#tess corner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lowrisemiller · 13 days ago

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“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

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garden0fyves · 2 months ago

Note

joel cumming in his jeans from just making out but he claims “it’s been a while” which it probably has cause he’s always out gutting them clickers

OWHHH ANON YOURE SO RIGHT

smut under the cut…giggles

old man joel hasn’t been kissed since tess, and that was almost 5 years ago. you’re so warm and hot against him, soft hands cupping resting on his clothed chest as you sit on top of him. he doesn’t even know how he got here but god knows he’s not complaining. your lips are the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. no dessert could come close to the sugar you’re giving him.

“shit.” he grunts against your mouth, voice rough and hands warm against the soft skin of your waist. his hands had somehow found their way under your shirt. you don’t remember when or how, but you know as your hands dig into his hair you want him. desperately. the brief pause between your kisses is once again ended when you lean forward, tilting his head back by his hair just slightly.

you press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, tongue running across his lips briefly before you connect them again. joel’s grip on your waist gets unbelievably tighter. you’re sitting on top of him, but he’s willed your hips to still. his poor heart can barely take the intensity in which you’re kissing him—he’d pass out if you started fucking dry humping. “darlin’” he rasps. he tries to warn you, tries to get you to stop. your lips are so fucking soft, though. in such a rough world full of killing and brutality you manage to stay so soft. he can only imagine how your cunt feels.

“stop- fuck!” his hand slips from your waist just to hold your head against his. his tongue slides against yours, eyes screwed shut as he cums with a newfound force. he hadn’t felt it coming, truly. his stomach tenses, cock twitching in his pants. he can only imagine if you can feel it through the material of his jeans. “joel,” you pull away though not before pressing one more sloppy kiss to his lips. “did you jus’ cum?” it’s asked gently, as if the entire world will know if you speak any louder.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think joel was blushing. “been a while, sweetheart.” and you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “wouldn’t last a minute inside me, huh?” you’re just teasing, but the glint in his eye says he’s taken it as a challenge. “we’ll find out. later.” he bites your lip, eyes shining just a little in the dull light filtering into the room. you hum in agreement, hips shifting involuntarily. “later.”

#gardenofyves #yvie answers #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou smut #tlou 1 #pedro pascal

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joelsrose · 5 months ago

Text

jealousy breeds contempt

warnings smut proceed with caution lile this kinda lewd asff joel is a major meanie like so mean, also pls practice safe sex omg im the worst at warnings - also sorry tess i promise i dont hate u xx

The heat was oppressive, the kind that made your skin sticky and tempers short. You dragged your feet behind them, eyes squinting against the sunlight as Joel and Tess moved ahead of you through the QZ’s crowded streets.

They walked close, too close, shoulders brushing as they murmured in voices low enough to be swallowed by the commotion around you. A muscle in your jaw ticked. Their connection—whatever it was—always grated on you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Joel turned abruptly, his sharp brown eyes slicing through the haze. “Keep up,” he barked, his voice rough, worn down by years of shouting orders and never being questioned. Tess glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smirk that was as condescending as it was victorious, like she’d won some silent competition you weren’t even playing.

You hated Tess. She didn’t like you either; she never had. But the thing that really bugged you, that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts like a stray dog on a bone, was her relationship with Joel.

It felt... strange. Intimate in ways you didn’t understand, or maybe didn’t want to understand. You liked Joel—though God only knew why. He wasn’t nice to you. Not really. But he had his ways. He looked out for you when no one else did, fixed your messes, patched you up when things went south. It wasn’t soft, but it was something, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

The walk felt endless, the sun beating down relentlessly until you finally reached the run-down building they used to stash their contraband. Inside, it was cooler, the peeling wallpaper and damp air making it feel like a tomb. Tess disappeared into the grimy excuse for a kitchen, and Joel dropped onto the sagging couch beside you. His presence was heavy, commanding, like he could fill a room without trying.

“Here,” he grunted, shoving a sandwich into your hand. It was rough around the edges, hastily made, but it was the kind of thing Joel did.

“I don’t want it,” you snapped, pushing it back toward him. The bite in your tone surprised even you, sharp and ungrateful. You didn’t know why you were acting like this.

Or maybe you did.

The tension had been simmering all day, coiling low in your stomach like a knot of barbed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Neediness, frustration, something primal that made your skin feel too tight.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand freezing mid-air as he processed your rejection. “’Scuse me?” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the kind of weight that made you want to shrink under it.

“Don’t be a brat,” Tess called from the kitchen, her tone dripping with disdain. You clenched your fists, heat crawling up your spine as the familiar burn of shame and anger flared to life.

“Stay out of it,” you snapped at Tess, the words cutting through the tense air like a whip. For a moment, everything stilled. Tess froze mid-step in the kitchen, her hand gripping the edge of the counter as her jaw clenched. The heat of her glare burned into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not today.

