S1E1

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G I F N O T I F I C A T I O N S | G I P H Y

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter nine}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Seasons change and silence rings. Everything is slow moving until it isn't. Everything happens all at once and you reach out for the one person who you need more than anything, but will they be able to reach you in time to help?

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language,, outbreak fic, darker fic, adult language, reader has no canon name but has a commonly used nickname, reader is mostly blank slate but has hair that can be pulled back, fighting, references to injuries, vital injuries, blood, gore, ambush attack described (the one in on lincoln), pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, brief descriptions of birth, illusions to birth, birth complications, strained relationship dynamic, reader is keeping secrets, offscreen character death, um i think that's it for this one

*this chapter is very, very different from anything i've written before. please be warned, please read the tags, please proceed with caution if you feel even a little hesitant

A/N: please don't yell at me too much ♡

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Sleet rains down and mixes with the hail that builds up in the gutters, on the streets, in every nook and cranny of each building’s window. It dampens the sky, the ground, the air, his mood, and definitely the legs of his pants where they fit over his boots. He looks over his shoulder at a loud crackle of thunder, sure he heard footsteps behind him pick up speed under the sound- but no one is there.

He holds tighter to the bundle in his fist, shoved deep in his pockets of the coat you had fixed up for him time and time again. His chest aches at the thought of you, the sole reason why he’s out in this nasty weather while everyone else in the zone hunkers down to wait out the storm.

He knows it’s late, too late, passed curfew. But as he holds his shoulders tensely, entire body on alert for a threat, a soldier, someone else to keep him from you- he doesn’t notice the tripwire as he ducks into an alley. Bells jingle like merry laughter underneath the rumbling thunder low in the sky and he’s suddenly faced with three large figures separating from the shadows.

His mission of getting to the radio hub some guy set up flies from his mind as he focuses on the movement of them, how they close in on him. But all of his fight seeps from him as he feels the barrel of a gun shoved into the back of his head. His vision splotches black, head throbbing and heart stuttering as he realizes he’s completely surrounded and outnumbered- pulled from his melancholy musings in the worst way, a deadly way.

“Listen here, Miller. We know you took over the bitch’s operation, no one’s seen her in weeks. No one’s been found dead by her hands even though we’ve been scouring every little hidey hole for her. So we’re just gonna have a little chat about how we can all work together on better terms than she decided for everyone, got it?”

It wasn’t soldiers, at least not FEDRA, Joel realizes through glimpses of consciousness. The butt of the gun at his head slams hard again and his legs give out as his vision blurs completely. He knows he shouts out, but the sticky screech of duct tape being unwound from a roll drowns it out before a thick piece is slapped over his mouth. All he can do while fighting the pain in his body is try to track details- what they’re wearing, what they look like, where they drag his limp body through the streets, what the building looks like from the outside- before his hands and legs are tied tightly together and he’s shoved into a room where they cuff him to an old radiator.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, the only thing keeping pace is the throbbing in his head and the way the sky rains down thick sheets of hail that ping and dent anything they land on- a true summer storm for this part of the country. The only thing he knows for sure is that he should’ve stayed in Lincoln with you.

Damp dirt flies up and freckles your face as you try to dig out a neat little hole for the newest protection that Bill deemed important. A sensor would be implanted, allowing for some sort of flame thrower the man put together to spring up and aim at whoever got too close to the fence. It was still warm outside, dangerously so, the ground nearly crumbling but thankfully there was no illusions of water built up around the clean streets and the walkways of the cordoned off section of the town Bill claimed for himself.

You feel the need to keep busy, to work with your hands and to complete tasks with an alarming, almost manic energy. Frankie says you’re nesting, a natural progression of your hormones and body getting ready for the baby that grows stronger and bigger in your belly day by day. It’s been a month, nearly tw, summer finally beginning to wane, though the nights bite at your ankles and nip at your neck as the next season looms near.

Jean, too, is filled to the brim with restless energy. Though she’s more apt to help Bill with the canning and preservation of food, the cooking of meals, the cleaning of the house in a way that makes everything feel a little more normal- like old times before. It’s a far cry from the imitation of life you both experienced in the zone. But then again two women so close in their pregnancies was no walk in the park, sometimes you feel like you’re conducting business dealings just to get her to rest sometimes even when she wavers on her feet or begins to slouch in her seat. She’s a little further than you are, by a month or so. Her month being five and yours four. As best estimated at least.

The days are blurring together, your heart feeling both light and heavy as your mind works overtime, memories of every part of your life beginning to weave through your sleep, through your waking moments. Good times and bad. Fights that have everything to do with surviving and inane conversations that have nothing to do with it but were important all the same. Being human- it’s a wild concept you mull over as you feel like one for the first time in a long time. Joel helped with that, even in the hard times, he gave you reason to surge up and defend yourself, allowing you to keep your wits sharp and your teeth even sharper. To see that every was a threat in their own way, even if they were on your side.

But he’s been more than that for years, or had been. Now he’s…silent. No word from him since the day he disappeared into the thick tree line after safely delivering you and Jean here to Bill and Frankie. It worries you something fierce sometimes, wondering if he truly, genuinely loved you like he confessed to because love shouldn’t feel like heartbreak- like betrayal. Even as you carry a secret just as devastating as his radio silence.

Your hands fly to your middle as you stand from your spot, knees popping and back aching, but tickling sensation as if something is crawling beneath your skin brings alarm bells to life. You feel a cool wash of nerves race down your spine as you realize this is a new feeling, and it startles you. The hand trowel falls from your grip and you reach for the longer shovel to use as a makeshift cane, tingling feet carrying you slowly back to the house as the feeling underneath your skin persists.

Frankie is on the radio when you walk into the hidden basement, struggling to descend the stairs but determined all the same. He’s go the headphones on and microphone close to his moving lips. Tess’s voice is tin-like, canned where it echoes out from the speakers around his ears. There’s an urgency to her voice, the tone off- harsher as she relays her message. You distantly hear Joel’s name and suddenly the crawling sensation spreads over your entire middle, not just errant spots.

Gasping, you hold tight over the feeling, pressure building and waning as you feel heavy prodding through the skin that bumps into your hands. Frankie is suddenly in front of you, the cord to the headphones tugged tight from where they remain plugged into the computer system Bill has immaculately set up.

“Hey, hey, woah, what’s going on, are you feeling pain?” His voice is soothing despite the worry you see swirling in his eyes. One of his larger hands splays over yours and pressure crawls underneath your skin once again. But his worry gives way to a bright shine, his teeth glinting as he smiles widely down at you.

“Honey, that’s…that’s kicking!” He pauses in his excitement, pressing something on the side of the headphones before turning back to the computer screen and radio set up. “Tess, sorry, hold on one second. You said he’s okay? Can we expect you soon or does he need more time to rest up before a trip?”

He’s quiet as he processes her next words, and then he’s shucking off the headphones to place carefully over your head. Confusion colors your features as you hear static echo through the connection before a deep voice that weaves through your dreams caresses like velvet over your senses- the pressure of the baby kicking growing as it settles over you.

“Hey there, darlin’.” Suddenly every worry that’s plagued you flies out the window and you feel immensely relieved to hear that deep drawl.

“J-Joel?”

“Know it’s been a while.” You hear the shuffling of fabric, a muted grunt that sends a spike of pleasure down your spine, and then a deep exhale. All of the hurt and anger and loneliness at his prolonged absence smoothed over by his next words. “Was kinda in the infirmary for a bit, got jumped by some guys who decided to try me.”

“Are you okay? Who was it? I swear if it was Cohen, I’ll march back there myself and end him. He’s been laying low but always tried-“ The need to protect, to defend, to maim- it all flares up far stronger than it has in a long while. Someone’s decision to mess with what’s yours stirring it all up in you. Hackles raising and claws extending, all for the man who seems to be having a bit of trouble taking a full breath over the line as he tries to console you.

“I’m okay, just been shackled to a radiator the past month and then recovering from malnutrition and a pretty bad concussion after that. Everythin’ is under control, we’re keeping everythin’ up just like you would. And Cohen, he’s been hung for his attempts to take out the sole provider of black market goods by FEDRA themselves. Seems they didn’t like him messing with their supplies.”

“It’s been months, Joel. I was-“ The confession nearly drips from your tone as you realize how small it makes your voice sound, it makes you sound. The one where you admit to feeling like runt pup, left to fend for itself in favor of tending to the stronger, more promising pups in the litter. Abandoned, even if it was your idea in the first place to reside here with Jean, to move her to a better environment- yourself into a better environment.

“I’m okay, I promise.” But it was too much, your emotions bubbling up and the soft hush of his voice over the line. The way the baby kept kicking and kicking the longer you talked to Joel, your heart stirring faster and your body nearly leaning into the radio as you unconsciously moved as close to the source as your could. It was too much, he wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here. It didn’t matter the reason, there were ways for Tess to let you know. She hadn’t, letting it fester into miscommunication and transform into something ugly. Whether intentionally or not, you feel left out. But then again…the conversation of regular communication outside of planning visits and the exchange of goods didn’t exactly happen.

“I’ve got to go- Frankie here.” You remove the headphones just as the man on the other side of the connection calls your name, your real name. But you can’t, emotions swelling up into your lungs as you begin to take in shallow breaths and plop heavily down into the chair in the corner. Through the haze of your spell, you see Frank talk for a few more minutes before the connection is cut off. He’s resetting the radio before coming over to kneel in front of you, hands cradling your face as he urges you to breathe along with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay- he’s okay.”

“He-he didn’t- he waited so long, I thought- I thought he was dead!” You shout, every emotion from the past couple of months brimming over and spilling over your hot cheeks and throbbing head in thick tears. Your thoughts weren’t of fights and ambushes, he is strong, Joel is capable and damn near a killing machine when he needed to be. It was of him overdosing, of drowning himself in the swill people claimed as alcohol. But it wasn’t- he was recovering from an attack, one that could’ve been prevented if you stayed behind and handled things as always. It was your fault.

“You can’t control everything and that’s okay. What matters is that you’re both safe and healthy, you are both still very much alive and kicking, okay?”

You can’t fight the tightness in your throat even when you manage to get your breathing under control with the help of Frank. He seems to understand that you can’t find your voice, even as he ushers you up to the main level and helps you to sit on the couch to get off your feet. Within a few moments he’s got a plate of snacks and a glass of water for you set on the coffee table. His hands hold both of yours as you lean into his side, one of his arms wrapped around you to keep you tucked in tight.

“Everything is going to be alright, I promise you, okay?”

“Frankie, I see the way you take so much time to do things that used to be quick and easy for you.”

“It’s a long ways off before it gets bad, we’ve got time. I’ve got to meet that little baby in here before you go confining me to a wheelchair, yeah?” His other hand rests over your middle, the kicking stopped as soon as you removed the headphones and Joel’s voice no longer caressed your ears.

“I don’t know about that, what if they take after Joel?”

“A mini Joel is a mini Bill, and I think we can handle that, honey.”

It’s dark when the attack happens, the thick chill of winter sticking during the night even if it dissipates during the day. Spring is here, the babies are almost to term. The sound of sensors going off just before explosions ring out, you feel the house shake with thunder, all of your senses completely overwhelmed. Frantic movement, pounding steps, shouted curse words, and then your door is flying open and Frank is ushering Jean into your room with a wild expression.

“Bill is already out there, both of you stay in here, please. I’m going to broadcast the code for Tess and Joel, in case things go bad.” And then he’s gone too, closing the door securely behind him.

Jean is breathing deeply, her chest rising rapidly, her hands shaking and you push out of the bed to usher her down on the end of the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay, I promise you, I’ve got you,” You sit beside her and hold her tightly, the trembles of her body jerking her. The harsh rain, the rumbling thunder, the blinding strikes of lightning and the gunfire popping off outside the house triggering her. Her hands are tight over her middle, wrapped around the bump there that’s a little larger than your own.

Just at the front door slams open downstairs, but you couldn’t tell how much time has passed, the air thick with tension and bated breath while you strain your ears for any sign of the trouble getting worse.

Frank is shouting for Bill to heed, to listen and calm as best he can- the older man reaches for him with blood soaked hands and demands his attention in a moment of intense clarity. You rush down the stairs as you hear both of them stumble around on the ground floor. Bill is clutching his middle, a gunshot wound bleed profusely in his gut.

Frank sets him on the dining room table, hands hovering as his mind races. You step close and take a look before grabbing supplies stashed in the drawers up against the wall. You both work to get the bullet out, thankful that it’s whole and not shattered. He grunts at the sting of alcohol poured over it, the panted words of ‘go to Joel’ the last he utters before he goes limp.

As he loses consciousness, all you and Frank can do is stare down at him, emotions running feverishly high as the rain continues to downpour and thunder rumbles lowly in the heavy clouds outside.

Jean is crossing into the dining room to see you and Frank hovering over a stitched up Bill sprawled out on the table, blood splattering you both. Her expression is strained, one of her hands on her middle while the other holds tight to the door jamb. The steady drip of something sounds as she stands there breathing heavily and your eyes narrow as you look over her from the top of her head to the tips of her feet.

Her legs are shiny with something, her socks soaked as she struggles to stand there.

“Cane, I-I I think my wa-water broke!” Her voice cracks as a sob, panic contorting her features into something terrified, her cheeks stained with tears and a little blood- the same that you notice a moment too late on her fingers as well as swirling with the shine on her legs. She’s unable to get any more words out as her chest heaves with a deep breath and her knees buckle. You’re barely across the space in time, ignoring the subtle tension in your own middle as you do so and catch her upper half before it slams into the hardwood. You grunt as you take on her dead weight, slumping down rather clumsily as Frank takes stock of what supplies are already out, mind working out what else might be needed.

The tension, the stimulation, all of it- it’s too much for Frank’s nervous system to handle and just as he’s reaching for the bottle of whiskey to take a deep pull from it, his body begins to jerk. He falls to the floor with a loud thud that vibrates across to where you’re kneeling beside Jean as she writhes and wails. There’s so much blood, splattered and spread over Bill’s frame. Dripping from between Jean’s legs and trailing down them in rivulets. Sprouting from the gash that’s splitting in Frank’s forehead, the edge of a chair cutting into him as he collapsed. Your entire body shakes as you grasp at your middle, pain striking as you feel your very spine contract and compress, the weight of the being inside dropping lower than you’ve ever experienced it.

“No, no, no,” You chant as you see the way Jean’s gone slack, passed out from pain or panic or both and you feel your legs buckle the second you try to stand. So you crawl, you move on trembling limbs as best you can toward the radio that’s been set up in the living room for situations exactly like this. So you or Jean or a worsening Frank didn’t have to descend into the lowest floor of the house to call for help.

Frank never made sent the signal, the sound of Bill shot pulling all of his attention.

The radio crackles to life, static loud over the line as it tries to connect and when it clicks you’re voice broadcasts into a overstuffed room back in the Boston zone. Startling the person manning the radio set up there out of the blank stupor one takes on doing a task as mindless as switching dials to check different channels for communication you know isn’t going to come through. Not when it’s been ages since any have.

“Silas, Silas do you copy?” Despite the trembling of your entire body, the expanding and snapping pain in your middle, your voice is even. It’s not overly commanding but the serious tone prevails strongly over the line. “Silas?”

Static is the only thing you hear in return, no voices travel back to you across the space, rising your simmering panic. You jam your hand to disconnect the call, instead typing into the computer settings and clicking through the tracks listed there. Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel seems to be the best bet, to convey the way literally everything is crumbling apart in a matter of seconds. Even if the innuendoes are a little too on the nose for a household headed by the couple that it is. A mirthless laugh bubbles up as you jab your finger to broadcast it over the line, hoping that the radio nestled in Joel and Tess’s apartment springs to life in that exact moment.

Laughter wracks your body as vertigo and mania set in, it’s fuckin’ hilarious.

It’s one cruel, cosmic joke that all three people in the house are injured and unconscious in that moment. Any surviving attacks sure to circle back once they gain their bearings, though you desperately hope they’ve all been blown to pieces by either a bullet aimed by Bill or the explosives he’s hidden around the fence line. At most it’ll take Joel and Tess several hours, the least would be four or five to successfully sneak out of the zone and traverse the fifteen or so miles to you.

And that’s only if they’re actually in the apartment to hear your distress call.

What if they were on a run, outside the zone already hunkered down for the night as a supply run turned into a night spent in the ruins of the surrounding city?

Joel is just stepping into the shower when the radio blares to life. It startles him in a way he would never admit, his skin prickling from the back of his neck all the way down to his calves. Vulnerable, exposed, injured still. His ribs are mending, but tender. Even as an entire season has come and gone, pushed to the extreme as he throws himself into hunting down every single person who had anything to do with his capture. Anyone who claims he’s killed you to take over your operations.

It's the only explanation, apparently. Violence raged against you, one too many orders that pushed him over the edge. And he loathes it. The way people think he’s capable of doing the one thing he never could, death for you would be preferable. Not the death of your own scribed to his hands, his conscious.

It registers at that moment: the song is from the eighties.

He doesn’t even shut the water off before he’s pushing from the stall and quickly shoving his limbs into clothing. The fabric sticks to his damp skin as he fastens his belt, holstering a handgun and hastily packs his bag. The door slams behind him as he flies down the hall and through the front door of the building into the storming darkness.

The sun is just coming up when Joel’s even, tempered steps softly sound on the steps that lead up to the front door. It's no longer raining but thunder rumbles in the distance, thick clouds lighting up as the sun begins to rise behind them. The small entry way lights brightens slightly when the door creaks open. Joel’s form moves carefully and stealthily through the small space, his head turning to take in the empty living room and then the dining room. But he stops in his steps, deathly still when his eyes land on the unconscious forms of Bill laid atop the table and Frank on the floor, gauze and medical instruments scattered around them.

They’re patched up and breathing shallowly. That’s a good sign, the only good sign as he takes in the rest of the room.

Joel raises his gun as his eyes follow the trail of dried blood that leads into the kitchen, the house is silent save for the ticking of the clock above the couch in the next room over. He swallows thickly, heart thudding painfully against the inside of his ribs. He continues further into the house, the kitchen door creaking open underneath thick fingers as he pushes through. And he swears his heart stops altogether.