You looked at Joel, his eyebrows lifting, just for a split second. A flicker of something almost playful, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or impressed. Amusement, maybe, though it was gone before you could be sure. His lips pressed into a hard line, but the corner twitched like he was fighting the urge to smirk.

“You ungrateful little—” Tess started, her voice sharp and venomous.

“Stop.” Joel’s voice cut through hers, low and commanding. Tess turned her glare on him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, locked on you with that same unreadable intensity that made your stomach twist. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone carried no softness, no reassurance. “She can go to bed hungry.”

The words stung, and your throat tightened. Joel turned, grabbing his pack from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said to Tess, already heading for the door.

Tess huffed, her irritation radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t argue. She shot you one last icy look before following Joel out, her boots heavy against the worn floorboards. The door slammed behind them, leaving the room eerily quiet.

Your eyes drifted to the counter, where the sandwich sat untouched.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the cracked blinds. You lay on the mattress in the corner, curled on your side, the silence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

The muffled sound of boots on the hardwood floor broke through the stillness, steady and deliberate, before stopping just outside the doorway. You knew it was him before he even spoke.

“You eat the sandwich?” Joel’s voice was low, rough with exhaustion. He stepped into the room, the faint creak of the floorboards following him as he settled down beside the wall. He slid down until he was sitting, one knee bent, his broad shoulders resting against the peeling plaster.

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “Where’s Tess?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Outside,” he said simply, nodding toward the living area. “Cleaning up.”

You rolled onto your side, looking at him in the dim light. His head was tipped back against the wall, his eyes half-closed.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat, but the day’s tension—weeks of it, really—forced them out. “I hate her,” you said, your voice flat, but the edges of your words were jagged.

Joel’s head turned, his gaze locking on you. His eyes flicked over your face, searching, reading you in that way he always did—like you were a puzzle he didn’t quite know how to put together. He let out a breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh but close, and scratched at the scruff along his jaw.

“She’s not so bad,” he said finally, though his tone wasn’t convincing. He looked away, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. “She’s just... Tess.”

You huffed, turning your face back to the wall. “She’s awful,” you muttered, the heat in your voice undeniable. “She’s bossy, mean, and she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel said, though the weight in his voice betrayed him. He sighed, long and slow, like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, right,” you replied, the bitterness laced thick in your tone as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Joel shifted, his knee creaking as he adjusted against the wall. “Hey,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “Why are you actin’ like a brat?”

“I’m not,” you shot back, sitting up slightly, the mattress creaking beneath you. “She’s weird with me because of you,” you added, your voice sharpening, each word cutting like glass.

His head tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowing in that way he did when you said something he didn’t like or didn’t understand. “What?”

You huffed, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you leaned forward, staring him down. “She likes you, Joel. That’s why she’s always a bitch to me.”

Joel blinked, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. And then he laughed. It was dry, humorless, and sharp, like the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t even begin to entertain it.

“You’re fuckin’ delusional,” he remarked, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall again, arms folding across his broad chest.

“I’m not,” you snapped, glaring at him. “She looks at me like I’m some kind of... threat or something. Like I don’t belong.”

Joel’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he chewed on your words.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joel said gruffly, his tone sharp and edged with irritation. “You don’t gotta like her. Just don’t act like a brat about it.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, your temper flaring hot and unchecked. “You’re not my fucking dad, so don’t tell me what to do.”

That did it.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and in one swift motion, he pushed himself up from the floor, his boots scraping against the wood as he rose to his full height. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist firmly as he pulled you up from the mattress like you weighed nothing.

“What’d you just say to me?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, his body towering over yours, unrelenting as he waited for your answer.

“I said you’re not my dad, so fuck off,” you hissed, your eyes locking with his in defiance. But your voice wavered, trembling at the edges, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.

Joel’s nostrils flared, and in one swift movement, he pushed you down back into the mattress and leaned down over you, bracketing you in with his broad shoulders and forearms. His presence was overwhelming, his weight shifting slightly as he hovered above you, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

You froze, your breath hitching as his knee pressed into the mattress between your thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against your core. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through you, sharp and unexpected. A sound escaped your lips before you could stop it—a soft, needy whimper that felt deafening in the tense silence between you.

Joel stilled, his brows knitting together as his dark eyes flicked to your face, searching for something. “The fuck was that?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp, more curious than angry.

Your cheeks burned, your breath catching as you tried to will your body under control. But then his knee shifted slightly, brushing against you again, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched instinctively, a traitorous whimper slipping free once more.

His gaze hardened, his lips twisting into something between surprise and smugness as he looked down at you, reading every inch of your flushed face. “You just fuckin’ whimper?” he asked, his voice rough and almost disbelieving, like he didn’t trust his own ears.

“No,” you stammered, your cheeks burning as you squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away. “Get off me.”

Joel didn’t move. If anything, he seemed even more planted, his presence overwhelming as he leaned closer. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something else—something darker, something that made your stomach churn and flip all at once. “Oh,” he drawled, his voice slow and dripping with condescension. “So that’s what this is about, huh?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. The way he looked at you, like he could see right through you, made it impossible to breathe.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, each word cutting deeper. “So wound up you don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” His thumb brushed lazily over your hip, the contact light but enough to make you squirm. “That’s why you’ve been actin’ like a goddamn brat all day, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t—” you started, your voice shaky, but Joel cut you off. His hand came up, rough and steady, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up toward his. The motion was firm, commanding, leaving no room for protest.

“Don’t even try to lie to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting and sharp, as if he could see right through you, peeling back every layer you tried to hide behind. “I’ve got you all figured out. You’ve been beggin’ for attention, haven’t you? Too damn stubborn to just ask for it, so you throw a tantrum instead.”

"Fuck off Joel," you said, but your words lacked conviction, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and something else—something darker. There was no fight in your tone, no real weight behind the demand.

Joel laughed, low and rough, the sound rolling from his chest like thunder. It wasn’t warm or comforting; it was sharp, mocking, cutting into you with ease. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he drawled, his tone thick with condescension. His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he leaned in closer. “Knew I could hear you at night. Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Horny as hell, weren’t you?”

“Joel!” you shrieked, mortified, your voice cracking as your face burned hot with embarrassment. You squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away, but his weight pinned you down, unyielding. “Stop it! Oh my God, stop—”

But Joel didn’t stop. If anything, his smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “That why you don’t like Tess?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing cruelty.

“What?” you sputtered, whipping your head toward him, your voice high and defensive. “Of course not!”

“Thought maybe you were jealous,” he continued, his tone slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Thinkin’ I was fuckin’ her.”

Your glare sharpened, your hands balling into fists at your sides, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed your frustration. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with her,” you spat, your voice laced with defiance.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he studied you, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Admit it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing but sharp enough to sting. “You’ve been wantin’ this—wantin’ me—for a long time. Haven’t you?”

“You’re a freak,” you snapped, twisting beneath him in what you tried to pass off as resistance. But it was half-hearted at best, your body betraying you completely.

The heat pooling low in your stomach, the electric buzz coursing through you—it all told the truth that you refused to say out loud. And you knew Joel could see it, could feel it.

His smirk widened, cruel and smug, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. Without warning, he stood up, dusting off his jeans with deliberate nonchalance, as though nothing had just happened. The sudden loss of his weight, his heat, left you reeling, your skin still burning where his touch had lingered.

“Alright,” he said, his voice casual, dismissive, as he turned toward the door. “Sleep well.” The words were thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought, his tone dripping with indifference, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“What?” you blurted, sitting up so fast the mattress shifted beneath you. Your voice was laced with panic, confusion. “Where are you going?”

Joel stopped in his tracks, turning his head just enough to look at you, his expression smug and infuriating. “Where am I goin’?” he repeated, his voice rich with mockery. “Thought you didn’t want me here, darlin’. Thought I was a ‘freak.’” He let the word roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate.

You opened your mouth, your pride fighting against the words clawing their way out. “Come back,” you said softly, barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your voice betraying you. It hung in the air, raw and desperate, and you hated yourself for how much you meant it.

Joel stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiffening before he turned his head just enough to look at you. His smirk returned, slow and lazy, as he pressed a hand to his ear in exaggerated mockery. “What was that?” he drawled, “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Magic word, maybe?”

“Please,” you bit out, your voice sharp, but the heat in your stomach betrayed the anger in your tone. When he didn’t move, you groaned, throwing your head back against the wall. “Fucking hell. Please, Joel.”

That did it. His smirk softened, his eyes darkening as he took a step back toward you, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he stood before you again, towering over you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him.

"Alright, lay back," Joel said, his voice low and rough, a command, not a request.

You didn’t hesitate, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate you. You ripped the covers off and leaned back against the mattress, your body buzzing with anticipation. Joel settled beside you, one knee pressing into the bed as he took his time, his dark eyes trailing over you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you.

Excitement coursed through you, and you shifted, your legs falling open instinctively, one thigh brushing against his leg. It was bold, shameless, and you didn’t care. Not when he was this close, not when his gaze was this heavy.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered under his breath, shaking his head as his eyes flicked down to where your thighs parted. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Your face burned, the words cutting through you like a knife, sharp and cruel. “Don’t be mean,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of indignation and need.

He snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Mean?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “You were the one actin’ like a brat all day, weren’t you?” His hand reached out, rough and calloused as it slid up your thigh, his touch firm and unyielding. “So that’s how I’m gonna treat you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved higher, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense, daring you to argue. “You think you deserve nice?” he drawled, his voice soft but laced with a cruel edge. “After the way you’ve been runnin’ that mouth all day?”

“I didn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh.

“Don’t even try,” he said, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh in a way that made your legs tremble. “You wanted attention, didn’t you? Well, now you’ve got it, darlin’. So be a good girl and take it.”