Jean is laid out flat on the tile, blood pooled around her, covering her legs and still swollen middle. Her skin is pale, her eyes closed- her chest isn’t rising and falling with her breathing. The stamp of boots far bigger than your own litter the floor, two different sets. And then he hears it, movement.

He follows the faint sound, passing by the woman who he had sworn to protect. The direction of the boots prints as they disappear to the end of the house. The sound is low voice, your voice, pleading. It lights up his instincts in a wild way, he’s never heard you sound so desperate. And it’s obvious what has your voice dipping so when he opens the door to the sunroom at the back of the house to find you cradling a small figure tucked into a blanket. Two men, two bodies lay far too close to you. They aren’t breathing, the gun by your side looks jammed and a kitchen knife sticks out of one of their foreheads.

But the baby isn’t breathing either, even as your hands work against its little chest, back propped up on your pulled up knees. The blanket covers most of your form, but what blood you’re covered in is everyone else’s. Your hair is back in a tangle of tresses, blood matting them into thick chunks. It’s smeared on your cheeks, dried tears breaking up the stains. Your hands too, are stained, even as you work harder than he’s seen you work on anything.

Your own breath is pitched high, almost gasping even as you lean down and press your mouth to the open one of baby. The chest rises as you do so, but as you move away it expels unnaturally. The baby isn’t breathing and nothing you do is going to help. He holsters his gun and kneels beside you, body going still as you turn wild eyes to him.

“J-Joel, he…he won’t…I can’t-!” Flashes of his own child struggling to breathe, the same quick staccato that you exhibit now should rattle him, but instead it steels him. His hands are steady as he gently reaches for the baby, wrapping the blanket carefully around the boy’s small body.

“It’s…it’s okay, darlin’,” He croaks, voice sticking in his throat at the exhaustion he can see so clearly in every little movement you make, every line of muscle in your body. The evidence of the ambush around the fence line, the mangled bodies that litter the growing grass, the burn of fire catching in spots, ash in others. The two men in the dining room, obviously harmed but tended to. You’re the only one conscious, the only one capable. But he’s here now.

He thinks he can help you through this, can help put the house back in order until the blanket lifts from your lower half to expose the swell of your own belly.

His mind goes blank, his entire body goes numb. Static filling his head even as the overlay of his argument with Tess, his argument with you over Jean’s situation sounds loud. Everything slots into place, all at once. The reason you were adamant about leaving, the way your touches lingered before you did, the sickness that lingered long after Tess’s…you kept this from him. But betrayal isn’t what he feels now, hope flutters in his chest, a small spark that lightens the darkness that fills him, has deepened since you settled here.

Not just for Jean and Frank, but for you and your baby. His baby.

There’s the shine of liquid puddled around you, soaking into the fabric of your sleep shorts and the hem of your oversized shirt. Your water’s broken, contractions the culprit behind your shallow breathing, not just your attempts at resuscitating the baby he’s holding in his arms.

“Joel, please, h-help me,” You whimper, hands moving to cradle your middle, bending double as you stretch your legs out straight. A contraction convulses your body and you cry out an ugly, guttural sound that snaps him back into motion. He sets the carefully wrapped blanket atop the whicker chair to his right and hurries to your side. Hands cradling your head as he pulls you to him, lips pressing firmly to your temple as your shoulders begin to shake.

“I didn’t know. Cane, I-“ His hands tremble now, with the realization that you ran from him. Because you were afraid of him, of what he would tell you to do in the heat of the moment. But that spark of hope catches, gets the oxygen it needs as he breaths in deep, stoking it to a greater volume. You’re stronger than him and the realization that you would turn from him even the wake of creating a life together in order to protect and defend instills that notion. It gives him some strength too, to know how willing you are to do what you need to, for yourself, no matter what anyone else thought. Pride swells, he knows you’re strong, he knows you can do this. He just needs support you, he needs to be the one to give you the room to be strong, even if it might feel like weakness in this moment.

“I hid it from you,” Your voice is raspy from the force of your grunts and groans, breaking out of your chest and into the air as you scrabble in his hold to tear your soaked shorts off. “You didn’t want it, you wouldn’t h-have wanted me.”

Your words knock into his chest like snapping canines, ripping and tearing up sinew and skin. He lets the pain and hurt fuel him, coalescing with the hope that’s flaming bright right there inside him.

“You’re mine, you hear me. Both of you.” His voice is clear, solid. Promising as he moves to kneel between your propped up legs. His hands are shaking, but he presses a kiss to each kneecap before he grips them and glances down. He swallows down any fear of repetition, his jaw twitching as he focuses on your glassy eyes. He can see fear clearly in every line of your face and it fuels him to be better, to do better. To protect, to prevent. You need him, as much as he needs you. Two snarling dogs fending for themselves, bonded and bred anew.

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[seethesunny]

Tess: If you want my advice-

Ellie: No offense, but you’re the last person I want relationship advice from. You tried to kill your significant other. Multiple times.

Tess: First off, that was before we started dating. Secondly, he also tried to kill me.

Joel: It’s true. It was mutually attempted murder.

[hender-ka]

Last week we had a casual discussion with our uni professor about our types of the Roman Empire. And I just couldn’t say Joel Miller, who didn’t change his clothes after burning dead people all day and went to bed like nothing happened. 

Not to mention he was supposed to be on sewer maintenance the next day. Probably still in the same clothes and about to absorb another survival perfume.

Sorry, but we all know this man has his own cheese factory and doesn't smell like pine, wood, leather… But we still love him deeply

[finnelfin]

Spit out the sky because it's empty and hollow - A QZverse fic

The first meeting between our intrepid smugglers and Bill and Frank.

"He says one of the guys there, the leader I guess, is pretty paranoid. He says there will probably be threats, but it'll be bluffing. Mostly bluffing." That doesn't sit well, and he says, "I'm not gonna let someone threaten you." "It's just gonna be talk. It's their place, right? It's no different than what we do in the QZ, make sure people know when they're on our turf. It's just gonna be posturing, so don't get all..." She waves a hand in the air. "You know." "Violent?" "Yes, that."

Read here on AO3

[blackberrydeer]

I don't really know why I'm doing it.

That's a lie. I wake up each day ready to ignore my own wishes and try to socialize in social media

21 days to find you

Chapter 2/?

All in all, she was fucked. Or better, she was fucking hungry. She had been in The Hole for three days straight, and combining all the food they gave her, she was sure one stale bread bread would have done the fucking job better.

And the universe had a kink on giving her hell, it seemed, because she managed to take the blame of some fucker in the way to get some-fucking-thing to eat – it was near dusk, they were (probably) giving ration, and at the moment that was enough to make her mouth water.

But she was, as her instructors would say, a living piece of a demon straight out of Hell. And they probably believed that, considering that they blamed her for something that happened two days ago, and decided to punish her while she exited her three (3) days long, no bathroom time, solitary confinement.

Her punishment? A punch in the stomach, other in the chest (FUCK, she was still feeling it), and no fucking food for another fucking day.

And that made four hungry days in a roll.

Of course, despite Fedra’s attempts in making their future soldiers as dull and dumb as possible, Ellie knew the dangers of starvation; if Riley was there, she would have given an entire lecture of the reasons she should “start taking fucking care of yourself, Ellie, I don’t care if the guards started it, you’re the one bitting the hook”, before giving her half of her own meal she always kept when Ellie was punished. She wasn’t guilty for this one, and anyway, Riley wasn’t there. Ellie was fucking starving and the curfew was up.

And that meant she could break it

She knew, because of dumb luck, from a passing inspector that there was a quick job near; payment entirely dependant on the amount of hours you work, and Ellie had slept a bit in The Hole, so she was almost sure she could pull an all-night and manage the school after (despite the senseless, good-for-nothing sleepiness she’d been feelings since she reached her early-twelve). That definitely wouldn’t be enough to put her stomach out of its misery, but at least it wouldn’t start to eat her insides.

Window and fire exit (which was supposed to be inaccessible, but Riley didn’t like that) passed by, Ellie did quick work of reaching her objective: the old Fedra’s deposit now barely standing and offering sweet slave-like job for almost no food. A dream that came true, truly.

The place was quite full, despite being in the middle of the night, what was not very nice, but she found herself a lovely post apocalyptic looking empty place to pull her weight (not very much, literally speaking).

The work itself was definitely not nice, though, even more when your body is actively trying to eat itself, but food is food, and the growling her stomach made every once in a while were very good points in her mental argument of staying when the rain started.

Nice, now she would also get hypothermia.

Fedra taught her about the dangers of starvation, not about the cold, so fuck hypothermia.

And now she was cold. Fucking cold and fucking starving and fucking wet and her shoulders were aching like the hell Fedra thinks she came from supporting the (heavier than necessary, in her humble opinion) pieces of what she supposed was some reinforced door. She had started to use her shoulders after watching a guy near her do that, but quickly decided he was full of shit.

The rain helped absolutely fucking nothing, only weighting the few clothes she had on, Fedra’s standard uniform that did nothing against the freezing as fuck night.

She also decided that the guy full of shit was a creepy too, and probably a pervert based on the amount of times he kept glancing at her.

And of fucking course, the rain had spooked every living soul out of the jobsite aside from the creepy guy.

Ellie took advantage of the moment he bent in half to pick up something to evaluate him. Obviously she had no chance of winning in a fight, but the rain could help her lose him if she needed to sprint her way out of there.

He was a big guy, heavy built and all. Big people tended to not look at the ground (or at least that’s what Riley says)

Fortunately the guy started to walk to the entry of the site, apparently deciding to get out of the rain. Thank fuck.

Ellie felt a weight almost as heavy as the broken pieces of Fedra’s building vanish from her shoulders when he started to walk away. Almost was a good word, she thought kneeling to pick up the smaller pieces of wood and a heavy iron doorknob.

Fedra was an absolute bitch for making absolute zero efforts in helping carry things destroyed by the Fireflies, not even giving them a pushcart. She was sure her shoulder blades were about to rip at any moment, but hey, starving she still was.

She was also very fucking dumb, drowning in pointless thoughts deep enough to not hear the person behind her until the very last second.

“Ki-“

Fuck

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her brain stopped working, and at the same time she felt millions and billions of thoughts breaching their way into her mind. Was that what traffic used to be like? She had heard some old people once talk about it. The creepy guy looked very old too, he probably knew what traffic used to be, maybe that’s why he stopped, he sensed the traffic of thoughts on her mind and felt obligated to wait for green signal, why does the green signal meant stop? Green means plants, plants don’t stop growing, plants are badass, she wondered if it would be nice to be a plant. Are fungus plants too? She’s pretty sure they aren’t, but Fedra’s school teachers are shitty, so she’s not sure – ah, right, the creepy guy, did he move? She felt like a lot of time had passed, but everything seemed way to still, maybe no time passed at all.

She wondered if she could outrun the man. He had bigger legs, but he seemed old. Old people have bad joints.

Suddenly the sound of the rain pounding against every surface resumed ten times louder, and her brain crashed in what must have been a wall of goddamn adrenaline, all of her thoughts now transforming into one sentence: run

And so she did, hunger forgotten for the heavy pull of instinctive danger. One last glance over her shoulder revealed the guy with a strange, blank glinting in his dark eyes.

She ran, and ran a little longer, until the adrenaline was all but spent. Not the most she had ever ran, truth be told, but she was starving and tired and cold, and her clothes had at least 15 pounds of water.

For her dismay, the route she took would circle all the way around some Fedra’s facilities before she reached her bedroom, but the creepy guy was blocking the only short cut, and she wasn’t in the mood to risk a fight.

She had left her switchblade back in her room, after all.

She started a quick pace, wishing for the few hours of sleep she’d hopefully be able to get.

[elliebeanwilliams]

every time I play this fucking game I notice new things

[messitydepressity]

I need someone to Joel/Tess the fuck out of some of these.

Please and thank you.

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS

Too many beds

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Really nice guy who hates only you

Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Divorce of convenience

Too much communication

True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Lovers to enemies

Hate at first sight

Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Fake amnesia

Soulmates who are fated to kill each other

Strangers to enemies

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

Too hot to cuddle

Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground

Nursing home au

[arcane-fox]

Calling off her Guard Dog - Joel + Tess The Last of Us

🩵 Please use and enjoy my gifs as you please! Reblogs appreciated🩵 Gif requests are open!

G I F N O T I F I C A T I O N S | G I P H Y

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 2}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader, brief mention of Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: You set off to scout for a meeting with the man Tess has been in contact with over the radio. Only to find out it’s two men and you know one of them.

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), dark fic, dark joel miller, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv (mentioned), sexual acts, choking, oral (m and f receiving), dom/sub dynamics if you squint, joel is bossy, some 69 action (idk don't look at me), anal play, reader is snarky, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

*we have a nickname reveal, in reference to one of the most known guard dog breeds (cause i think i'm funny lol)

A/N: something possessed me and the next thing i know this chapter was on the word document. don't look at me, i have no clue what i'm doing 🫣okay, bye

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

It was dark, curfew for the zone only an hour off. The sparse streetlights illuminating the rather humiliating display of the street, outlined with bodies hidden in the shadows of stoops, of power lines chaotically spread out above, of the dirt and grime that seemed to coat every fucking inch of what the world had become. Despite the strict regulations of cleanliness, trash and debris from the ravage of bombs dropped on the larger cities lingered about. The roads barely maintained and only for the vehicles controlled by FEDRA.

It wasn’t the most sanitary of places to live, but you made it work for you. Clinging to life, even if it was a shadow of what that once meant. You tried not to dwell on that line of thinking for too long.

But you hummed a little as you felt the weight of a thick stack of ration cards tucked into your back pocket. This particular part of the zone was known for its more…salacious activity and trade. A place you knew would be ripe with rewards for very little work on your part. The feeling of drying spend wasn’t a comfortable one, as it stuck and hardened on the skin of your stomach and back. But it was a small price to pay for a months’ worth of food and the small smirk from Joel and Tess once you handed over some of the cards.

Earn your keep, that had been the only rule barked at you when first hashing out understands for your partnership with them both. Joel had seemed to stare into your very soul to get the point across, while Tess had been far more cordial, seeking you out after finding you to be one of the best scouts whose services were fought after. Before they had shown up in the dingy zone, you had been a free agent. A rather successful one on your own. Hopping from one smuggler to the next if their offers were good enough, but with those two it had all stopped. You were loyal to them now.  Circumstance and mild comfortability in favor of constantly watching out for deals gone bad or men who thought you were a part of them.

And you agreed to an even split if it meant they would watch your back. They had come to you after all, you needed a little more from the deal if you were willingly work with only two people as opposed to those who sought you out and who you knew would trade what you asked for. The timing of their arrival one of the few good things you believed to be whatever higher power existed smiling down on you with pity. The loss of your brother had been harsh, hung in front of a crowd and practically announcing to the zone you no longer had protection.

You could hold your own as well as needed, but the world was cruel. You had been offered less than satisfactory terms since his death, cajoled into doing jobs under threat of report and even the barrel of a gun or two. It had been a tough two years of trying to maintain your reputation, a few lives lost in the endeavor when you had been challenged in ways you refused to put up with.

The first had been a man who had taken it upon himself to be your new ‘alpha’, to watch over you and ensure you were safe under his vigilant eye. But his name hadn’t carried the same weight at your own, the nickname ascribed to you accurate for a once well-known breed of guard dog. When he had tried to force you to submit to him, you had torn into his neck with nothing but your teeth, hands tied behind your back as you woke to the man in your apartment once news of your brother’s passing had spread to every corner of the zone.

Another had been a woman who attempted to sell you out to the very soldiers who relied on you for narcotics. She had found herself thrown into a cell and once released she had come at you with a knife while you worked a job around the city under the guise of falling in line with every other citizen. The exchange had ended with her clutching to the knife imbedded in thigh and you with a long red marks from her nails as she had screamed at your resistance to be taken out.

People had been willing to work with you, knowing the knowledge you had was abundant and the things you offered for trade were scarce. But as with everything, things had begun to dry up. The longer time went on, the harder it was to maintain the abundance of items deemed contraband or frivolous. But the stash you had hidden held on for quite a while. Posing as another version of yourself, you had stolen entire collections from people who were new to the zone and decided to try and work around you or shoulder you out of the scene. Not knowing it was you people were referring to when the name Cane was spoken until they took their last breath or mysteriously disappeared as soon as they had arrived.

Until Joel and Tess.

They had staked you out, gone into your apartment to get a feel for who you were but when faced with the consequences of their actions, they had been willing to talk it out. Someone must’ve warned them that newcomers who weren’t willing to play along with how things operated here disappeared or were found dead, a warning in and of itself for them. They had expected to just do recon, to see what you had going on with the aid of Tommy Miller down the hall as a lookout. A scout.

But they hadn’t known that’s what you were above all. Aware of your surroundings at all times, never caught without your guard down. Tommy had been taken out long before you had entered your apartment that night. The first signal that something was different. The younger Miller brother had gotten flustered at your approach, offering the man a night of pleasure since he was new and deserved to see what the zone had to offer. He had been knocked out cold before he could even answer your feigned advance. He often stayed behind, letting his two companions work alongside you while he tried to keep his head down and do as FEDRA asked. Something Joel said he was a fool to do, but didn’t dissuade him from.

He had revealed that his longer absences from the apartment they had been assigned, right beside yours, were because of his work with the group known as the Fireflies. Some members of which you used to do work with. Warning him of their willingness to cause chaos in ways they though were liberating but ended up being destructive and damning. But he hadn’t heeded your genuine words born of concern. Not wanting him to face the same fate as your bother. Joel had been even more difficult to work with when Tommy had disappeared one day with nothing but a note saying he was with a group of them assigned for relocation. He had been even more brutal since then not even a year after they had arrived, the sting of betrayal and abandonment needing to be let out somehow. And Joel Miller was capable of great brutality.

He also happened to be stepping out from a shadowed awning just across the street. An ununiformed officer slinking away with a tight grip on something in his hand.