Joel’s thumb pressed firmly against you, the rough fabric of your clothes doing little to dull the sensation as he dragged it slowly over your aching, wet core. The friction sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop the soft, desperate sound that escaped your lips.

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered, his voice low and thick with disbelief. His dark eyes flicked to your face, studying your side profile, your lips parted and your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “How’s it possible to be this wet?” he said, almost to himself, his tone rough, like he was mocking you for being so undone already.

You groaned, the heat in his voice igniting something primal in you. Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the pressure of his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through you like a current.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone mocking but laced with something darker, something hungrier. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Drippin’ all over yourself like this. You really are just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your pride burning at his words but the ache between your thighs drowning out everything else. His thumb moved again, slower this time, teasing, torturous, as he watched you squirm beneath him. “Joel,” you breathed, his name slipping past your lips in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Take ’em off,” Joel said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver straight through you.

Your hands moved instantly, no hesitation, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs, clutching the flimsy fabric in your hands, your body buzzing with a mix of anticipation and shame.

“Give ’em to me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, just a second, before you placed them in his palm. He didn’t even look at them, just shoved them into his back pocket like it was nothing. The action, casual and deliberate, made your cheeks burn.

“Pervert,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him even as your stomach twisted in want.

“Hey,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it. I can walk out that door right now. That what you want?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “No,” you said quickly, your voice soft and desperate as you shook your head.

“Good,” he said simply, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly. “Sit back.”

The cool air hit you, and you flushed even hotter, knowing how exposed you were, how much of a mess you must look.

Joel’s gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re drippin’ all over yourself.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core, not quite touching but close enough to make you squirm.

“You touch yourself?” he asked, his tone low and almost mocking, his fingertips brushing just barely against your slick skin.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your hips twitched toward his hand.

He hummed, nodding slowly. “How much?” he asked, his voice thick, his fingers still teasing, never giving you what you wanted.

“Every night,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You didn’t care how filthy you sounded, didn’t care how his lips curled into a smirk at your confession. You just needed him to touch you. “Every single night.”

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his fingers grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicked back up to your face, dark and intense. “What do you think about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest, before your gaze locked with his. “You,” you admitted, the word barely above a whisper. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He stiffened for half a second, the shock evident, but then he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he let you kiss him. That alone surprised you—Joel wasn’t the type to give, not like this. His lips were warm, firm, and they lingered against yours, almost tender in a way that made your chest ache.

“Hm,” he hummed when you pulled back, his eyes still half-lidded. “Sweet,” he said, the word muttered so quietly it felt like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

A small smile tugged at your lips, the warmth spreading through you despite the tension still coiling in your stomach.

But Joel wasn’t one to stay soft for long. His smirk returned, sharp and teasing. “Still a fuckin’ brat,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And brats get punished.”

You groaned, the words sending a shiver through you as your hips lifted instinctively, begging for more of his touch. His dark laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he leaned back just enough to watch you squirm.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. “So desperate you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you glared at him, frustration boiling over. “Joel—”

“I’ll do you one better,” he interrupted, sitting back slightly, his legs spreading slightly. His smirk deepened as he saw the confusion flicker across your face.

“Take my pants off,” he said simply, his voice commanding, like he didn’t expect you to argue.

Your breath caught, the tension in the room growing impossibly thicker as his words sank in. His gaze never left yours, heavy and unwavering, daring you to hesitate. But you didn’t. Your hands moved almost on their own, reaching for the button of his jeans, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with it.

Joel chuckled low and dark, his hands resting lazily on his thighs as he watched you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “Good girl.”

The praise made your heart stutter, your cheeks flushing as your hands trembled, tugging his jeans down slowly, the fabric dragging over his muscular thighs. Joel shifted slightly to help you, lifting his hips just enough, the casual dominance in the movement sending a thrill racing through you. He made it look effortless, like he was still in control even when you were the one undressing him.

Your hand moved instinctively to touch him, but his voice stopped you cold. “Nuh uh,” he said, his tone low and firm, a quiet command. His eyes darkened as he leaned back slightly, watching you. “Shirt off too,” he instructed, his voice steady but thick with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, and you hesitated for just a moment before obeying. Your shirt joined the pile of his clothes on the floor, leaving you bare before him. Joel’s eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his teeth catching his bottom lip as his hands shot out, rough and deliberate. He grabbed your breasts, his large palms squeezing, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive nipples. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice low and full of reverence, though his touch was anything but gentle.

Your back arched instinctively into his hands, a gasp escaping your lips as the roughness of his calloused fingers sent shocks of heat spiraling through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, your entire body trembling under the weight of it all—the tension, the teasing, the slow build that had been driving you to the edge for what felt like hours.