The satisfaction of having just duped some poor suckers out of their cards shifted to something else, something akin to shame at being caught with muzzle in something that wasn’t yours to be had. You had hidden the…visits you made here from your brother, something you had done with you both first arrived in the desolate excuse of a zone. Lectured and pleaded with once he had found out, begging you to stop because it wasn’t what he wanted for you, what he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do. But you did and that was the stark truth. It was always something you could fall back on.

“What the hell are you doing?” Joel’s words were sharp, his chocolate curls tousled in the wind you had to shake the urge to reach up and tangle your hands in them.

“Conducting business. Same as you.” The words are spit from your twisted mouth, not liking the tone he approached you with or the hard glare that molded his features. What you were doing was none of his concern, you didn’t belong to him. You didn’t like how your body was responding to him lately, and you idly wondered if your finicky cycle was about to make a rare resurgence.

“The only business here is…” His eyes flick to the crumbling building behind you, a well-known house of pleasure. The man who had just been inside you exited and jaunted down the steps, pausing as he noticed the two of you staring each other down. When Joel’s eyes focused on him, he took off at a brisk pace.

“Yup.” You turned and started walking back toward the center of the zone.

“Didn’t take you for a whore.” Steps not faltering as he falls in line beside you, it’s easy to shrug off his slight judgement. It had only been a year of working with him, but you knew him well enough to know that if he really didn’t like something he would just silently brood over it. Whatever he was trying to do now, was simply get a rise out of you just for the sake of doing it. He was cheeky in his own way, even if it was always at your expense. But the same could be said of you, you always berated him for not listening completely to things you and Tess discussed.

“Well, this whore just earned all three of us a month’s worth of cards. Each.”

“And you’re proud of that, aren’t ya? Whorin’ yourself out for a little food.” He digs his claws in deeper, when he doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting. But it was late and you truly weren’t bothered by his words. He was right, you had just sold your body. It was your right as a woman to do with your body as you pleased and if it earned you something then, what? Shame wasn’t something you let yourself feel, not for this. The only negative thing about spending your time at the pleasure house was that you never left with the same satisfaction of your clients. The men weren’t there for that, they went for themselves and themselves alone.

“You took all the pills for your trades. Didn’t leave me much to trade with.” You throw back at him with only a slight uptick of volume, but your words held the truth. Tess had given him all of the pills from yesterdays’ foray into what remained of the city around the zone. You had been given the firearms, opting to keep them as part of your stash for the time being instead of trading them.

“You could’ve asked for some.” He’s looking straight ahead when you turn to see him a little more clearly in your periphery. His profile is strong, the hook of his nose and the fullness of his lips obvious against the streetlights.

“I don’t ask for things I can’t afford. Not from anyone and certainly not from you.” You can’t help the bite in your words, as if the idea of him willingly giving you a part of what he intended to trade was even fathomable. He may be the muscle of the group, the attack dog people kept their eyes on and ears on alert for. But even so, he also did nearly as much legwork as you did, if not more at this point. You and Tess working together to orchestrate the trades and caches of contraband to steal or loot.

“Fine.” He grunts, hands shoved in his front pockets.

“Fine.” You parrot, not willing to let him have the last word.

When you turned at the entrance of an alley, he didn’t see the shadow of the person lying in wait until they shifted. But you seemed to have known they were going to be there, because you were suddenly ducking beneath the person’s reaching arms and slamming their front to into the brick. The woman shouted out as her forehead thudded harshly against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back and tight in your grip.

“I told you last time, no payment no pills.” Your voice is threateningly low as you crowd against the woman who had tried to ambush you. Joel only watches, his gaze heavy on your back as you hold your own. Showing no mercy to the woman whose position you easily could’ve fallen into yourself. But you had stopped the excessive use, opting to trade nearly everything you could and only keeping a minor stash for yourself should you need to make a run for it.

“He-he told me to!”

“Don’t care, you come at me again, either of you and I’ll cut you in your sleep.”

“You would-wouldn’t!”

“Wanna try me?” You pull her away from the wall, the dull streetlights illuminating her bloodied and tear-stained face. “Go home. Find me when you have what I want.”

“Y-yes, I’m so sorry, Cane.”

When you turn your back on the alley, the woman running through the narrow space and out the other side, Joel is merely standing there with his arms crossed. Denim pulled taut over his broad shoulders and biceps at the stance. His lips are upturned a bit, his eyes dark in the fallen night, but it isn’t until you glance down at his waist are you sure of what he was really thinking.

The hard outline of him through the denim of his jeans is obvious. He had gotten turned on, aroused, and it sends a thrill of proud excitement through your own body. Whether it was from either seeing you walk out of a well-known pleasure house, beat up an empty-handed solicitor, or both you weren’t sure.

But you tilted your head back as you sauntered up to him as close as you could. Apparently, that was more than okay with him because you pushed your chest against his crossed arms, the soft give of them pressed to his forearms while you trailed a finger lightly over his zipper. The hinge of his jaw jumped, the muscle there twitching from the barely there touch, his brow furrowing as he looked down to catch your glittering eyes.

“Wanna take up that offer for relief?”

“Thought you didn’t ask for things you couldn’t afford.” His words are hard, though you see through them, through him. He wasn’t going to outright ask you, he never would.

“I could certainly afford to lose an evening spent prying open a can of too-old green beans if it means you’d calm the hell down a bit.”

“What makes you think I need you for that?” He cocks his head to the side slightly, mirth dancing behind his eyes as he notices he one upped you. Because damn if he hadn’t. You knew him and Tess were…whatever it was they were. The way he listened to her and made sure she had what she needed was first on his priorities from day one, it was obvious. A man like him seemed to need someone to look after, his purpose was her livelihood. And she was his. Even if they weren’t obvious about it, the signs were there.

The every so often thuds of their bed against the wall, the moans and panting breath that sounded as if it was in your own apartment and not theirs next door, the way Joel walked a little straighter the next day and Tess was a little more willing to go along with plans that didn’t have great payoffs with the argument that it was at least something.

It was something that was unspoken between all three of you, something Tommy had only brought up twice with you when you were both alone. He hadn’t been jealous, at least not in the way that made you feel sorry for him. It was because he didn’t see a point to it if it wasn’t genuine and if he had learned anything in the collapse of the world, it was that his older brother was all the things he never thought he would be. That he knew it was a way for Joel to feel wanted and useful, something he was jealous of only because he had once been someone who relied on his brother. Still had until the second he left, unable to handle the decline of the person he had grown up with and cared for.

You couldn’t fault him for that. Sibling relationships and dynamics were hard even when the world was good. The demise of someone wasn’t always of bloodshed, infection, or the quieting of their heart. It was sometimes the inability to recognize and the horror of realization that it had been a long time since you had been able to see them as they were. It had been too much for Tommy, you didn’t fault him for running. But it left you with the obviously bonded pair he had left behind and for that you cursed him.

Your own loneliness apparent when the only person you could call a ‘friend’ had left you behind too.

“Didn’t wanna fuckin’ touch you anyway.” Voice level, you realize you weren’t in the mood to play with him now his harsh denial floats in the thick air between you.

The combination of your melancholy thoughts and Joel’s words stings and you turn away from him, boots barely guiding you away before your arm is in the man’s grip and he’s turning you back to face him with a harsh jerk.

“Hey, that wasn’t a no.”

“Sure as hell sounded like it to me.” You try to yank your arm back from him, to put as much distance between you as possible, only he tightens his grip.

“Don’t offer shit if you’re not gonna follow up.” He reprimands, voice low with the edge of a threat.

“Go find Tess.” You feel your lips curl around the woman’s name.

“Don’t want Tess.” His words shouldn’t have the effect on you that they do. But the dissatisfaction of not finding your own release hits you like a weight. The visits you made to that part of the zone always disappointing in that department. Your pleasure was never the goal. Your body begins to hum at the implication of them, at the implication of him wanting you.

“Too bad, you picked the wrong moment to feign disinterest and I don’t wanna play with you anymore.”

“That all it is, playin’?”

“Only thing it could be, you don’t seriously think I want you, do you?”

“I think you’re afraid to admit you do, yeah.”

“I could go straight back to that pleasure house and get what I need.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t what you want. ‘Cause I’m standing right here.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Turning your back on him, you ascend the few steps into the main floor of the apartment building. He’s right behind you, the heat of his body only a few steps of distance away. He manages to keep up as you quickly scale the stairs up to the floor your apartments are on. The sensation of being chased prickles your skin into goosebumps, it raises the hairs on the back of your neck and makes your cunt throb in anticipation of being caught.

“Think you wanna be full a’me, otherwise you wouldn’t offer so damn much.” The thought sends a spark of arousal straight down your spine, igniting the smoldering kindling of your earlier activities as you finally step onto the flattened floor of your hall.

“Just tired of being around you when your dick is doing all the thinking. Makes it so I have to do twice as much work to keep things going smoothly.”

“Then clear my head, be a good little lap dog for me.”

“No. Told you I don’t wanna play with you anymore.”

“Too bad, cause I ain’t done with you.”

“Joel, I swear to fucking god-“

“You gotta learn to shut that god damn mouth when you’re ahead, darlin’.” Before you could blink, your back is being pressed up against his door. One of his thighs are between your legs and pressing up into your aching core, one of his hands is tight around your neck, pinning you between the hardness of the door and the strong line of his broad body. His eyes are looking between your own, his lips part to speak again but it isn’t what you were expecting.

“You scared?” He asks in a low voice, vulnerability and concern swirl in a shadow curling behind his words. He was making sure you were okay and really wanted this and the thought makes your body shiver. The thought that he wouldn’t truly engage with you this way if you didn’t want it is the bare fucking minimum but it rounds out into another full glimpse of the man he is, of who he used to be.

His other hand snakes around your waist once he’s got the door unlocked and it’s no longer holding you up.

The door is kicked shut behind him, the slam echoing through the hallway enough to insight a few shouts of dismay. But his focus is on you, only on you. His hooded eyes dark as he takes in the dilation of your pupils and the hitch of your breath as he corrals you toward the bed. Definitely not scared.

“Only part a you that listens, huh?” He sneaks a pair of thick fingers beneath the waistband and finds you already so slick. “This all you?”

“Don’t let cum in me, if that’s what you’re askin’.” His fingers are the perfect pressure as they dip between your folds, and you hear the sound he makes deep in his chest even if his lips remain shut. A chip in his usual demeanor, a small flicker of that same weakness you had stumbled on the first time you condescendingly offered to blow him.

“Good.” He rasps. “Sit down.”

“Mutual relief,” He grunts as he senses your quiet confusion, the heat of his intent rises up your chest and over the apples of your cheeks, brows furrowing as it doesn’t quite compute. Confusion gives way to a spark, that low simmering heat thrumming in your body catching fire and licking across your entire body. “That’s how we’re gonna do this, y’hear me? Won’t leave you like those other men. Now sit.”

You do, heeding the command as you attune to him, body jostling as you set yourself on the edge of his shared bed, everything else a blur around him. The apartment is barely illuminated by the streetlights trickling in through the sorry excuse of curtains still pulled back on the window. Just enough light to see him, to see how big he is as he begins to kneel before you, hands reaching for your jeans. You can only watch as he undoes them and peels them from your legs, the only pair you have that have molded to your body from years of relying on them. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he tilts his head up and your completely naked from the waist down.

“She’s gonna be back soon.” You don’t worry about getting caught but you’d rather not have an audience for the submission you were too weak to resist. Body responding to him with an intoxicating ease, the curiosity if what he means by mutual relief too much of a temptation. If there was anyone who was worthy of it, it was Joel, even if you loathed basically everything about him. Too similar and too rife with the same qualities and tendencies for violence, too much of a mirror of who you were at the very core of your soul.

“She’s busy setting up the meeting for tomorrow,” He’s suddenly standing, his own clothing being peeled away to land on the floor with your own. His chest is dusted with the same dark brown atop his head, his skin the same bronze of his forearms and weathered face. The rest of his body is just as beautiful as the parts you’re allowed to see. But now all of him is on display, languidly laid out atop the bed as he grips his impressive length in a fist, pumping once before he’s reaching for you.

He manhandles you to straddle his stomach, your slick shining on his hot skin as you’re suddenly face to face with his dripping cock. And it’s so beautiful you can’t help the moan that crawls it’s way up from your ribcage and past your lips as lean forward to grip him with a much smaller hand than his. He’s so thick you can barely wrap your hand around all of him, something he chuckles darkly over as you feel one of his palms land with a sharp slap along your ass. You know he’s watching the ripple of your skin, the irritation of his action spring to life on your skin, the goosebumps that chase the shiver that runs down your spine and you feel yourself flutter around nothing.

“I said,” He gripped your hips painfully tight in his large hands, blunt nails digging into your flesh and pulls you down completely. His nose bumps into your puffy clit and you can’t help but cry out at the bolt of pleasure that rips through you. “Sit the fuck down.”

You were gone before the first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds, just the hot breath from his perfectly pouty mouth was enough to make your body sing. When the wet heat of his tongue licked through your folds, your eyes flutter shut at the scintillating feeling, his palms are wide across your cheeks as he pulls them apart to see all of you and you gasp at the wet sound. You feel your skin pull and you’re keening out a pathetic sound as his nose bumps against the puckered hole previously hidden from him. The fire coursing over your body, trying to catch the air of the room outside your body to roar, it’s only spurred on by the feel of him, hungry and taking what he wanted from the most intimate part of you.

“C’mon now, use that mouth for somethin’ other than talkin’.” He takes a moment, the barest, to lean back and bark the words at you. There wasn’t anything mutual about you going limp in his grip and you feel the tug of humiliation at folding so quickly and forgetting who had started this whole exchange in the first place.

He’s teasing you. But two can play at that game, you think even as pleasure roils too hot through your veins. Gripping his proudly standing cock more firmly at the base, you lower yourself, back arching and thighs tightening around his middle and press feather light kisses to his ruddy, leaking tip.  

He’s surprisingly loud, from the rumbles you can feel vibrating deep in his chest, to the slurps of his mouth as it moves against you, to the heavy pants he breaths in an out when he dares to pull away from between your legs. He’s never this loud with her, and the thought sends a thrill through you causing you to gush around his tongue as it slips inside. You can’t help your own moan around the head of his cock as you swallow it down, swirling your tongue over him as you taste him for the first time.

The grunt that vibrates through your folds as you swallow him down is satisfaction enough. He’s heavy on your tongue, the slight curl of him as at the angle allows for the underside of his cock to nudge along the ridges of the roof of your mouth, his blunt nails digging into your skin. You feel the vein just as clearly and he throbs, causing drool to dribble down to his heavy sack.

His teeth close around your clit, nibbling there as you begin to bob up and down at a fast pace. He’s suddenly thrusting up, his hips canting at the sensation and you gag as he hits the back of your throat.

“Take it,” He husks, doing it again. You retaliate by pressing back against him, body flat atop his as you relax your throat for him to continue. The air is thick with the scent of mutual arousal, everything coated in slick and sweat, your plain shirt sticking to your skin as heat crackles in the stagnant air. The smell of him is heady, all musk and something distinctly him as your nose nestles in the thatch of coarse hairs that he doesn’t keep trimmed, the soft velvet of his sack so hot against your face.

You hum as he stills, his thighs shaking beneath your hands as you try to support yourself. He slips from your mouth and the heft of him slaps into your cheek as you cry out at the intrusion of a slick thumb. You feel his grin as he nudges the digit further into your puckered hole, a sensation you hadn’t felt before.

“Never had anyone in here.” He boldly preens, reading the way your own body begins to tremble as you gush, there’s no way he missed it being buried in your cunt. Your only response is to grip him with one hand and resume a brutal pace, breath barely squeezing through your nostrils as you take him as deep as you can again and again. It’s loud, it’s lewd, it’s intoxicating the way he slurps and licks, nibbles and presses. The scratch of his facial hair against your inner thighs lighting you up, building up heat and pleasure in your lower abdomen. He’s twitching, from his fingers to his cock, to the thick thighs beneath you.

It's brutal the way you’re pushed to the edge, the fire taking your body for its own, brought on by unforgiving pace matched by unforgiving pace. Two people still playing for dominance even as you both relish in the tantalizing pleasure of the game. He seems determined to get you there before he finds his own release, and you clench around him he pushes you over the edge, his tongue lapping up everything you’ve given him as you feel his own muscles tense, before he’s spilling hot down your throat at the feeling of your suppressed moan all around him.

Panting, you release him from your mouth, swallowing down everything he had given you in return. The tart taste of him something you never anticipated getting a taste of. Your thighs burn as you push yourself up, the overwhelming dribble of his saliva and the remnants of your release are obvious as your cunt presses to his chest. You’re sure he can see the small bubbles of it as your folds close together, hiding from him where he had just buried his face. He seems to disagree with the shift in position because you’re suddenly face down on the covers of the bed, ass up in the air as he drapes himself over your back.

His thick fingers effortlessly trace your slit, fingers sparking another crest as he plunges two deep into your still fluttering core. You can’t bite back the guttural sound that claws its way from your chest as he curls them and begins to press them against a spot that most men ignore. You feel the length of him soft against the back of your thighs, unable to get it up again so soon after his own release, but it’s like he knows he could pull another orgasm from your willing body.

You hear the crack of his wrist as he pounds his fingers into you, straightening them out for the tips to kiss that spot deep inside and you cry out when he finds it. Head shooting up from the bed as your back arches in a silent plea for more.

“There it is, feels good don’t it, darlin’?” His words are gravel in your ear, the burn of his scruff against your neck welcome as he pushes you over the edge again far too quickly. The moan that rips from you is loud, nearly a wail in its intensity. Something he’s guaranteed to comment on. But he surprises you when he buries his nose into your hair as you clench and gush around his fingers. Nothing but an answering moan of his own floats into the air.

As suddenly as he had been on you, he’s no longer pressed against you. The heat of his body gone in the slow blink of an eye and shuddering pull of breath.

He’s across the room with a creak of the mattress and a shift of the floorboards under his weight. The sound of the shower being turned on is the only clue as to where he’s gone when you turn your head in search of him. Your body is shaky as you move into a normal position, the one you started in, perched at the edge of his shared bed. You quickly pull on your socks, your jeans, stuff your feet into the boots he had unlaced and shucked from you in his haste. Your underwear is nowhere to be found and you don’t linger on what that could mean as you exit the apartment.

An hour later you’re slinking through the space beneath a stretch of chain link fence, pulling the board of plywood that settles over it as another pair of hands disperses dirt over it to hide the hole. Your mind is calm, but your chest feels like an overinflated balloon as you seem to hold your breath for far too long.

Only once the lights of the zone are a mile behind you, do you stop and let it all out in a heavy exhale.

“We leavin’ before the sun or after?” Joel breaths the words out on a heavy exhale, his heart beating fast in beneath his ribs. Tess takes a moment to catch her own breath before she grants him an answer, reaching over for the water glass sweating on the floor beside the bed. Her eyes trail over the naked expanse of his chest, fingers reaching to comb through the hair beginning to show the same threading of silver as the hair atop his head. He doesn’t feel anything when she does, his body satiated from the shared pleasure he had initiated in his half-asleep state after hearing people begin to stir all along the hall in the early hour.

Her breasts catch his eye, the way the jiggle and sway with her motions to slump back against the collection of flat pillows at the head of the bed. He idly wonders what you’ve got hidden beneath your own clothing and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he frowns. She turns to him, after her own eyes drag up his body, from the knee he props up to relieve his back a little, the softening bulge of him hidden beneath the sheet, to the way he watches her with something behind his eyes.

“Before. Cane’s already left. We don’t have the advantage of her helping guide us in person.”

“What?” He sits up, the sheet falling to hide his lap as his knee flattens.

“She left hours ago. Weren’t you paying attention?” Tess doesn’t budge, though it’s obvious that his reaction is unusual and he knows she’s thinking it.

“Stupid girl,” He mutters as he stands, the sheet falling from him completely as he reaches to pull on his discarded jeans. The belt clinks as he fastens it, but Tess doesn’t move at all.

“She can handle her own, Joel. You’ve seen it firsthand.”

“That’s all fine and dandy but this is a new trade partner. And you’ve been the only one in contact with them. Through the radio. Could be a trap.”

“You think I’m stupid enough to send out our scout into a potential trap?”

“Think we shoulda all left together, is all.”

“Why are you worried about her?”

“I’m not, don’t put words in my mouth.” He balks, unable to tame his anger at being scrutinized. He knows he’s acting out of character, but the possibility of there being a threat is real. If you’re really out beyond the parameters of the zone and well past the city limits there’s no where for you to seek cover.

“Joel-“

“Drop it, Tess.” He barks, unable to hide his frustration, to tame it as it flares as quickly and rapidly as a wildfire.

“Alright.” She pushes up from the bed, padding through their shared space bare as she gathers a clean pair of clothes and shuts the bathroom door behind her. Joel knows the scent of sex lingered in the stagnant air of the apartment, that she would be able to tell if was different from times before. Because it hadn’t been just him taking seeking pleasure, he had been doing so with you. As frustrating and bullheaded and downright petulant as you were, there was no denying the scent of you two tangled up that had encompassed the room in such a heady way.

Grunting, Joel rests on the edge of the bed. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as he recalls the night before. He had been rash in his decision to take you up on your offer, the second in as many days, for some ‘relief to calm him the hell down’ as you put it. A line had been crossed but he was like a dog after his first taste of actual food, craving and hungry for more. Willing to get it at any cost and the want burns his skin, boils his blood, consumes him. You had been his for that small bubble of time and he feels the possession sear as it brands him into a different man.

He wasn’t daft, he knew you had soft spots beneath all that rough and violent exterior. Everyone did. But he hadn’t expected to obsess over how sweet it had been for you to roll over and show him, to submit to him the way you had. The way he had with you in return, even if you weren’t aware of it. But the obsession to have rid you of the smell of the other men that had touched you, marked you, filled you had been too much. He wanted them all to smell the lingering scent of him on your skin the next time you decided to visit that pleasure house. And that was the thought that didn’t sit well with him. You weren’t his beyond the activities of the night before. And he didn’t want you any more than a dog in heat, your supple skin and taunting words just the trigger to pull the desire from him.

There was no use for desire in what the world had turned into, crumbled into during the last seven years.

The last time he desired, he wanted, he truly felt, had ended in devastation.

It’s well into the day, the sun at its apex as the two of them come into view and your mind quiets a little.

They make such a good-looking pair, you can’t help but think as they walk through the brush into the opening that houses the remains of a quickie mart. You’re sat on the hard ground, the asphalt long cracked and dried, no longer upholding the meaning of its given namesake. Nothing was secure in this world, especially the things created and molded by the hands of man. Nature had taken it all back, destroyed what it didn’t like and infected the rest it couldn’t.

“They check out?”

“Yes, two men. Just like you said.” You stand, ignoring the crackling of your joints as you do so, aware that you look far less put together than either of them. You had been rash and immediately after your time in their shared apartment, unwilling to toss and turn in your own bed with your ears on alert for signs of the woman’s return. You had nothing against her, she was good once and maybe still wanted to be beneath it all. There wasn’t some unspoken rule that they were each other’s but you still felt like you had maybe crossed a line, the minute guilt making your stomach churn as you took in the effort she had put into looking nice for today.

Your mind replayed the feeling of Joel’s mouth on you and it brought a scowl to your face as you realized even he looked rather put together. They made a good pair, and you were just on the outskirts. A lap dog indeed, even if they had come to you. Fuck, it made you feel like the weak link, even if deep down you knew you weren’t. They were both smart, strong, cunning, but they still struggled to understand the ways in which you undermined and ensured different paths in and out of the zone. How you seemed to always know who had what to trade and how to get their supply from them with just the right trade offer or threat. They were good, separately and together, but you were better adapted to the zone’s particulars. Better at reading people, even if it meant you could read into your own actions and feelings just as easily.

“They’ve got the whole town secure. Electric fence, operated by one control panel and two remotes. It’s strong, has a sensor if anything touches it. Saw a squirrel get fried. They’ve laid traps all around, some are covered pits, really well hidden. Some are spring traps, a bear trap or two, marks are nondescript and someone not looking for them wouldn’t notice them.”

“But you did.” Joel’s tone drips in disbelief, not at your ability to gather all of the information but that you had practically fled the second he left you alone on the bed the night before to do so.

“Yes.” You don’t look at him, instead keeping eye contact with Tess. “They both around the perimeter in the morning and evenings, it looks like they’re doing it to keep in shape but one of them always has his eyes on the fence. He’s constantly checking for weak points, for repairs or modifications that can be made. There also seems to be cannisters hidden a few feet beneath the main posts for the fence, every fifteen feet or so. Piping runs down to them, I didn’t dig one up but it seems like they may have some sort of fuel. For either a deterrent of an explosion, which I doubt because then it would compromise the structure of the fence, or a flame thrower of some sort to catch people off guard should they get too close and trigger it.”

“You found all that out in just a couple hours?” Tess must share in the man’s sentiment, because her eyes rove over you. Seeing the dirt sunk into your skin, the ruffled appearance of your clothes, the bags underneath your eyes, the frizz of your hair barely contained in a messy bun atop your head.

“You left last night.” It’s not a question, it’s an accurate observation. Joel’s the one to bring it to light and you only nod in agreement. The timing of this new potential trade relation and the passage of time since they had first approached the zone all coming together in their minds.

“Today is…”

“Yes.” You turn away from them, not wanting to talk about it. Never wanting to talk about it, the reason for your loneliness in a world that couldn’t care less.

You hear them exchange words quietly between themselves as you step away to gather your pack, shouldering it and beginning to lead the way to the path that had been outlined for you to approach the town on by those within in. After another mile, all three of your are on a dirt path that leads directly up to the fence. The figures of the men you had spent hours watching over are stood on the other side. But as you get closer, one of them shifts from blurry to start detail. He must recognize you at the same time, because his thick brows disappear into his hairline and his teeth glint in the sunlight as a smile takes over his face, relief and excitement colors the air. Breaking the tension that bathed every interaction in the time of now.

“Bill, she’s the one I told you about!”

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[seethesunny]

What is a tlou 2. What sequel. I'm living here in my own world.

[seethesunny]

It be two dumb bitches telling each other "exactlyyyyy"

[lowrisemiller]

“ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ, ꜱᴏ ɪ’ᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ”

one - shot is inspired by ethel cain’s song “crush”

smuggler!joel miller x fem!reader

you're the last friendly checkpoint before the edge of the Boston QZ. a safehouse disguised as a run-down gas station turned supply pit-stop. you’re not a Firefly, not FEDRA, not quite neutral either. you're your own authority, and people respect that. smugglers pass through, barter, rest. joel is one of them. comes and goes like a storm—gruff, practical, unreadable. you assume he’s only here because it’s convenient. you try not to care. but every time he returns, it gets harder not to.

masterlist | 5k words | YEARNING, reader falls hard and Joel falls harder, pov switches, mentions of blood and patching wounds, violence!!, neglecting wounds (they're horny stfu) kissing, PRAISE, riding, unprotected sex & aftercare

The day begins like it always does—with the light bleeding in through the dusty blinds, soft and warm against the wooden floorboards. You wake up slow. There’s no rush, not this early. Outside, the sun hasn’t even fully broken over the ruins yet, but the faint gold smear across the sky means it’s close.

The safehouse is cold in the mornings. You pull your old knit sweater on before your boots, feet brushing the cold floor as you shuffle to the kitchen. There’s a rhythm to it now: water from the barrel, fire from the coals you banked last night, the small stove coming back to life with a crackle and puff of smoke. If there’s any power that day, the fridge might hum back to life. If not, you’ve still got your root cellar, and enough dried things to last the week.

You move quietly, out of habit. The safehouse isn’t a bustling place, not unless someone’s bleeding.

You’ve had all types—smugglers, couriers, FEDRA deserters, even one terrified kid who didn’t say a word and only stayed the night. Most people don’t linger. That’s the unspoken rule: get patched up, get fed, keep your head down, and move on. You’re not a hero. Just a warm bed, a stitched wound, maybe a few cans of food tucked into a knapsack before they disappear again.

But they remember you. Tess, especially.

She’s the one who first showed up with her face split open and a bullet graze along her ribs. That was two winters ago, and now she drops in whenever the city gets too hot or the tunnels start to flood. You’re used to the sound of her boots on your porch, the sharp knock, the muttered “It’s me.”

Others are more fleeting—Marcy with her burn scars, Lyle with his limp, the girl with the broken radio who swore she could fix your generator (she couldn’t). You keep records in your head. Some people don’t give real names.

You move through the morning like a ghost, pouring boiling water over stale tea leaves, slicing into bread that’s harder than you’d like. There’s a satisfaction in the stillness, but also something else—loneliness, maybe. Or restlessness. Like the quiet’s stretching too long lately. Like something’s due to change.

You scrub the floor. You mend a ripped sleeve. You step out onto the porch and sit with your tea, watching the horizon.

And then, around midday, someone comes.

You hear the crunch of boots before you see them—three people, two you recognize. Smugglers. The third is new. Skinny, wild-eyed. He’s limping, gripping his side like he’s holding something in. You already know before they speak.

“Shot in the hip,” one of them says. “Clean through, but he’s losing blood.”

You don’t ask names. Just step aside.

They carry him in, and the air fills with noise again—muttered curses, clinking metal, the smell of sweat and blood. You boil water. Tear sheets into bandages. The others hover, pacing or leaning against your walls, until you send them outside.

It’s just you and the boy now.

He’s younger than you thought, and his eyes dart around like a cornered animal. “You gonna kill me?” he whispers.

You shake your head.

He winces as you work, flinching from the needle. “I got no caps,” he says.

“You’re bleeding out. Worry about caps later.”

He doesn’t speak after that. Just breathes heavy and clutches the edge of the cot. You work quietly, humming under your breath—a song from before, something your mother might’ve played on a Sunday morning. You hum it when you’re scared, or when someone else is.

When it’s done, you give him water, painkillers. “Rest,” you say, and he does.

By dusk, he’s sleeping.

The others left a ration packet as payment. You heat half of it and eat on the porch. The sun’s dropping low now, sky bleeding into orange and gray. The wind rattles the door once, then settles.

You think of Tess.

She hasn’t been by in weeks. Last time, she was tired in a way you couldn’t fix. Said she was pulling in a new runner, someone dangerous. Someone she wasn’t sure about yet.

“He’s good, though,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Keeps quiet. Scares the hell outta half the guys we run with, but he doesn’t waste time.”

You asked his name. She just smirked. “You’ll meet him eventually.”

You hadn’t thought much of it. You get all kinds through here—angry ones, broken ones, ones that drink too much or talk too little. They pass through, you patch them up, and they leave. Simple.

But tonight, as you sit on the porch with your tea cooling in your hands and the wind whispering against your bones, you wonder about him. The runner. The quiet one.

You wonder if he’ll come.

It’s been a month since Tess stopped by, and Boston has settled back into its usual uneasy rhythm.

Gray skies. Wind through broken glass. Blood stains that won’t scrub out of old wood. The safehouse breathes quietly again, but her visit lingers like smoke in your clothes.

She hasn’t returned. No one has mentioned her. But she’s in your head. Or maybe it’s not her—it’s him. The man she didn’t name.

You start noticing shadows more. Listening harder. Wondering if each pair of boots might be his. You don’t even know what he looks like. But you picture him anyway. Dark hair. Stern mouth. A scowl molded by grief. The kind of man who kills without flinching, then washes his hands in your sink.

You should know better. But still.

The nights stretch longer in November. The cold settles into your bones even when the fire’s high. You patch up a runner with a bad shoulder. A kid who doesn’t speak, just nods and stares. You share your last can of peaches with an old woman who gives you an extra box of ammo out of pity.

You clean. You rearrange. You listen to the wind.

And then—one night, long after the lanterns are out, there’s a knock.

Three, spaced out. Not urgent. Not begging. But deliberate.

You pause in the hallway, heart kicking against your ribs. You haven’t had visitors this late in weeks.

The knock comes again.

You open the door with the pistol raised, just a little. And then you see him.

He’s taller than you expected. Broad shoulders. Blood on his shirt. His hand clutching his side. Not dying, but not good. His face was unreadable. Weathered and silent and sharp like a cut stone.

He looks at you like he already knows what you’ll do.

“Tess said this place was quiet.”

His voice is gravel soaked in whiskey and bad sleep.

You nod once. “She was right.”

You don’t ask his name. You don’t need to.

He steps in and takes up the whole room without trying. Doesn’t look around much. Doesn’t ask questions.

You get the feeling this man only speaks when he has to. He doesn’t sit—he leans against the counter like he’s waiting for someone to shoot at him.

You reach for the med kit. “You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I know.”

He shrugs off his jacket, stiff, and pulls up his shirt just enough to show the gash along his side. It’s not deep, but it’s dirty. Long. Like a knife meant to scare, not kill.

He watches your hands while you clean him up, silent. You try not to shake under the weight of his stare.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breath and the soft tear of gauze. He smells like sweat and metal. Like the road. Like something ruined and sacred all at once.

You want to ask him if Tess is okay. You want to ask if he’s Joel.

But you already knew the answers.

So instead, you say, “You’ll need to stay off it for a few days.”

He grunts. “Ain’t got a few days.”

You press harder on the bandage than you need to. “You want it to get infected?”

His mouth twitches—barely. Like the ghost of a smirk or something close to it.

“I’ll manage.”

He doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t offer to trade. Just pulls his shirt back down and winces as it sticks to the wound.

“I can give you antibiotics,” you say, softer now.

He nods once. “Tess said you don’t ask questions.”

You meet his eyes.

They’re dark. Heavy. Tired in a way that no sleep could fix. He doesn’t look at you like a person. 

Not yet.

Just someone doing a job. Someone useful.

That should make it easier.

But something about him—his stillness, the way he’s holding everything back like a dam about to break—makes your stomach twist.

You hand him the pills in a folded napkin.

He pockets them without a word.

He leaves just before dawn. No goodbye.

You stand at the door after he’s gone, heart still racing.

The space he took up feels colder now. You clean the blood off the counter, but not all of it. You leave the faint smudge on the edge of the sink.

You sit with it like it’s a secret.

For the next week, you think about him constantly. It’s not even his face. It’s the way he didn’t look at you. Like you were air. Or a wall. Or a bedpost.

You imagine what his hands would feel like if he weren’t trying to hold himself together.

You touch the sink where the blood stain still is, and wonder if he ever thinks about you.

You know he doesn’t. You’re just a stop. A patch. A soft place in a hard world.

But you still watch the road. Every dusk. Every dawn.

Waiting.

You don’t talk about it to anyone, but the air feels different now.

Joel’s visit was like lightning splitting the sky once and then disappearing, leaving you in the crackle.

You didn’t realize how silent your life was until he filled it for five minutes and walked out.

Now everything is louder. The wind. The squeak of the back door. The creak of your bed frame when you turn at night, restless and annoyed with your own thoughts.

You find yourself moving slower. Listening harder.

You rearrange the shelves—again. The second-aid kit, the ammo drawer, the canned food pantry that never has enough. Everything feels cluttered, like it might bother him if he ever came back.

You don’t even know why that matters. He didn’t comment. Barely even looked around.

But still.

A man stops in, asking for water and a patch for his busted palm. You help him.

You do what you always do.

But he stares at your mouth when you talk and leans too close, and all you can think about is how he isn’t Joel.

How he barely looked at you. Barely breathed in your direction.

And how, for some reason, that felt worse. Felt real.

You send the man off with a mumbled goodbye and your pistol half-raised until he’s out of sight.

That night, you try to remember Joel’s voice. You thought it was rough. But there was something quiet in it, too. Something steady.

You play it back in your head, every word. Tess said this place was quiet.

You should’ve said more. Should’ve asked him to stay, even just for another hour. Should’ve found a reason to matter to him.

But you didn’t.

You just let him go.

A week later, you find yourself watching the treeline longer.

You hear every snap of a branch, every shuffle of boots in the dark, and your heart lifts at every sound.

And drops just as fast.

You dreamt about him, once. He didn’t say anything. Just stood in the kitchen, bleeding again. Same cut. Same shirt. But this time, he looked at you. Really looked.

You wake up drenched in sweat, embarrassed by yourself.