“I need you,” you blurted, the words breaking free before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I need you bad, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice rougher now, low and dangerous, like he was savoring every second of your unraveling. “You that needy, huh?” He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist firmly as he smirked again, this time sharper, hungrier. “Gonna cry for it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill as you nodded, your hands clutching at the fabric of the mattress beneath you. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m—I’m begging you, Joel.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if he were testing you, seeing how far you could unravel before breaking completely. His eyes roamed your face, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “So desperate you’re fallin’ apart.”

His thumb caught the edge of a tear sliding down your cheek, and his smirk returned—soft but laced with condescension, sharp enough to make your stomach twist. “You’re a mess, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, though there was something deeper, darker beneath it.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you tried—and failed—to hold back a sob. “Joel, please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking, trembling with need. You hated how small you sounded, but the ache inside you drowned out the embarrassment.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his thumb trailing down to press against your trembling bottom lip. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, the words drawn out slowly, like he wanted to savor the sound of them. “I’ll take care of you. That what my baby wants?”

You nodded frantically, tears spilling over as relief and anticipation coursed through you, lighting up every nerve in your body. His thumb lingered on your lip for a moment longer, pressing gently, teasingly, before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a fresh shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against your temple, and the warmth of his words melted into you.

“You wanna see me?” Joel asked, his voice dropping even lower, thick with teasing. “Or you wanna be on your knees?”

“Wanna see you,” you answered quickly, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, pleading, raw with need. “Please.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes dragging over you with that slow, deliberate intensity that made your skin burn. “Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still carrying that rough, gravelly edge. “Lay back for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking into the mattress as your legs fell open, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching out to roam over his chest, your fingertips brushing against the heat of his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch as you brought one hand lower, trailing down his abdomen to the back of his thighs, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more of him.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich as his hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Be patient,” he drawled, his tone thick with amusement, his grip firm but not cruel. His free hand slid down your thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in slow, teasing strokes that sent shivers racing through you. “I know you’re eager, darlin’, but I gotta take my time. Don’t wanna break ya.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath his touch as his words settled over you, calm and confident in a way that made your heart pound even harder. The ache between your thighs was unbearable now, your body so wound up you couldn’t think straight. “Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “I’m ready. Please.”

He raised a brow, his smirk twisting into something wicked as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I know you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart, I don’t even need any spit.” His words were filthy, teasing, and they sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

And then, with no warning, Joel sunk into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, a deep, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he pressed flush against you. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him overwhelmed your senses, and a loud, unrestrained yelp tore from your throat. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” Joel said sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your face. His dark eyes burned into yours, his voice low and rough, the command in his tone making your chest tighten. “Wanna hear those sweet noises, baby. Don’t you dare hide ’em from me.”

You whimpered, your mind spinning from the fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of him. “But… what about…” you stammered, your thoughts hazy and scattered, trying to cling to something, anything. What was her name? The thought flitted through your mind, faint and distant. It slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a whisper of a worry clinging to the back of your mind.

Joel stilled for half a second, his lips curling into a wicked grin, his amusement clear. “So cock drunk you forgot her fuckin’ name,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a sharp tease that only heightened the heat flooding your body.

And then, without warning, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty, the sudden loss of him making you gasp. Before you could even register the thought, he slammed back into you with a force that had you screaming, your back arching off the mattress as your nails raked down his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing grounding you.

Joel laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating through your chest as his breath fanned over your face. He leaned closer, his smirk sharp and cutting as his hips snapped against yours again, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Don’t you want her to hear ya?” he teased, his voice dripping with condescension and something darker, something possessive.

“Joel,” you gasped, the sound of his name raw and unrestrained as he drove into you, each thrust more intense than the last. His hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Let her hear those pretty little screams, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Let her know I’m in your pussy, not hers.” His tone was cruelly teasing, but the heat in his words, in his eyes, made your entire body tremble, completely at his mercy.

Your breath hitched, a potent mix of embarrassment and raw, unrelenting desire coursing through you. Joel’s words were filthy, taunting, cutting straight through your defenses, but instead of pushing you away, they only made you cling to him harder. Your nails dug into his back as your body arched into him, every nerve ignited, desperate for more. His pace quickened, each thrust harder, more deliberate, his movements rough and dripping with possession.

“Bet you like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, each word a teasing caress against your ear. His lips brushed the shell of it, his breath hot and ragged. “You want her to be jealous? Want her to hear and know exactly who you belong to?” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, rough fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. “Say it,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond him—his body, his voice, the way he consumed you completely. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking, trembling. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something primal. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gripping your jaw firmly. “Open,” he ordered, his tone rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

You obeyed without question, your lips parting as your gaze locked on his, wide and eager. His smirk turned wicked, his hand tilting your chin as he spat into your mouth, slow and deliberate.

The act was filthy, raw, and utterly consuming, sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body. Humiliation and desire burned together, each feeding into the other until there was nothing left but the aching, desperate need for more.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your voice breaking, echoing through the room as your head fell back, your body trembling beneath him. Your eyes rolled with pleasure, the tension snapping in waves that left you gasping, completely at his mercy. Joel wasn’t satisfied with just having you; he wanted to take all of you. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, strong and commanding as he pushed your legs up to your chest, spreading you even wider.