You make coffee even though you’ve run out of sugar. Sit by the window with your feet tucked under your knees. Eyes on the dirt road.

You used to sit there because it made you feel safe. Like you were guarding something.

Now, it feels like you’re just waiting.

Waiting for someone who maybe only needed you once.

Someone who doesn’t know what he left behind.

On the third Sunday since he showed up, you take out the blood-stained rag you used to clean his side. It’s still in the laundry bin, forgotten.

You press it flat. Fold it once, then again. Put it in the drawer next to your bed.

You don’t know why.

Maybe it’s stupid.

But it’s the only proof you have that he was ever here.

The roads outside the safehouse tracked into mud overnight, rain washing away any clear footprints—except his. Joel Miller drags his boots through the slush, heart loud in his ears. It’s been four weeks. Four weeks since he bled out across the threshold, four weeks since she stitched him up and sent him off without a backward glance.

He tells himself he’s here for the job. For Tess. “Just checking the perimeter,” he says, over and over. He’s a professional now. He’s got business beyond blood and bandages. But his steps—stubborn as a hound’s—lead him straight back to her door at dusk.

He pauses on the porch, breath misting in the cool evening air. Through the cracked window, he sees her silhouette—lean and sure—moving from counter to shelf, humming under her breath. He swears he can almost hear it.

“Can you read my mind? I’ve been watching you…”

He’s been watching her for days. Watching her load gun shells into a box, watching her wipe down the chipped sink, watching her finger the blood-smear rag. 

 When she opens the door, it’s no different than last time. She doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t bat an eyelash at the dried blood on his shirt. He steps inside and the warmth hits him like a punch. Not just the stove, not just the shelter. Her.

He clears his throat. “Evenin.” His voice is low, ragged.

“Joel,” she says, as if he should’ve warned her but didn’t. Then: “Was expecting Tess.”

He can’t meet her eyes. “I came instead.”

She shrugs and steps aside. “Come in.”

Inside, the lamplight pools gold and orange. He watches how her hair catches it—same as last time, but she stands taller now, more worn around the edges. He’d have said she looked safe then; now he only trusts himself to keep her that way.

He doesn’t sit. He leans against the same counter he bled on, hands braced on the wood. It’s scarred with tiny grooves. He’s carved his name there once, a half-remembered dare. Now he presses his fingers into the dents, letting the moment anchor him.

“Coffee?” she asks. Quiet question, offered like an olive branch.

He nods. She turns away. He watches the curve of her spine, the way her sweater dips at her waist. He swallows. 

She places the steaming mug in front of him. The rich smell pulls him back—a glimpse of who he was before the scars and the secrets. He lifts it in a thankful grunt.

“You’ve been here a lot, lately,” she says. Her tone’s flat, but the question is there. Taut.

He looks down at the mug. “Makin sure it’s still standing.” He wants her to push. He wants her to ask—why he really came back.

She studies him a moment, then turns to the window. He catches the flicker in her eyes. Worry? Curiosity? Something else.

“Right,” she says, as if she half-believes him.

He knows she doesn’t.

She moves to the shelf and brings down a jar of peaches—the same brand he stole once from a corner store, back when he thought he was invincible. She passes him a slice on a chipped plate. “For the road,” she says.

He bites. Sweet, sticky. Everything tastes too sharp in his mouth.

“I should ask,” she says then, very quietly.

He bristles. “Ask what?”

Her shoulders tighten. “Why do you keep coming back.”

He looks at her—really looks, for the first time since he arrived. She’s waiting. He hates that she makes him feel small or needy or exposed.

Instead he turns away. “Things to handle.”

She turns too. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

The words hit him like a shot. He’s spent years telling himself he’s alone, that care means weakness. But there’s something in her voice—steady, patient—that threads into his gut.

He clears his throat. “Why do you keep this place running?” He tries to sound casual, but his voice cracks. She arches her brow.

“You know why.”

He blinks. “I don’t.”

She steps closer, eyes even with him. “Because somebody has to.”

His pulse jumps. She’s always been courageous—patched up strangers and sent them on their way. But him? He lingers in her mind like a bruise she can’t press away.

He swallows hard. 

“Good men die too, oh, I’d rather be with you, you, you…” 

He grips the edge of the counter. “I’m sorry,” he says, in a voice rougher than he intended.

Her mouth softens. For a heartbeat, he sees her as someone who cares as much as he does—then the moment breaks and she steps back.

“It’s late,” she says, turning toward the stairs. “You can take the cot in the back.”

He nods, but the room throbs with unsaid words. He watches her climb the stairs, the line of her neck… and he almost follows. Almost says he can’t let her go up alone.

But he doesn’t. He stays.

Late that night, he slips outside and circles the perimeter—just like he told himself. He crouches in the long grass, peering through the trees. She’s safe. For now.

He waits. Breath steamy in the chill. His thoughts spiral: What if she’s gone when I wake? What if she hates me? What if she forgets me?

He knows he needs her, but he can’t admit it.

He kneels. Hands on his knees. The world feels too loud.

He whispers into the dark: “I could do whatever I want to you…”

He doesn’t know if he means it.

But he will come back. He already knows.

He leaves before dawn. Her door closes quietly behind him, and he steps into the gray morning, alone again—haunted by her silhouette in the window, by the taste of peach and coffee and half-finished apologies.

His heart hammers. He chalks it up to the cold—but he knows better. There’s a crack in his armor now, and it runs straight to her.

He walks the muddy road, promising himself: Not for long.

And as he fades into the mist, her last words echo in his mind: “You don’t have to do it alone.”

He doesn’t knock anymore.

He stays in the trees.

The safehouse looks the same—half-swallowed by overgrowth, rust curling along the tin roof, a soft plume of smoke trailing from the chimney. Her light’s on in the back room. That same amber hue, low and flickering. He sees her shadow move across the curtain. A brush of her hand. A cup lifted. A head tilt and he’s memorized.

It’s been three days since he left. He was going to stay away this time.

But something about the silence made him restless. Boston’s noise couldn’t drown it out. He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t sit still. He caught himself staring at the bottle she gave him on his last visit—some ointment in a mason jar, tied with twine. He didn’t need it anymore, but he wouldn’t throw it out.

So he left again. Didn’t tell Tess. Didn’t leave a note.

Now he’s crouched behind a birch tree, hours deep into watching the same window. He counts her steps. Times how long she’s gone when she disappears into the back. Notes the new placement of her rifle—moved closer to the door. Good. Smart girl.

And still—he doesn’t feel peace.

He’s told himself over and over:

It ain’t ‘cause of her.

You’re just making sure she’s safe.

You owe her that much.

But his stomach knots when she opens the door to take out the trash. When she pulls her sleeves up. When some old trader comes by and she smiles that smile—the one Joel barely got for himself.

He digs his fingers into the bark. Stares harder.

“Something's been feeling weird lately

There's just something about you, baby (there's just something about you, baby)

Maybe I'll just be crazy (I'll be crazy)”

It’s a curse. Every time he sees her, something in him stirs that shouldn’t. Not this way. Not this loud.

She’s just a girl.

But he remembers the way she looked at him when he flinched in pain. The way she pressed her palm to his ribs. The way her breath caught. The way she said his name, not like a warning—but like a prayer.

Joel.

She’s in his dreams now.

On the fifth day, he hears them.

Three men. Stomping through the brush too loud to be animals. Laughing the kind of laugh that always meant trouble back in Austin. He ducks behind a fallen log and narrows his eyes.

They’ve got old rifles. One’s got a bloodied bat. Another carries rope. They don’t look like locals.

He’s already shifting forward, close enough to catch their muttered words.

“—heard she lives alone.”

“Quiet one. Doesn’t let anyone stay past dark.”

“She’s cute. Maybe we won't kill her.”

“Could keep her alive. Sell her, even. Good trade in the QZ for girls like that.”

The rope guy snickers.

Something in Joel goes ice cold.

And then red hot.

He doesn’t remember moving.

Doesn’t remember unsheathing the knife.

He’s just there—on them—before the last word even finishes.

The first guy doesn’t even see him. Knife to throat. Dead weight in seconds.

The second pulls the bat. Too slow. Joel crushes his knee and drives the blade up into his chest, fast and furious, grunting through gritted teeth. Blood splashes his shirt.

The third runs. Joel follows. His lungs burn. His side stings—scar tissue tugging where she sewed him shut—but he doesn’t stop.

He tackles the guy by the stream. The fight’s sloppy. Fists. Mud. A kick to Joel’s stomach that makes him roar.

He pulls his gun and fires once—close-range, just below the chin. The shot echoes like thunder.

Then there’s silence.

He’s panting. Covered in mud and blood. He wipes a shaking hand down his face and realizes it comes away wet.

Not sweat.

His blood.

One of them got a hit in—a lucky swipe of the knife across his lower abdomen. It’s deep. His hand clamps down, and he stumbles.

But he doesn’t fall.

He doesn’t go back to Boston.

He goes to her.

The porch creaks under his boots.

His vision’s going dark at the edges, his hearing warped. The wind howls. Or maybe that’s just in his ears. He slams his hand against the door once. Twice.

It swings open.

She’s standing there in a robe, barefoot, eyes wide.

The smell of herbs and pine and cinnamon hits him like a kiss.

And he drops to his knees.

“Joel?!”

She catches him as he falls.

Her voice comes through in waves—high and panicked, tugging at him from the edge of unconsciousness.

“What happened?”

“Oh my God—Joel, stay awake!”

“You’re bleeding out—stay with me!”

He mumbles her name. She’s real. She’s warm. Her hands are under his shoulders, dragging him in, across the wood floor.

He hears her voice crack. He thinks she’s crying. But maybe that’s just the wind again.

“Good men die too—but I’d rather be with you…”

He lets go.

Because he’s finally home.

The door crashes open like he couldn’t bear to knock.

You barely register the noise before you see him—Joel, stumbling in, blood dripping from the side of his face, a deep cut over his brow, and darker stains soaking the side of his jacket. Your stomach drops.

“Joel—Joel,” you gasp, rushing to him as the door slams behind him.

“I’m fine,” he grits out, even as he leans heavy into the wall. “Just—fuck—just need a minute.”

He’s not fine. Not even close.

You press your hands to his chest, guiding him down before he topples. He collapses onto the patched-up couch with a grunt, one hand instinctively reaching for your wrist like he needs to anchor himself.

“What happened?”

“Raiders,” he mutters. “They were talkin’… about you.”

Your chest tightens. “About me?”

“They knew you were helpin’ smugglers. Knew you were alone.” His jaw clenches. “I followed ‘em. Took care of it.”

The weight of that sinks in like cold water in your lungs. He didn’t just stumble into a fight. He went into one—because of you.

You kneel in front of him, fingers trembling as they search for more wounds. His shirt is soaked down one side. You lift the fabric carefully, wincing when he hisses.

“Hold still.”

He doesn’t argue. Just looks down at you like he’s memorizing something. Like it’s the last time he’ll see it.

“You could’ve died,” you whisper, unable to look him in the eye.

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me.”

Silence drapes over the room like a thick curtain. His voice breaks it, low and rough.

“Yeah, I did.”

Your hands stop moving.

He drags a breath in, jaw twitching. “I keep tellin’ myself to stay away. That it’s better if I just… come and go. Not get involved. Not care.” His eyes bore into yours. “But I do.”

Your throat goes tight.

“I care, sweetheart. More than I should. It ain’t safe. It ain’t smart. But fuck if I can stop.”

You stare at him, heart hammering. The room feels too small for the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re something precious. Like he’s scared of what you’ll do with what he’s just given you.

“I thought you didn’t,” you whisper. “I thought you were just… here because of Tess. Because it was convenient.”

Joel flinches like you slapped him.

“That what you think of me?”

“I didn’t know what to think.” Your voice cracks. “You never stayed. You never looked at me like—like this.”

“I stayed away because I’m already too far gone.” His hand lifts to cup your jaw, calloused thumb brushing your cheek. “You let me rest here. You patch me up, smile at me like I’m worth somethin’. I—I don’t know how to be around that without wantin’ it all the time.”

You press into his touch, eyes burning.

“I want you,” he says, voice wrecked. “Not just your bed or your supplies. I want you. And when I heard them talkin’ about takin’ this place from you, takin’ you—I saw red.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He leans forward, wincing as he moves, and presses his forehead to yours. “Say somethin’, baby. Please.”

You take a shuddering breath. “You could’ve told me all this… before you bled on my couch.”

Joel chuckles, hoarse and tired. “Had to make it dramatic.”

You kiss him.

It’s not delicate or soft. It’s messy, desperate. He groans into your mouth, one hand tangling in your shirt, the other anchoring around your waist. You crawl into his lap without thinking, straddling him carefully so you don’t press on his injured side.

“You’re hurt,” you murmur between kisses, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“I don’t give a shit,” he growls, chasing your lips again. “Just wanna feel you. Been starvin’ for it.”

You kiss him again.

It’s messy, breathless, and tastes like copper and desperation. Joel groans into your mouth, his hands rough on your waist, tugging you closer like he can’t stand another inch between you.

You straddle him without thinking, careful of the wound on his side but needing to be on him, against him, now. Your thighs bracket his hips, and the heat between your legs pulses with each shaky breath you take.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your mouth, “you feel so good, baby—been wantin’ this. You don’t even know.”

You gasp when he cups your ass, grinding you down against the hard line of him. There’s no teasing—he’s already thick and aching beneath you, straining against the denim. You rock your hips once, twice, and his head falls back with a low growl.

“Get these off,” you mutter, tugging at his jeans. “Joel—please.”

“Yeah,” he pants, lifting his hips to help you. “C’mon, sweetheart, take what you need.”

You fumble his belt open, push his jeans down just far enough, and his cock springs free, flushed and leaking at the tip. You moan softly at the sight, wrapping your hand around the base to stroke him once. He twitches in your grip, his stomach flexing hard.

“Jesus,” he groans. “You tryna kill me?”

“I want you,” you whisper, lining him up with where you’re already dripping. “I want this.”

Joel cups your face, his thumb brushing your lip. “You sure, baby? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and then sink down onto him in one slow, shaking motion.

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as he stretches you, inch by inch. He’s thick, the kind of full that makes your eyes roll back, makes your body tremble from the inside out.

“Goddamn,” Joel grits, hands gripping your hips so tight it might bruise. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You start to move—slow at first, adjusting, then faster, grinding down to take him deeper. His hands slide up your sides, guiding your pace, his eyes fixed on where you’re joined like he can’t believe it’s real.

“Fuck—you’re takin’ me so good, baby. So tight. So warm.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and roll your hips faster, chasing the friction, the pressure building low in your belly. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together fill the room, and Joel’s breath goes ragged.

His thumb slips between your legs, circling your clit in tight, perfect circles. You cry out, hips bucking, and he shushes you gently, kissing your jaw, your throat, your shoulder.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “There’s my good girl.”

You clench around him hard.

“Yeah, you like that?” he breathes. “My sweet girl, fallin’ apart on my cock.”

You nod, frantic, mouth open but useless. Your climax hits hard—sweeping through you in waves, stealing your breath, and Joel holds you through it, groaning when you spasm around him.

“Fuck, baby—just like that. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

He’s close. You can feel it—the way his thrusts grow more erratic, the low growl in his throat, the way his hands tremble on your waist.

“Inside,” you whisper, not even thinking. “I want it, Joel. Please—inside me.”

Joel curses, loud and broken, and then he’s spilling deep inside you with a strangled groan, his hips grinding up as he throbs and pulses and presses your body tight against his.

You both go still, panting, shaking.

His arms wrap around you, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You rest your head on his shoulder, your skin damp with sweat, your heart still racing. He strokes your back with one hand, the other sliding down to squeeze your thigh gently.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough, lips against your hairline.

“Yeah.” You press a soft kiss to his neck. “Are you okay?”

He laughs, breathless. “Took down three raiders and then got ridden within an inch of my life. Feelin’ real fuckin’ lucky, actually.”

You smile against his skin, lifting your head to meet his eyes. They’re softer now. Warmer.

“I meant what I said,” Joel whispers. “I’m yours.”

You kiss him again, slow this time. Like you’re promising something back.

And this time, neither of you pulls away.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper.

“You didn’t.” His voice is rough but certain. “I’m right here.”

You curl into his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over his shoulder as his hand strokes your spine.

“You’re not sleepin’ on the couch anymore,” you murmur.

Joel huffs. “Was gettin’ real sick of it anyway.”

You smile, the kind that hurts a little. He tilts your face up and kisses you again—slow and sure and full of everything he didn’t say before.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, sweetheart,” he promises. “You got me now.”

And you believe him.

You’re still tangled together, skin to skin, when the air finally settles.

Joel’s chest rises and falls beneath you, a deep, steady rhythm that lulls your racing heart into something softer. You shift gently, brushing your lips across the curve of his shoulder, and he hums in response, one hand stroking lazy circles on your back.

The tension’s gone now. Or maybe it’s just changed—melted into something heavy and warm. Something real.

“C’mere,” he says, voice hoarse but gentle.

He guides you to lie beside him, tucking you against his chest. His arms wrap around you like he’s still afraid someone might try to take you away.

You run your fingers lightly over his ribs, careful near the bandage. “Hurts?”

“Nothin’ compared to earlier.” He huffs a soft laugh. “Pretty sure I forgot the pain the second you climbed on top of me.”

“Mm. I was very motivated.”

“Yeah, you were,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You good, sweetheart? I didn’t go too rough?”

You shake your head, tracing a fingertip over the fresh stubble on his jaw. “You were perfect.”

Joel’s eyes close like he’s trying to soak in the moment, memorize every detail. You stay like that for a while, quiet. Breathing each other in. Until you shift, rest your chin on his chest, and give him a crooked little smile.

“I owe you a black eye and two kisses.”

He blinks. “Do what now?”

You grin. “You scared the hell outta me, Miller. Showed up bleeding, collapsed on my porch like some western outlaw, and then you told me you were mine.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “I am.”

“I know. That’s why you’re only getting one black eye.”

Joel laughs—deep and rough and real—and the sound wraps around your heart like a blanket.

“Alright,” he says. “Guess I deserve that.”

You lean in, kiss the edge of his mouth, slow and sure.

“Tell me when you wanna come and get ’em,” you whisper against his lips. “The other kiss too. It’s waitin’ on you.”

He flips you gently onto your back, careful with his weight, hovering just above you now. That soft look in his eyes is back—like he’s never seen anything as precious as your face.

“I want it now,” he murmurs.

So you kiss him again, deep and slow. And this time, it feels like healing. Like a promise.

When you finally break apart, you tuck yourself into his side again, and Joel pulls the blanket up over your bare skin. His thumb strokes your shoulder, and his other arm stays tight around your waist, protective even in rest.

You fall asleep like that—warm, safe, claimed.

And Joel doesn’t let go.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr @littlemillersbaby @midwest-goth-lesbian @lokis-right-femur @whimsicalangel111 @grayandthyme @littledes1re @monicasblues @amyispxnk @penguinz0s-no1simp @justsarahbella @eri-maull @uncassettodiricordi @fairylights-throughthemist @catch1ngmoths @mystickittytaco @cocobear18 @millersdoll @serruten @dearstcupid @saturnyo @boscogirlsworld @valentineispunk @spookyfunhottub @sage-babydoll @aj0elap0l0gist @plsilovedilfs @grayandthyme @ivuravix @lostinthestreamofconsciousness @alyhull @alidiggory92 @cokewithcameron @killmesweet

divider by @cursed-carmine

[junojoel]

Everytime

QZ!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Joel needs to use you sometimes. Sometimes.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected piv, creampie, anal, and a bad understanding of anal prep, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), spanking, choking, fucking everything, loving sex is a warning in this too, mean joel but reader can handle it, he doesnt mean it guys hes a loverboy :(

i'm suffering horrifically from writers block so this is my way of writing like 4 smut oneshots in one lol. end of the semester is kicking my ass

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He only brings you here when it gets bad.

Not bad like blood-in-the-streets bad, not even when deals go sideways or when FEDRA gets too close. Not because it’s safe, though it is. No—Joel brings you here when he’s bad. When he’s seconds from cracking. When the city feels too tight, and he needs something real to hold on to. Something that reminds him he’s still alive.

And more and more lately, that something has been you.

Inside the city, he keeps his voice low and his hands to himself. Tess gives him side-eyes when you’re around, and everyone else knows better than to ask what you are to each other, knows better than to give you any trouble. But out here? Past the fences, past the dead brush and the broken steps?

Out here, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t want you.

The safehouse is a crumbling old farmhouse outside the QZ perimeter, long abandoned and half-swallowed by the forest. It looks like nothing. That’s the point.

Clean sheets. Wood stove. Whiskey. A real bed. You and Joel.

He slams the door shut behind you with one hand and has the other already on your waistband, fingers digging into the worn fabric of your jeans.

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

You don’t ask, you never do. You know this version of him. Wild-eyed and breath hot against your neck as he crowds you backwards, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

“You gonna say hello first?” you tease, already peeling off your jacket. The fabric rasps against your skin as you shrug it off, the chill of the room prickling your arms.

He grabs your chin, tilts your face up, calloused fingers pressing just shy of bruising. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, pupils swallowing the hazel.

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll give you something to say.”

You grin, even as your heart thuds heavy in your chest, pulse jumping under his grip. “Promise?”

And just like that—he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and desperation, lips rough from the cold, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive growl. His hands are everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, the drag of fabric sending sparks across your skin, then palming your waist, your ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. The scrape of his stubble burns your chin, the bite of it sharp and sweet.

The back of your knees hit the bed, and you drop with a gasp, legs falling open, welcoming him in. The mattress groans beneath you, the sheets cool against your now feverish skin.

“Fuck.” Joel mutters to himself as he slides a hand down, pressing between your thighs, fingers slicking through your arousal with a satisfied hum. “Already so fuckin’ wet.”

His touch is electric, rough pads of his fingers circling your clit just once, just enough to make your hips jerk.

“You miss me, Miller?” you breathe, grinding into his palm, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He doesn’t answer. Just presses his forehead to yours, jaw clenched, breath ragged. His fingers slide lower, dipping inside you with a slow, deliberate curl that punches a moan from your throat.

“You gonna keep talkin’,” he murmurs, voice thick, “or you gonna let me shut you up?”

“I like it when you try,” you whisper, biting back another moan as his thumb finds your clit again, pressing just hard enough to make your vision blur.

He slips two fingers in, thick and unrelenting, the stretch burning and spreading fire through your limbs. Your head falls back, a broken sound ripping from your throat as he crooks them just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“Jesus—”

“Say my name.”

“Joel.”

He growls low in his throat and kisses you hard, swallowing your gasp and working you open with brutal efficiency. His free hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to sting, his mouth moving to your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point.

When you finally reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, his breath hitches. The leather slides free with a sharp hiss, the clink of metal loud in the quiet room. You yank his jeans down, freeing him, his cock heavy and hot in your hand.

He groans against your skin, hips jerking into your grip.

“You think you can handle me like this?” he mutters, voice wrecked.

You wrap a leg around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back.

“Prove I can’t.”

He pushes in with a groan, one slow, steady thrust, stretching you full until you gasp. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles trembling with restraint as he holds himself still—just long enough for you to feel every inch of him, the heat of you wrapped around him, the way your body clenches instinctively.

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasps. “Always so tight for me.”

Then he moves, slow and deep. Every drag of his cock inside you is maddening, the fullness unbearable. His hips roll against yours, grinding just right, drawing out your pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him, nails biting into his shoulders.

He watches your face, drinks in every twitch, every bitten-off moan.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Actin’ like you don’t beg for this every time I call you out here.”

You claw at him, pulling him down to kiss you, your teeth dragging over his bottom lip.

“Only ‘cause I know you can take it.”

He growls, hips snapping harder now, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the headboard thudding in time with his pace.

“Fuckin’ right I can.”

His hand finds your throat; possessive, anchoring. Yours goes to his jaw, thumb brushing the scar that cuts through his temple, feeling the flex of his teeth as he grits them.

There’s nothing but heat between you. The wet sound of skin on skin, his ragged breaths mingling with yours, the creak of the bed beneath you. Your voice breaks around his name, whispering it like a prayer, like a curse, like the only word left in the world.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You can feel it before he even speaks.

Joel’s pissed. Not the quiet, simmering kind from before, but something sharper. Bleeding off him in waves as he yanks the safehouse door shut behind him, the wood groaning under the force.

You barely get a word out before he’s on you.

His hands slam against the wall on either side of your head, the impact vibrating through the plaster. His breath is ragged, uneven—hot against your cheek. Clothes still soaked from the storm outside, the fabric cold where it brushes your skin. Blood streaks his sleeve. Not his.

“Joel—”

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, dangerous. Not like before. This isn’t foreplay.

You press your back to the wall, chin lifted, eyes locked on his. The flicker of the oil lamp paints shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension in his jaw.

“What the fuck happened out there?”

He doesn’t answer. His teeth grind, the muscle in his cheek jumping. Eyes won’t meet yours.

“Was it Tess?” You reach out, fingers skimming the soaked leather of his jacket. Cold. Stiff with rainwater.

“No.”

“Then what?”

His eyes finally snap to yours. And it hits you—whatever it was, it rattled him.

“Almost didn’t make it back.”

You inhale slowly, the air thick with the smell of him—sweat, whiskey, the iron tang of blood. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

For a second, the tension is quiet.

Then suddenly, Joel grabs your waist, yanks you toward him, and slams his mouth against yours like it’s the only way to make the world shut up. His tongue is rough, tasting of salt and smoke, and you whimper when his teeth catch your lip.

You break it, panting.

“What the fuck is this, huh? You almost die and now I’m just—what? Your therapy?”

“No.” He pulls you closer, “You’re mine.”

You barely make it to the bed.

He tears your shirt over your head, the fabric ripping at the seams. Pushes your pants down with one hand, growling when they catch around your knees. His fingers dig into your thighs, callouses scraping skin as he spreads you open. You’re wet already—because of course you are—and he knows it. Smirks when he drags his fingers through your slick, then brings them to his mouth.

“Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

You moan, grinding back against him.

“Maybe I like it when you lose your shit.”

He drags his mouth down your neck, biting at your shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Yeah? You like makin’ me crazy?”

You arch into him, gasping.

“Love it.”

That’s all he needs.

He flips you onto your stomach, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels behind you. His cock drags between your thighs, hot and heavy, smearing your wetness against your skin.

Then his fingers press against your ass, testing, circling.

“This what you want?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

You push back into his touch with a grin. “Fucking try.”

He spits, the sound obscene in the quiet room, then works a thick finger into you, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitches, muscles fluttering around the intrusion.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, curling his finger just right. “Take it.”

A second joins the first. You bury your face in the pillow, muffling a whimper as he scissors you open.

Then his fingers are gone, replaced by the blunt press of his cock.

“Breathe,” he orders, and pushes in.

The stretch is brutal, exquisite. You gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as he sinks deeper, inch by relentless inch. His grip on your hips is iron, holding you still as he works himself inside, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Fuck—Joel—”

“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about it. His palm rubs slow circles over your lower back. “Just relax, baby. Let me in.”

When he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you adjust. Sweat drips from his brow onto your spine, his breath hot against your shoulder.

Then he pulls out almost all the way—and slams back in.

You cry out, the sound punched out of you as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving the air from your lungs. The bed creaks under the force, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers digging into your flesh. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Every stroke is a claim. You’re here. You’re both alive. You’re his.

His hand slides around your front, fingers finding your clit. Rubbing hard. Fast.

“Come on, baby. Gimme one.”

Your mouth falls open. Eyes squeeze shut. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can.” His voice is rough, possessive. “This body’s mine. You come when I say.”

You shatter with a broken scream, clenching around him so hard he curses, hips stuttering.

He groans and comes inside you with a final, deep thrust, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You collapse. Boneless. Breathing like you’ve run ten miles.

Joel stays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, one arm curled under your body like he can’t let you go just yet. His lips brush your shoulder, the touch almost tender.

“Mine,” he murmurs again.

And god help you—you are.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You should’ve kept your head down.

You know that. Joel told you—explicitly—to let him do the talking. Just like he always does when you’re dealing with FEDRA.

But the guy was being a prick. All attitude and a swinging rifle. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but you couldn’t help it.

Joel didn’t say a word at the time. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t flinch.

Just handed over the rations, gripped your arm a little too tight—his fingers digging in like a warning—and steered you out of there before the guard could decide to make an example out of you.

The walk back is silent.

He doesn’t say a damn thing until the safehouse door slams shut behind you—and even then, it’s not words. Not really.

It’s the click of the lock sliding home. The thud of his bag hitting the floor. The way his boots scrape against wood as he turns, slow and deliberate.

His eyes track you—dark and furious, jaw tight enough to crack.

You feel it before he touches you. The heat. The pressure. The way the room seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you, the tension coiling tighter with every second.

Joel stalks forward, slow and deliberate, until your back hits the wall. He braces one hand beside your head, leaning in close. His breath is warm against your lips and his eyes search yours like they’re trying to burn the lesson into your brain.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he says, low and dark.

You swallow hard. Try to keep your voice steady. “He was a dick.”

Joel’s nostrils flare. His jaw ticks.

“You think that matters? You think they need a reason to put a bullet in your head?”

“He wasn’t gonna shoot me—”

“You don’t know that!” His voice rises, sharp and ragged, cutting through the quiet like a whip. “You don’t know what they’ll do, you don’t know what line you’re walkin’, and you sure as fuck don’t get to decide when to run your mouth.”

His hands are trembling. Just barely. But they are.

You stare up at him, chest heaving, mouth dry.

“You gonna hit me?” you ask, soft but sharp.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t,” he growls.

“Then what?” you whisper, stepping in close, chest brushing his.

His expression flickers—something feral and frustrated flashing through before it all slams back into place. That mask he wears so well.

He grabs your chin, thumb pressing against your lower lip, eyes locked to yours like he’s daring you to speak again.

“You think this is a game?”

You smirk, licking the pad of his thumb, slow and deliberate.

“I think you like it when I piss you off.”

There’s a second, only one, then he snaps. Grabs your waist, spins you around, and pulls you over his knee before you can even blink. The sudden shift knocks the breath from your lungs, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against your thighs as he pins you in place.

“Since words don’t seem to sink in,” he mutters, voice rough, “maybe this will.”

The first slap lands hard, his palm connecting with a sting that makes you gasp. The heat blooms instantly, sharp and bright, and you squirm, but his arm locks around your waist, holding you still.

“You don’t get to gamble with your life,” he growls, delivering another sharp smack, then another, each one landing with punishing precision. “Not in there. Not ever.”

You bite your lip, trying not to whimper, but the sting is relentless, the ache spreading with every strike. Your skin flushes hot under his hand, the sound of each slap echoing in the quiet room.

Finally, he stops, his palm resting possessively on your reddened flesh.

“Still think it’s funny?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.

You swallow, thighs pressing together, the throbbing heat between them impossible to ignore.

“No,” you admit, breathless.

He hums, fingers tracing the curve of your ass, then sliding lower, teasing.

“Good.”

Then he flips you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he unbuckles his belt. The leather slides free with a whisper, the metal clinking as he tosses it aside. His fingers grip your hair, tilting your head back.

“Open.”

You do, and he guides himself between your lips, the thick heat of him heavy on your tongue. The taste of him fills your mouth as he pushes in, groaning when your lips stretch around him.

“That’s it,” he growls, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. Every inch.”

You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue working the underside as he thrusts deeper. His breath comes rougher, his hips jerking when you hum around him.

“Fuck—” His voice is ragged. “You’re gonna learn your lesson one way or another.”

He fucks your mouth with slow, punishing strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat until tears prick your eyes. You gag, but he doesn’t let up, his grip unrelenting as he watches you struggle to take him.

“Should’ve thought about this before you ran your mouth,” he mutters, dragging himself out just enough to let you gasp for air before shoving back in.

When he finally pulls free, your lips are swollen, your chin wet. He drags his thumb over your mouth, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Now,” he says, flipping you onto your hands and knees, “let’s make sure you remember.”

His hand grips your hip, and then he’s pushing inside you in one brutal thrust. You cry out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he sets a relentless pace, each snap of his hips driving the point home.

“This is what happens,” he growls, teeth scraping your shoulder. “You don’t listen? You get punished.”

You whimper, the pleasure and pain blurring together as he fucks you raw, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

You shatter with a sob, your body clamping around him as the orgasm rips through you. He follows with a groan, spilling deep, his hips grinding into you as he rides it out.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you keep your damn mouth shut.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You were only supposed to stay the night. Just one.

Tess had taken a bullet on a bad run, nothing fatal, but she needed time to recover. Joel didn’t want you on the street alone. Didn’t trust anyone else to watch your back. So he’d handed you a key without looking at you and muttered something like, “Just until she’s back on her feet.”

You thought maybe he meant to sleep on the couch.

The room’s dim. Just a sliver of golden light leaking through the curtain from the streetlamp outside. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts. It’s soft and faded, hangs loose over your thighs. Joel’s across the room, stripping down in silence. His movements are slower than usual. No tension. No frenzy.

You watch him undo each button, eyes trailing over the strong lines of his body—broad shoulders, the cut of muscle under worn skin, the trail of hair down his stomach that disappears beneath his waistband.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just folds his shirt and sets it on the chair like he’s buying himself time.

When he finally turns, the look in his eyes steals your breath.

It’s not lust, not really. Not only. It’s want, yes—but it’s wrapped in something deeper. Something unspoken. Something aching.

You slide back beneath the blankets and hold them open for him.

“Joel,” you say, soft.

He gets in beside you without a word. The bed dips with his weight, and his arm immediately comes around you, pulling you in like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You settle into his chest, fingers tracing slow circles across his skin.

“You ever done this before?” you murmur.

He huffs a soft laugh. “Had sex?”

You glance up at him with a crooked smile. “No. Had someone in your bed. Like this.”

His face shifts. “No,” he says quietly. “Not in a long time.”

You nod. You knew the answer before he said it.

Joel’s hand finds your jaw, tilting your face to his. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s still not sure you’re real.

“I want this to be different,” he murmurs.

You lean into his touch.

“It already is.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Careful. Like he’s trying not to break you. His lips linger, his breath warm against your skin. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands drift to his body—familiar and unfamiliar at once. You’ve touched him before, felt him everywhere, but not like this. Not when there’s no fire to put out. No edge to ride.

Just him. Just you.

He slides the shirt off your shoulders, slow as molasses, like he’s unwrapping something delicate. Like the heat between you needs to simmer tonight.

“Want you,” you whisper, tugging him closer. “All of you.”

“You got me,” he says, voice hoarse.

Joel kisses you like it’s the first time all over again. Slow, aching, unhurried. His hands explore every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something fleeting.

And then he starts trailing down—kisses ghosting over your jaw, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He pauses to mouth at one, sucking softly, tongue flicking over your nipple until your back arches. His hand massages the other, fingers pinching just enough to draw a whimper from you.

“Joel,” you breathe, your voice already wrecked.

“I got you,” he murmurs against your skin.

You feel him shift lower. His kisses follow a path down your ribs, over your stomach, reverent and slow. He’s in no rush—he’s savoring. And when he settles between your legs, spreading you open with calloused hands, it’s with a look that’s nothing short of worship.

You’re already dripping for him, aching, and he just stares for a second—eyes dark, mouth parted slightly.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

You reach for him, fingers threading into his hair, but he gently presses your hips down, keeping you still.

“Let me.”

He lowers his head, and the first drag of his tongue over you nearly breaks you.

Soft. Wet. Slow.

He hums against you like he’s tasting honey, and you can feel the sound in your spine.

He flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow stripe up your center, then does it again, lips wrapping around your clit with practiced care. He sucks gently—just enough to make you gasp—then releases with a soft pop before diving back in, tongue circling and teasing, building you slow.

“Jesus, Joel—”

Your hips buck, but his grip tightens, holding you steady.

“Stay still, baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Lemme take care of you.”

And he does.

He devours you like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. Like your pleasure is something sacred. His tongue moves in perfect rhythm—languid, focused—while one of his hands slides up your thigh, then down, two thick fingers easing into you as he keeps his mouth on your clit.