“Thereee ya go,” Joel teased, his voice rough and dripping with mocking satisfaction. His lips twisted into a smug smirk, his dark eyes locked onto yours as his hips rolled, his pace faltering just enough to make you squirm. As he pulled back, slick and glistening with your arousal, he chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you like a current. “So damn wet, I can’t even stay in,” he muttered, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Without warning, he guided himself back inside, filling you again in one smooth, deliberate motion that left you gasping. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, and a desperate moan ripped from your throat as he set a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with relentless force.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, loud and obscene, mingling with your cries and Joel’s deep, gravelly grunts. His breath was hot and heavy against your ear, his chest pressing against yours as he drove into you, each thrust dragging you closer to the edge again.

“You feel me, baby?” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your neck. His scruff scratched against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine, your body arching beneath him as you clawed at his back. Your nails raked across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake, but Joel didn’t flinch. If anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

“All in here,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less commanding as his hand slid down your stomach. His palm pressed firmly against you, his dark eyes flicking between your flushed face and the place where your bodies met. “Feel that?” he muttered, his tone thick with pride and hunger. “That’s me, baby. All of me, deep inside you.”

You whimpered, your hips lifting desperately to meet his thrusts, each movement of his body sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Joel braced himself on one elbow, his chest brushing against yours as his free hand moved between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, and he began rubbing harshly, no hesitation, no regard for how sensitive you were. The intensity made you scream, your vision going white as your body jerked beneath him.

“Joel,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a trembling plea, the sensation overwhelming you, consuming you whole.

Your thoughts scattered like ash in the wind as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his relentless touch unraveling you piece by piece. His rough hands anchored you, grounding you to the bed even as his gruff voice pulled you further under his control. You were pliant, trembling, utterly at his mercy, and all you could do was hold on as he drove you past every limit you thought you had.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you screamed, your voice cracking, trembling with the weight of it. Your body tightened around him, the pleasure building higher and higher, unbearably close to breaking.

Joel’s lips curled into a wicked smirk, his thrusts becoming even more relentless, faster, deeper, like he was chasing his own edge just as much as he was pushing you toward yours. “Good,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear like a promise. “Go on, baby. Cum for me. And make sure she hears you.”

“There you go, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, milk my cock, baby. That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

The filthy words broke you completely. “Joel,” you cried, your voice cracking as the tension snapped, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your body arched off the bed, your nails biting into his skin as your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation so intense it bordered on too much, yet you couldn’t get enough.

Joel moved quickly, rolling onto his back with a fluid motion, his chest heaving as he looked up at you. His hand reached for yours, pulling it toward him with a firm, commanding grip. “Stroke me,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, rough from the strain of holding back. His dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’m close.”

Your body was still trembling from your release, weak and unsteady, but you obeyed him without hesitation. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking upward at the first touch, the reaction sending a thrill through you.

You started slow, dragging your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over the head with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. Joel’s grunts and muttered curses filled the room, spurring you on as you quickened your pace. His head tipped back slightly, his neck exposed, his lips parted as he let out a low, drawn-out moan that made your thighs clench.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, surprising yourself—and him. For a moment, he froze, his eyes flicking open. But then he gave in, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was hot and sensual, his lips rough but responsive. The taste of him, the way he let you take control, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your strokes quickened, your hand moving with more purpose now, your fingers tightening around him. Joel’s hips jerked in time with your movements, his groans growing louder, deeper, until his head fell back against the pillow. His jaw clenched, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his body tensed.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice rough and raw, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as he let go. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath uneven as he sat up suddenly, shifting onto his knees. With one final moan—your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—he came, his release painting your stomach in warm, messy streaks.

Joel stayed there for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained closed, his lips slightly parted, and for once, he looked completely undone—vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. It was mesmerizing, the way his defenses slipped, the way he seemed to let himself just feel.

You smiled at him, tender despite the heat still coursing through you. Joel’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze locking on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might soften. But instead, he leaned forward, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kissed you roughly. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t waned, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled you closer. It wasn’t sweet or soft—it was commanding, possessive, like he was staking his claim all over again.

You started to lean back, your chest heaving, ready to catch your breath. But Joel wasn’t done with you.

“Nuh uh,” he said suddenly, his voice steady and firm, a sharp contrast to the rawness from moments before. His hand caught your wrist, his grip firm as he pulled you upright, drawing you back into his control. “Be a good girl for me,” he said, his voice low and rough, laced with authority. “Go out there and get us some water.”

You blinked at him, dazed and still catching up, confusion flooding your mind as you started to reach for your discarded clothes. “Okay,” you murmured, your hand brushing against your shirt. But before you could grab it, Joel’s hand shot out again, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you cold.