You keen at the stretch, hips grinding against his face now, too far gone to care.

Your hands fist the sheets. Your thighs tremble.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you can. Just let go.”

You fall apart with his name on your lips, coming hard against his mouth, thighs clenching around his head as he groans like he’s the one being wrecked.

He doesn’t stop right away. Keeps licking you through it, tongue gentle now, coaxing you down from the edge like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

When he finally comes up, his mouth is glistening, beard wet with you, and his eyes are dark—wrecked—like the sight of you falling apart has undone him completely.

You tug him up by the shoulders, breathless and shaking, pulling him into a messy, deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth, hips already rolling against him again.

Joel grins into the kiss, rough thumb brushing your cheek.

“Didn’t know you could sound like that,” he murmurs.

“Neither did I,” you say, still dazed, still breathless.

He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving.

“Wanna hear it again.”

When he finally sinks into you, it’s like exhaling after holding your breath too long. No rush. Just the warmth of him, stretching you full, grounding you to the mattress like he’s pressing you into something sacred.

His forehead rests against yours, and he groans—quiet, almost pained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You wrap your legs around his waist, hands tangled in his hair, holding him impossibly close.

He starts to move, slow and steady, each thrust purposeful and deep.

Your fingers drift over his back, nails tracing lazy lines into his skin. His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper—no begging this time, no teasing.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low. “Wanna see those eyes.”

You do. And what he sees there makes his rhythm stutter. He’s not used to softness like this. Not used to being allowed to want without fear.

You touch his face, thumb tracing the crease of that familiar scar.

“I’m here,” you whisper.

“I know.”

Joel’s hand finds yours and threads your fingers together, pressing them into the pillow beside your head. You don’t say anything else. The way he moves inside you—slow, aching and reverent—says everything.

He kisses you through it. Again and again. Mouth gentle, tongue soft. When you finally come, it’s quiet and full-body, radiating out until your fingers curl tight around his.

He follows close behind, hips grinding deep as he buries himself with a low groan, your name on his tongue like it’s holy.

After, he doesn’t let go.

Just holds you to him like something he’s afraid to lose.

You curl into his side, lips brushing his chest.

“Feels real,” you whisper, afraid to break it.

Joel kisses the top of your head, pulling the blanket higher over your shoulders.

“That’s ‘cause it is.”

[pettson]

excuse me just crying at your tags @ezrasbirdie

#they’d slow dance in the kitchen when everything was calm and quiet#and joel would twirl his finger through her hair and ask her why she kept it long because wouldn’t it be easier if it was short#and she would say because you like it like this#and he would tell her he likes it however and she’d say yeah but you LIKE it like this because you’re a little old fashioned texas#just because she never asked him to feel the way she felt doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it#it’s too early but i’m having so many feelings

firm believer of Joel and Tess having quiet calm peaceful moments throughout their life together, absolutely refuse to believe it was all misery and grief and one-sided love, no no no, because there were days when business was going great, the weather was nice, and the sunlight would catch Tess' hair and Joel would look at her like she was magic, and Tess would mock him like she always would and he would tease her back, and they would smile the way they would only smile at each other, and they would think how crazy is it that even though everything else is hell at least i have this

[ohraicodoll]

Ghost

QZ!Joel x Female Reader 7.6K Words/ 3rd POV One-Shot Masterpost Summary: She was used to being invisible but being seen was nice. And Joel saw her. But he also belonged to Tess. Warnings: Language. 18+ Minors DNI. Angst, Jealousy, Longing, Smut, PiV, Pull Out, Being a little rough, No use of Y/N A/N: Part of my 1200 Follower prompts. A new reader for once! And who doesn't love deep yearning and jealousy.

Tommy had been the one to bring her on. 

She had a knack for getting information and getting into hard places, dexterous and fast and quiet, and he thought she would be a good help to their group. She was able to overhear and get info without being noticed, in and out and hiding in the darkness. Tess the planner, Tommy the charmer, Joel the brawn, and her the shadow.

It had taken a while to ease into an already formed group, years honing their dynamic and leaving her on the outside. She was quiet, kept to herself, watched, very much the shadow they had brought her in to be. Observant but separate. It’s how she had survived for so long in the QZ.

Tommy tried to ease her in, get her to relax in that easy way he was able to. Made jokes, an arm slung around her shoulder, pulling her away from the corners of the room and smack in the middle with them with a, “C’mon, little ghost, you’re off duty.” It helped but Tess never quite had the same rapport as with the others, looking at her only for what she could bring to the table and not who she was as a person. The woman was logistical by nature. She weighed her worth and found her wanting.

And Joel…he was Joel. Gruff, blunt, looking at her under furrowed brows and crossed arms and communicating more in grunts than words. He was a guard dog, distrustful and quick to bite at whoever Tess pointed him to, half the time under the influence of whatever alcohol and pills they had smuggled. He didn’t play around and wanted things done his way, a stone splitting the stream and refusing to change ways.

She’d always been good at reading people and didn’t bother trying to win them over.

But there were perks to working with them. Ration cards became a little less scarce, the predatory gleam of eyes on her switched more to caution and wariness, and life got a little easier. She became known by association and that came with protection. 

The ones that didn’t learn, that made comments or grabbed her arm when she ignored them, figured it out quickly. Tommy was fast to make it clear she was with them, ready to throw fists at the slightest comment and at her side like an angry older brother. She didn’t ask him to defend her, was used to scraping by with a knife she sharpened often and staying quick on her feet. But it was nice to have the support.

It was Joel that surprised her.

She had considered herself little priority in his mind, a stray his brother had brought home that he had to deal with. Inconsequential. But more often than not he would be there before she could blink, large hands pushing her behind him or those fists brutally squeezing the arm of whoever grabbed her. She was a shadow but he was a storm cloud, coming in swift and angry and growling at whoever bothered her that if they so much as looked at her again he would break their teeth in. Tommy was loud and sharp, but in those moments she could see why Joel was the guard dog. 

He was terrifying.

It made it more baffling that he was guarding her. 

His eyes, dark and angry, would flicker to her and look her over before grunting and guiding her wherever she needed to go with a hand on her lower back. Most of the time it was back to their apartment, even if she hadn’t meant to go there or was intending to go to her own place. Like he needed to keep an eye on her a little while longer.

Maybe it was just part of being in their group.

When she was too busy, she would come back to him being there, shoving food into her hands with the complaint that she was getting too skinny. If she hadn’t come by the apartment in a few days, Tommy would show up to check on her with a passing comment that Joel had made him. Any injury Joel was quick to push pain medication into her hands or ration cards would mysteriously get added to her wallet and he would grunt at her to take a few days off.

It was hard not to get attached to the Miller brothers. Their protectiveness, the way they cared out loud and secretly. How they didn’t downplay her strength and skills and trusted her to do what she could, but not without worry.

She was used to being invisible but being seen was nice.

But Joel belonged to Tess. It wasn’t ever said outright but it was in the way they moved around each other. A dance neither of them had to think about, the way their eyes found each other, Joel going to check on her first during scrapes and anytime they ran into infected outside the QZ. Sometimes when curfew was late and she couldn’t make it back to her place, she would crash at their apartment. Tommy would be passed out on the cot, having given her the couch, and she would try to ignore the pang when she noticed Tess and Joel go into the same room together. 

It made sense, but left an ache of longing she thought she had pushed away.

Then Tommy joined the Fireflies and started to pull away.

She kept an eye on him, listened to the whispers and kept track of the Fireflies and FEDRA and made sure he was okay. When they were in the apartment, Joel and him would get into it, Tess chiming in but mostly silent as they argued about purpose and a better world. He tried to convince her once to join but she couldn’t make herself pretend that she cared about the grander scheme of things. FEDRA was a shitshow but it was more firm than the pipe dream the Fireflies believed in. Better the devil you know.

Tommy would show up at her door more often than not, sleeping on her couch if only because the fights with Joel were increasing. She didn’t argue with him, didn’t berate him for his choices, just became a silent comfort while he sulked. He went on runs less, the absence of him large in their four person dynamic.

And then he was gone. 

She tried not to take his leaving personally, but it was hard not to. He was the tether between her and Tess and Joel, the one that made her feel like she wasn’t only an asset but that there was a bond between them. And he’d left, leaving her unmoored.

Joel withdrew more, Tess became sharper and more critical, snappier. Her work increased but never felt lonelier.

She couldn’t quite figure out her place anymore. The loss of Tommy almost felt like an end to her work with them, but there were still strings keeping her attached no matter how tight she tried to pull them loose. Joel became more protective somehow. Would find her on rooftops and tell her to go home and rest. Almost broke the jaw of a man at the bar who had grabbed her ass. Snapped at one of Robert’s men when he condescended to her during negotiations.

He had practically carried her and forced her to sit down when she slightly sprained her ankle navigating some of the city ruins during a run. The rain had made everything slick and she had lost her footing while scouting a pathway. It hadn’t even been a big deal but he’d notice the slight limp and picked her up before she could protest. Tess had rolled her eyes and went to look over their supplies while Joel had taken off her shoe, checking the limb meticulously while berating her under his breath for not being careful enough. He had even ripped the bottom of his shirt to use as a makeshift compression wrap, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin as he wrapped it around her.

“Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” he had muttered, the tone softer than she was expecting. 

He’d forced her to stay back on the next run and she had felt useless, wondering if they saw her as a burden if she couldn’t do her one job.

Tess would stare at her sometimes, lips pressed together as if trying to decide if she was worth the help. It was never out of malice or hatred, but calculation. Like she was weighing the pros and cons of her presence now that Tommy wasn’t around to tip the scales. She was almost sure that Joel’s growing protectiveness weighed in, her guard dog getting distracted.

She doubted it. Joel was Tess’ first and foremost. 

Yet more often, she was getting left behind. The excuse of her skills not being needed or that it was a quick job came about. Sometimes there wasn’t any excuse and they’d just be gone for days at a time. 

She’d still get her split, still find ration cards in her wallet when left unattended or would feel Joel’s presence when she’d walk through the alleys where business was done. The echo of him everywhere.

She avoided staying over at what was now Joel and Tess’ apartment but couldn’t always. When she had no choice, she would lay there late at night on the couch and tried to ignore the rustling of fabric in the other room, the murmured voices and breaths. The apartment walls were paper thin and she could practically feel the low tenor of Joel’s whispers.

But they weren’t for her.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew that somehow she had developed a crush on Joel no matter how rough and dangerous he was or the logic that he wasn’t interested. Some nights she wished it had been Tommy, how much easier it would have been with him instead of the unavailable older Miller. But she hadn’t felt that way with him. His touch didn’t burn every time he brushed her skin or breath shake when they were close together in the darkness, his hand pressed along her back as they waited for paths to clear. 

Tommy had been cheerful and boyish even during dark times, but Joel had drawn her in with his salt and paper hair, furrowed eyes, and that look that screamed experience and being able to take care of her. She had never even cared about that before, being taken care of. Joel had a way of making you want his attention. 

Maybe it was why Tess held onto him so tight. It must be intoxicating to have all that focus on you, lips brushing your skin and tilted in something other than a frown while calloused, worn hands held you. It was hard not to want that. To be seen. Years of quiet, of sticking to shadows and scrounging and surviving alone. No family, no friends, living on the outside. 

It was safer that way. She couldn’t lose what she didn’t have.

Now she had lost that comfort. Tommy had left and she had never felt more alone even with Tess and Joel. Because they had each other and she was the outsider. 

She was back to being a ghost. Maybe it was for the best.

It made sense then when another group asked her for help on a run. It was business, nothing more. She had a skillset that was in demand and it wouldn’t step on Tess’ interests, especially as she could see the woman still weighing her value and how often she was left behind. A simple run to supplement the work she was already doing.

The group was inexperienced and more than once one of the guys, Jason or Jared or something, tried to proposition her. But it wasn’t an awful couple of days and she felt a little more assured in her skill compared to them. Especially when she was the one that had to direct them when they almost got caught sneaking back into the QZ.

She got a break from Boston, a good share of the loot, and the feeling of being needed warm in her belly.

But she hadn’t made it more than halfway to her quiet lonely apartment before a large hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her to a different set of buildings. Fear didn’t flare as she knew exactly whose hands they were, could see the shape of him outlined in the cast off of the spotlights even as they traveled in the darkness to avoid FEDRA.

Joel had never handled her like that though. Anger and frustration radiated off of him with every step and when they got to his place he practically tossed her inside, locked the door, and stood there with his leg cocked and both hands on his hips, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“What the fuck, Joel?” she hissed back, teeth clenched as she looked at him with wide eyes, “You can’t just drag me here-”

“I’ve been looking all over the goddamn QZ for you only to hear you went on a job with fucking Carter?” he snarled, taking a step toward her.

She scoffed and shrugged, voice still raspy from being quiet though she had always been soft spoken, “Okay? Yes, I was on a job. What’s the big deal?”

He looked down like he was trying to collect himself, taking slow breaths though his jaw ticked and nostrils flared, “Carter is a fucking moron who is gonna get you killed. You didn’t even tell me, you simply took off-”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were my keeper?” she snapped back, “Besides you and Tess take off plenty of times without telling me, but I guess it’s only okay when she says, right? God forbid I do anything without her approval.”

Joel frowned, eyes darkening with anger and a tinge of confusion, “The fuck you getting at?”

She was tired, dirty, and didn’t want to be arguing with him but couldn’t help the way her body tingled under his gaze. But there was so much bitterness under the surface, her mind on repeat reminding her that he wasn’t hers and was only mad because it would mean losing her as an asset, “Nothing, Miller, I’m going home.”

His hand gripped her arm when she tried to move passed him to the door, “The hell you are-”

“Why do you care?” she tried to shake her arm out of his hold but he held on tight, not letting her go so easily, “You both have made it perfectly clear you’re more than capable without me so I found a group that actually wants my help. What’s it matter to you?”

“It matters because I don’t trust them with you,” he snarled, stepping in so close they were almost chest to chest, “I don’t trust them to have your back or make sure you’re okay or not to fucking get you killed out there where I can’t fucking reach you.”

The air thickened as she looked up at him. She could almost count the growing number of silver hairs in his beard and trace the deepening wrinkles in his skin. Maybe once upon a time they had been laugh lines but life had worn him down, his lips more prone to frowning. And his eyes were burrowing into her, almost like he was tracing out the features of her own face in return.

It was the closest she had been to him in weeks. She forgot how big he was, how consuming his presence could be.

“So what?” she whispered shakily. So what if she went out alone, if she survived alone, if she got killed alone. It had no bearing on him.

Both of them were tightly wound with tension, waiting for the other to snap. Words behind clenched teeth and his fingers involuntarily rubbing into her skin, her heart pounding in her ears.

But instead a knock sounded at the door.

It sounded so far away in her mind but she could see the way he flinched at the sound, the tick in his jaw as he continued to stare until another round of knocks reverberated louder. Frustrated, he turned away with a snarl and dropped her arm, hastily unlocking the door and jerking it open with a hissed, “What?”

It was Margie from the first floor. They paid her occasionally to keep an eye on FEDRA, run to them with tips and make sure certain people weren’t snooping around. Eyes tired and wary, she glanced behind Joel then nervously stuttered, “It’s Tess. She needs you in the basement.” No further info. She whispered the words and scuttled away, disappearing into the dim hallway and down the stairs.

Joel huffed, shoulders slumped and fist clenched on the knob of the open door. The silence was oppressive, hot with anger and things left unsaid. Without turning around though, he grunted a rough, “We’re not done.”

Then he was out the door. Gone without further comment, racing to Tess the second she called him. 

She tried not to let that bitterness spread, but it coated her mouth and beat along her skin as she stood in their apartment, traces of both of them everywhere she looked. He was at Tess’ beck and call and had left without even a look back.

Never had she felt more alone and unwanted.

She was gone by the time they came back.

Some days she regretted not going with Tommy. She missed the days of all of them in the living room, going over maps and Tess’ careful inventory, joking and passing a bottle of homebrewed whiskey around. Those days it was easier to not want to be wanted, to ignore the tingles when Joel would look at her and accept it wasn’t in the cards. She hated that ache of wanting him to want her in the same way he had Tess.

Want left you weak. 

She couldn’t even hate the woman. Tess was Tess. Smart, capable, ruthless, both of them birds of a feather with years of history between them. They clicked, simple as that. Tess was cold, calculated fire and she was a shadow, unobtrusive and hidden away.

A ghost, Tommy liked to call her sometimes jokingly, a nickname that had stuck. Their little ghost.

Ghosts don’t get hurt, just existed on the edges of your peripheral. Held to the earth by want and longing. It fit. A ghost of a person with no ties, unnoticed and living in darkness. Invisible.

She kept to the roofs most nights, skittering from one to the next and listening to the sounds below. Navigating fire escapes, broken balconies, above but not a part of the workings of the city. Voices whispered secrets, yells behind walls, the rhythmic pattering of feet on patrol. She traded secrets for check-ins with the radio tower controller, info on Tommy and if he was safe. Traded hints of new FEDRA patrols to Fireflies and passed along info to barter for ammo or alcohol or stupid things like chocolate. 

She didn’t see Joel or Tess for a while. They still went on runs, now without her entirely. Figured Tess’ list of cons now outweighed the pros. She knew because she followed them from up high, watching the quiet motion of Joel’s shoulders and the tension there. Sometimes he looked up and around as if scanning for her, but she folded that away as yearning and not fact. The reality was they had moved on without her like they had only been entertaining her presence because of Tommy.

It had been a silly crush, nothing more. A moment in time that was over.

The world shifted and she tried to go back to how it was before, but it wasn’t as easy as she had hoped. Like trying to fit back into a puzzle piece sized hole when she was no longer the right shape. And people around her were noticing the lack of a Miller sized shadow behind her. 

Exchanges were tenser, more often than not taking more work or worse, a knife. More than once she had been jumped as if she was weaker on the ground than the rooftops. They were wrong but fighting multiple people wasn’t her strong suit. She was made to be fast, hard to catch. Strength wasn’t her job, it had been Joel’s, but she managed. Didn’t have a choice but to manage, nursing bruised fists and sore ribs alone in her apartment.