“No,” he said sharply, his voice low and commanding. His dark eyes gleamed with something wicked, a dangerous amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips curled into a smug, teasing smirk as he tilted his head toward the door. “You’re goin’ out there butt naked, baby, with my cum all over your tummy.”

Your eyes widened, heat flooding your cheeks as your stomach flipped with a potent mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “What?” you practically squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Joel, are you serious?”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his smirk widening, dripping with smug satisfaction as he spread his arms lazily, utterly at ease. He looked at you like you were a challenge he’d already conquered, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “You wanted her to know you’re mine, didn’t you?” he drawled, his voice slow, mocking, every word cutting into your resolve. “Well, go on, then. Let her see where I just came.”

The heat in your cheeks burned impossibly hotter, your body stiffening as his words sank in, settling heavy in your chest. Humiliation twisted inside you, curling around the raw, unrelenting need he’d left you drowning in. You wanted to argue, to snap back at him, to yell something defiant—but the way he looked at you, so commanding, so utterly unapologetic, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t ignore. His confidence was maddening, overwhelming, yet it drew you in like a magnet.

Your breath hitched as you stood there, frozen, your mind spinning with indecision. And yet, deep down, you already knew. You’d do it. Because he asked. Because it was Joel. Because the way his voice dropped, low and full of authority, sent shivers down your spine. And because, in the end, you wanted her to know just as much as he did.

You hesitated at the door, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Each beat felt like it might shake your body apart, your legs trembling as you fought to muster the courage to take the next step. Behind you, Joel leaned back further, watching you with that maddening, infuriating smirk, his gaze heavy, unrelenting, and impossibly smug. He was waiting, savoring the moment, dragging it out just to see you squirm.

“Go on, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, honeyed drawl that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let her see.”

His words were slow, deliberate, and they left no room for disobedience. Your breath caught, and despite the knot of humiliation twisting in your chest, you reached for the doorknob. The cool metal was grounding, but it did nothing to stop the heat crawling up your neck as you pushed the door open and stepped out.

Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and stepped out, your skin flushing hot as the cool air of the main room hit your bare body. You prayed—begged—that Tess would be asleep, her usual scowl absent, but of course, the universe wasn’t that kind. She was right there, sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and her jaw set like she’d been expecting this exact moment. Her fiery eyes locked on you the second you stepped into view.

You could feel the weight of her glare, sharp enough to cut, as you walked toward the kitchen. Each step felt agonizingly slow, your bare feet padding against the floor as your tits bounced slightly with every movement. Joel’s release still slicked across your stomach, glinting faintly in the dim light, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, her nostrils flaring as she stared at you, her gaze flicking from your flushed face to your exposed chest to the mess on your skin. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, but you kept moving, refusing to meet her eyes. Your legs felt weak, your breath shallow, and every inch of your body burned under her scrutiny.

As you reached the kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water with trembling hands, you could feel Joel’s presence even from behind the closed door. He was enjoying this—every second of it.

You could practically hear Joel’s low chuckle echoing in your head, dripping with smug satisfaction. The weight of his gaze lingered on your bare back even from behind the closed door, the unspoken command still tethering you to him. He knew exactly what he was doing—forcing you to obey, knowing it would leave Tess seething with jealousy. It was all a game to him, and the thought only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“You’re a whore,” Tess spat, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

You froze for half a second, your fingers tightening around the glass as your throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

But you didn’t look at her. You didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you poured the water calmly, the sound of it filling the suffocating silence, and then turned on your heel, walking back toward the bedroom with your head held high.

Her eyes burned into your back as you left, the weight of her words pressing against you like a boulder. But all you could hear in your mind was Joel’s voice, smooth and commanding, telling you what to do, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

When you stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you, Joel was right where you left him—lounging on the mattress, his cock still out, his head tipped back like he had all the time in the world. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, his relaxed confidence utterly maddening and undeniably magnetic. His dark eyes flicked to the glass in your hand, and a slow, pleased smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he drawled, his voice rough and full of pride. The praise made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t deny, even as your cheeks burned. He sat up slightly, one arm bracing him against the mattress as he watched you cross the room, his gaze trailing over every inch of your exposed skin. He took his time, his eyes heavy and unrelenting, like he was savoring the view.

“She say anything?” Joel asked, his tone casual, but his eyes gave him away—dark, sharp, with a glint of knowing amusement that made your stomach flip. He leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing against the headboard as if he had all the time in the world.

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the memory of Tess’s venomous words replayed in your head. Joel noticed, of course—he always did. His brow lifted, his smirk twisting into something sharper, darker. He reached for the glass in your hands, taking it from you with deliberate ease before guiding you down onto the mattress. The movement was firm yet unhurried, his grip on you steady.

“She call you somethin’?” he pressed, his voice dripping with mock curiosity, like he already knew the answer. He set the glass aside and grabbed an old rag, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped the remnants of his release from your stomach. The action, almost tender, sent shivers through you, your skin hypersensitive under his touch. His fingers tapped lazily against his thigh, waiting. “Lemme guess. A whore?”