So she went back to runs. Sometimes with Carter’s group, sometimes with Lin across town, sometimes solo. 

Every now and then she wondered if she should bother going back. If life outside the QZ would be easier for a ghost. But it would only be a thought before she’d go back to the walls and harsh reality of life post-Outbreak. A pity party. Her life was information and the infected didn’t have any use for that.

Then one day Carter fucked up and pissed off the wrong patrolmen. 

Instead of looking away, they had been waiting at the wall. Most of them got caught on re-entry, Jared shot immediately and Carter hit so hard with the butt of a gun his teeth scattered across the ground. She had managed to slip away with two of the others, all of them taking off, but FEDRA was searching and it was taking everything to lose them.

Rain had started to pour, covering the pants of her breath but making scrabbling onto perches dangerous when tired. She was backtracking around the alley, trying to lose her tail when a hand wrapped around her mouth and dragged her into the shadows. 

Nails digging in, she bucked and thrashed to try to break free even as she was easily picked up and pulled down a set of stairs and a door she hadn’t noticed. Once they were inside, the arm let her go and she spun with her blade out, angry and wet and calculating getting out of the new  situation she had found herself in.

But even in the darkness of the room, she could tell it was Joel. 

Joel angrily standing there in soaked flannel and dark curls plastered to his forehead and breathing hard in the damp basement they were in. His eyes were daggers as he moved, barricading the door with a dresser and turning on a small lamp on a slapped together end table.

It’d been weeks but the sight of him sent her heart into her throat, despite her anger and the adrenaline coursing through her from running.

“Sit down and take off your coat before you freeze to death. You’re soaked,” he ordered, pulling off his backpack and taking his own flannel off, leaving him in a worn gray shirt underneath.

“What is this, Joel?” She stayed standing, muscles locked and brow furrowed, knife gripped in her hand.

He turned to her with a glare, the dim light casting his face in harsh shadows, “It’s me saving your ass because you don’t listen to a goddamn thing I say. I told you not to work with him-”

“-if this is a lecture, I don’t need it,” she growled.

Joel stomped forward and before she could react, yanked the knife away and tossed it before pulling her backpack off roughly followed by her coat, “You almost got fucking killed back there, darling, so you don’t have any room to backtalk right now. Is that what you want? To get caught then hung up in the fucking square.” He jerked the fabric away with the last words, balling up the jacket and throwing it down angrily. 

“Who fucking cares?” she shoved at him, hands pressed to his chest, needing room to breathe. His presence was suffocating, pressing in all around her and she needed air. Because it hurt to have him this close after weeks away and all the distance. “If I get caught it has nothing to do with you!”

He refused to back up, to concede ground, only gripping her wrists and yanking her closer despite how she tried to pull away, “That what you think? That no one gives a shit what happens to you?”

The word yes was on her tongue but wouldn’t leave her mouth as she fought against him. Because speaking it out loud was too much, a confirmation that yeah, she was alone. And it hurt. 

But the smallest part of her, that hope she’d tried to snuff out, whispered from the darkness, “Then why was Joel in front of her and so angry?”

One of his hands brushed her cheek, so tender despite the anger radiating from him, before twisting through the damp strands of her hair. Joel pressed his lips together and shook his head, eyes almost black in the darkness, “What do I have to do to knock some sense into you? I dunno how someone can be so brilliant and so fucking dumb at the same time.”

She scoffed, flinching in indignation, but couldn’t get the biting words out before his lips were on hers devouring the sound. 

A whimper left her unbidden, heart exploding, feeling the rough feel of his beard against her skin and the way his chapped lips sought hers out desperately. The hand in her hair was tugging her towards him, cradling her head, and she could only try to keep herself above the tide of him as he drowned her. 

Joel was kissing her. 

Had kissed her first, clawing at her and pulling her body tight against his. Her fingers flexed, gripping the fabric of his shirt as her mind struggled to catch up. But her body was moving before she could process what was happening, kissing him back like she was starving. His tongue licked at her lips and she gave in, letting him devour her whole. 

They were moving, his feet maneuvering and guiding them until they sunk onto the dilapidated couch against the wall. He was above her and all around, small noises groaning into her mouth and fingers gripping her like she was his lifeline. It was feeling him pressed against her, hard even through jeans and his body between her thighs, that made her brain finally catch up. 

She stopped, pulling away and breathing hard, looking at him like he had turned the whole world on its axis, “Wait.”

Joel stopped immediately, pulling back and checking on her, fingers pushing strands of her hair back behind her ear. His brow was furrowed but he seemed more worried about why she had stopped and the panic coating that one word, “You okay? What is it?”

All she could do was shake her head, breath starting to become almost frantic because what was this? An hour ago she had written Joel off, ready to let him go, then  a few minutes ago he was dragging her and angry beyond belief, and now he was on top of her kissing her like she had dreamed. It was too fast, too much.

“I don't- you- what about Tess?” The words were clumsy, breathless, tumbling out incoherently.

He frowned and sat back, hand resting on her neck to stay touching her, “What? What about Tess?” She wanted to scream because what do you mean? Tess, who had been by his side every day. Who shared an apartment, a bed, with him. Who made it clear through actions that she held his leash and could direct him where she wanted. 

Tess who she knew he fucked sometimes and had been with him for years.

“I- I can’t,” she was starting to back away, sitting up fully and looking around everywhere but him. Because it felt like getting everything she wanted but at the realization of how little she mattered in comparison. This was a moment of release to him, nothing more. She was stepping on someone else’s territory because Joel wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers, he wasn’t hers. 

Joel’s other hand came up though and held her cheek, keeping her from running, shushing her softly and trying to get her to look back at him, “Hey, hey, what’s going on? You’re fine, settle down.”

She was babbling, composure gone and everything she kept bottled up pouring over. It felt like being teased, a mouse on a string dangling in front of her and going to be ripped away at any second, “You…we can’t- You’re with Tess and I can’t-”

“Sh, sh, slow down,” he rubbed her arms up and down, working to get the chill out of the still damp skin, “I need you to breathe, baby.” He furrowed his brow and adjusted onto the couch, tugging her closer easily. He watched, taking in the way her eyes darted around the room and how even though she was half heartedly pulling away, her fingers clung to his shirt. 

The patchwork of her words filled the silence and he shook his head, trying to piece it all together, “You think me and Tess are together? That what this is about?”

Sanity was slowly coming back and a scoff left her lips, bouncing in the space between them, “I’m not an idiot, Joel. You two- I’ve heard…the walls of the apartment are thin.”

At that he did wince, chewing on his lip and looking away.

Her throat felt tight, heart hammering, but she shrugged as if she hadn’t dreamed of having his hands on her and this wasn’t killing her, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not getting between it. I’m not just a quick fuck. I can’t do that.”

He turned back to her then, eyes hard, “Stop. Just…stop. I need you to sit there and listen.” Joel leaned an elbow onto the back of the couch and leaned in, fingers grasping her chin hard, “First things first, you are not a quick fuck. That ain’t what this is. It ain’t what I want.”

She tried to control the look on her face, shove everything behind walls and disappear, but he refused to let her, “Second, yeah, me and Tess have had sex. But that’s it.” It wasn’t new information but hearing him say it so bluntly twisted her stomach and made her want to back away, crawl into the shadows, get away from the way his eyes bore into her and watched every little reaction.

“Tess and I have been around each other for a long time. She knows me and I know her, but I don’t feel that way about her,” Joel tightened his grip on her chin, words brusque and laid out like fact, “We had needs, we took care of it. Either way, that’s in the past.”

Frowning, she looked at him in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“If you had stopped avoiding me,” he commented pointedly with a raised brow, “You would know Tess moved out a while back. We’d stopped having sex and she was seeing someone so she moved out to her own space.”

The words were a tanged mess in her brain. Tess had moved out, it had only been sex, she was seeing someone, “if you had stopped avoiding me.”

“I-” she swallowed, mouth dry, “I wasn’t avoiding you-”

“Darling,” he chuckled half from frustration, “You watch everything and everyone but sometimes you’re clueless. Cause you think that no one notices you. But I see you, no matter how much you try to disappear and act like no one can, just like a fucking ghost. I’ve always seen you though and I saw the moment you started pulling away.

“For a while I thought that maybe it was cause of Tommy. Maybe there was something going on there, but even before he left he was pushy about you and me. Would tease me about how I watched you. I tried to be there for you, deny whatever this is, but you hadn’t ever looked at Tommy the way you looked at me.”

I see you. And he had. He had always noticed the little things so she wasn’t sure why she was surprised he noticed the big ones. Like the fact he was right, she hadn’t ever looked at Tommy in the same way. 

“I thought letting you go was the right move when you started to distance yourself, but hearing you do runs again, being reckless,” Joel grit his teeth and shut his eyes tight, “Drove me fucking insane. Would have killed Carter myself if you got hurt. Almost ripped into those FEDRA fucks when I saw yall get caught.”

“I can take care of myself,” she whispered, the smallest of protests as her fingers tightened on his shirt. A small act of defiance if only to keep her feet on the ground as he shook everything apart. 

He chuckled and his hand left her chin to dive back into her hair, pulling her forward a bit, “I know you can. But you don’t have to. I’ll feel a whole lot better if I can be there to keep you safe myself cause you drive me up the goddamn wall.”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or try to wake up because Joel Miller was sitting in front of her and seeing her, choosing her. 

So she kissed him, gripping him tightly and practically crawling into his lap to get as close as possible. His hands were equally tight in her hair, the delicious tug of the strands making her groan into his mouth as he yanked her close. They were fervent, pouring every tense moment into each other like the flood gates had been opened between them.

Joel wasn’t gentle and that was fine with her. Too many late nights had been spent imagining how he would feel, the way he liked to fuck and kiss and touch. Joel was not a soft person and she wanted to feel that directed at her. She didn’t want soft. So she took every bit he gave, letting him take over and his tongue explore every bit of her mouth, teeth biting on her lips and his hands bringing her down to grind onto him. 

She could feel how big he was, slightly damp jeans doing nothing to disguise the hard press of him against her covered center. He held her like his touch was the only thing keeping her from disappearing back in the shadows, one hand constantly moving and squeezing, guiding her backwards until her back hit the cushions of the couch. 

“You tell me to stop, I stop,” he whispered into her lips, hand finding its way under her shirt and exploring the soft expanse of her stomach. She wanted to tell him that stopping would destroy her, would break her into a thousand tiny bits, but she only raked her nails down his back and pulled him closer.

Her hands trembled at being able to explore him to her heart’s content. The warmth of his back and the way his muscles flexed under her fingertips, the trail of hair along his soft belly leading to his waistband, the strength of his biceps as he held himself above her. His calloused fingers found her breasts, flexing and squeezing and rolling her nipples causing her to almost whimper in return. Every touch was electricity and fire, endless and overwhelming. 

She tugged at the bottom of his shirt and he practically ripped it off so he could resume kissing her, lips moving to bite and suck at the underside of her jaw. Her skin had been cold from the rain and he was like a heated blanket on top of her, warmth sinking in and leaving her panting. 

They were frantic and clumsy, all teeth and moans as they struggled to unbutton jeans and discard shirts. She was usually so quiet but when his mouth wrapped around her nipple hard he had to cover her own with his hand as she cried out loudly, lifting her chest to press it closer to him. He kissed and sucked one then the other while his free hand slipped under the waistband of her underwear, finding her completely soaked for him. “Fuck,” he whispered into her skin, forehead pressed to her sternum as his hand explored her slick folds and the way her hips chased his touch, “Fucking so wet for me already.”

“Joel,” she gasped as his thumb rubbed at her clit, the tip of a finger dipping into her slowly. It was almost embarrassing how good it felt, how easily she could topple over the edge already simply from the fact it was him touching her. He let out soft pants, curls ticking her chest as he looked down and concentrated on exploring her. They had kept their jeans mostly on, a reminder that this wasn’t their apartments and it wasn’t safe to be completely naked, the only thing keeping him from stripping her bare. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he moaned, slowly pumping a single finger in and out of her, stretching her out, “Fuck, I can’t wait to take you back and have you fall apart on my tongue. Wanna taste you so bad.”

Her hips jerked at the thought, feeling him sink in deeper while his thumb kept up slow circles on her clit. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Joel chuckled into her skin, teasingly biting at the underside of her breasts, “Gonna have that pretty little cunt cumming all over my mouth so hard you’ll listen to what I say for once.”

Her orgasm was a quickly rising wave, the sound of his voice whispering filth leaving her trembling as he added a second finger inside of her. They moved in and out, curling and stretching and hitting a spot her own fingers could never reach. She felt simultaneously full and like it wasn’t enough. 

“Fuck fuck,” she gasped, squirming and holding onto his bare back as her legs trembled.

“That’s it, baby, give it to me,” Joel growled, speeding up and dragging her over the edge as her orgasm hit her so hard it left her breathless.

Stars were exploding behind her eyelids and sensation was overwhelming. The feel of his beard dragging deliciously as he kissed a trail up her neck, the callouses of his hands a contrast to the soft skin of her cunt, the way his belt dug into her thighs. 

He was everywhere and yet it wasn’t enough. She wanted him inside of her, hot and filling. The feel of his naked torso against her own was intoxicating and even though he had said it wasn’t a quick fuck, one and done, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have him fully naked over her. 

“I need you,” she mumbled against his lips and tugged at his hair, pushing him to sit back. He easily sat up, pulling her with him like she weighed nothing to settle with her knees on either side of him. Both were panting, breathing heavily between kisses, as she scrambled to shove her pants down and he did the same. It wasn’t graceful, the wet denim fighting and Joel getting distracted by the slick painting her inner thighs. 

He let out a hiss and his head fell back against the couch as his cock was pulled free between them, thick and hard and weeping at the tip. Joel jerked when her thumb trailed through the bead of precum and slid along the underside to touch the pulsing vein there.

“Fuck,” he growled and ripped her hand away, pulling her close to hover above, “Later, baby. Right now I need to feel your pussy on it or it’s gonna be over too damn quick.”

She didn’t think she was one for dirty talk but his southern drawl and the gravel in his voice hit her low and hard. She wrapped her hand around him and slid his cock through the arousal pouring from her before slowly easing down onto him. He was fucking big, so big, and it burned to be stretched out after being alone for so long. 

Joel let her take control, let her impale herself and go at her own pace, whispering, “Good girl, good fucking girl,” over and over again. His arm fully stretched along her back, bracing her and able to grip the back of her neck tightly. She had never whimpered or begged in her life, but feeling him holding onto her, groaning with muscles taut with restraint as he let her have control, made her want to beg him to fuck her so hard the memory of him would be imprinted on her skin.

The angle was breathtaking as she fully sank down, the patch of curls at his base rubbing against her clit and his cock so deep she wanted to cry at how perfect he was. They both moaned, looking down where they were joined and her stretched around him, as he murmured praise at how good she felt. 

She moved slowly at first, rocking a little, hips instinctively canting to rub against him. His grip on the back of her neck was a steady presence, his other hand moving up and down her neck, pressing against the sides of her throat and making her slightly light headed. It was intoxicating, feeling him after wanting him for so long, the dig of his fingertips on her windpipe controlling her breath.

“That’s it, darling, you take what you need,” he grit his teeth, jaw clenched, rolling into the rhythm she was leading. Her nipples moved against the bare skin of his chest, sending twinges of pleasure coursing through her. Her moans were breathy, brow furrowed and she was drowning in how good it all was. It was like being consumed, those eyes in the darkness burning deep down into her. If this was all she got from him, she would die happily. 

“Joel,” she cried, nails digging into his broad shoulders and biceps. 

Everything she wanted was in the way his name broke from his lips and with it, his control. He kissed her hard enough she could almost taste blood from cracked lips and he pistoned up into her with a growl. It wasn’t slow or soft, almost brutal in the way he drove his cock up, punching the air from her lungs and splitting her open. 

He kept her lips against his, tongue tasting the inside of her mouth and swallowing the screams that threatened to rip from her as he thrusted over and over again frantically chasing both of their orgasms. It was pain and pleasure and the sun exploding underneath her skin as he coaxed her release like it was the last thing on earth. It was all she had hoped for, dreamed of late at night, imagining how it would feel to be at his mercy.

Every nerve was set aflame and she clung to him desperately as she went over the edge, arousal coating their thighs as her orgasm barreled through her. 

He whispered her through it, fucking into her as pleasure crested through her, and then cursed. His voice was a low rumble that hit deep in her before he easily lifted her off him, cock slapping against his stomach before he wrapped his own giant hand around himself and furiously worked himself to release.

She was slumped against him, dazed and watching as he gripped himself tightly, feeling the deep moan as he cummed over his fist and onto her stomach. Everything felt like it was floating, the warmth of his skin and release all over her and she couldn’t tell if it was sweat or the rain that clung to both of their hair and was dripping down their backs. They were sticky and hot and out of breath, but she had never felt better.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, blowing out a breath and pressing a kiss to her hair while wrapping his arms around her. She couldn’t properly form words yet, boneless and only able to nuzzle her nose into his neck. 

She let herself drift in the silence, feeling him run fingers up and down her spine and the way both their breaths started to even out.

He kissed her temple again, whispering almost hesitantly in the calm, “You do runs with me. No more other groups, just me. And no more avoiding me or I’m going to drag all your shit to my place and lock you inside.”

A chuckle left her, putting him slightly at ease as if his command would throw the balance of them into disorder, “Bossy. You wouldn’t.”

Joel only smiled and tightened his hold on her, “Sweetheart, you have no idea what I would do for you. Don’t tempt me. Wouldn’t mind keeping ya all to myself.”

It was said jokingly but her heart sped up, hearing words she had hoped but never thought she would actually hear, “That so?” She pulled away to look at him, eyes connecting even in the dim lamp lighting up the darkness of the room they were stashed away in.

He didn’t say anything at first, cupping her face and thumb tracing over her bottom lip. His eyes swept over every bit of her face like he also couldn’t believe she was there with him. Slowly, he kissed her, breathing in her sigh and whispering almost with reverence back at her, “I see you. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me, baby.”

And that didn’t sound so bad to her.