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” you muttered.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through the room and settling in your chest. It wasn’t a comforting sound; it was smug, knowing, dripping with the satisfaction of being right. “Course she did,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. His smirk deepened as his hands found your thighs, pulling you closer, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “Think she’s a bit jealous.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his grip tightened, grounding you. His smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with something darker, something possessive. “But she’s right about one thing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, each word sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “You’re my whore. Aren’t you?”

The weight of his gaze burned through you, setting every nerve in your body alight. Your chest tightened, the tension unraveling as you nodded, your body trembling under the force of his presence. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—there was only him. His smirk widened at your silent admission, his hands sliding further up your thighs, gripping you firmly.

“Good girl,” he hummed, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your lips as his fingers dug into your skin. “You ready for me again?”

The question made your breath hitch, your body already aching with anticipation. You nodded frantically, your lips parting as your heart pounded against your ribs. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking, raw with need.

Joel’s smirk deepened, his lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, “That’s my girl. Let’s see just how much you can take.” And with that, he pushed you back onto the mattress, his hands pinning you down as he took control all over again, his dominance overwhelming and addictive.

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suzdin · 3 months ago

Text

Home Is Wherever I’m With You

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After the tragic loss of your father and home, you find yourself at the mercy of a cold, detached stranger who holds your fate in his hands during a violent snowstorm.

Notes: okay fair warning, I started writing this when I was feeling extremely low, and finished it several weeks later when I was doing better, so if it seems disjointed and sloppily thrown together, that’s why! But I swear there’s a happy ending!

Warnings: ANGST!!! I cannot stress the amount of angst. Suicidal thoughts and ideation, especially at the beginning. Alcohol consumption. Main character deaths; all of them. Lots of depression and poor mental health, mostly with Joel. Angsty!Joel, asshole!Joel, soft!Joel, semi-dom!Joel, protective!Joel, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), face riding, unprotected p in v, creampie, biting/marking, pregnancy heavily hinted at, more angst

Word Count: 7,100+

dividers provided by: @saradika-graphics ❣️

Tags: @ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @berryispunk @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @natdeandar @guelyury @daddy-dins-girl

Joel crouches in front of the old cast iron stove, his knees groaning in protest as he stokes the embers within using an extra scrap of wood.

He doesn’t know why he’s going through the trouble. It isn’t like he’ll be around much longer. Maybe he just wants to feel warmth one last time before he does it. And this time, he won’t miss.

He’ll be cold soon enough anyway.

He gets the fire breathing again, closing the hatch and settling back into the old leather recliner in the corner, worn and cracking with age, much like himself.

He palms the neck on a bottle of bourbon, taking a hefty swig and wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his face crinkling in rumination as he watches the flames dance behind slats of iron.

Sarah. Tess. Tommy. And then Ellie. He had failed each and every one of them; those he claimed to love, who he vowed to keep safe. He had let them down. He had let himself down.

He takes another pull on the bottle and sets it down heavily on the table next to him, replacing it with his Smith & Wesson, heavy digits curling around the grip.

He traces the scar on his temple with the point of his index finger, feeling the faint indentation in the flesh; a constant reminder of yet another failure.

He lowers his hand back to the revolver, finger circling the trigger guard, dark eyes downcast as he attempts to summon the strength to do what he needs to do. Again.

His hand tremors as he lifts the gun and presses the cold barrel to his temple, thumb cocking the hammer back with a hollow metallic clunk that resonates through his skull and soul.

“C’mon, Joel. Get yourself fucking together for once.”

His eyes close, nose scrunched in a deep scowl.

Just do it, Joel. Pull the fucking trigger.

The ball of his index finger curves around the bend of the trigger, twitching with indecision when the back door to the cabin abruptly flies open, temporarily snapping him out of his psychosis.

It’s just the wind. That’s all it is. A gust of wind from the incoming snowstorm.

He doesn’t move from his space on the recliner. The cold won’t matter in a few seconds anyway. He lifts the barrel to his temple again, aligning it just right…

The back door clicks shut. It wasn’t slammed, like the wind would have done had it been the culprit. It very audibly clicked. Like someone or something shut it themselves.

Immediately following the click, he hears the unmistakable scrape of boots on wood, the revolver lowering from offensive to defensive position.

No sooner do you get the door closed that you notice a faint flicker of light from the adjoining room, your heart beginning to thrum like a jackhammer in your chest. From the outside, in your weary state, the dilapidated old cabin looked abandoned as far as you could tell, realizing too late that it isn’t.

But now you’ve stumbled into someone’s den, and they could very well be armed and aiming to shoot. They could even be cannibals for all you know.

You could leave. You could just leave and pretend this never happened. But you haven’t seen any other shelters for miles… and the storm was only going to get worse.

“Who’s there?” a gruff male voice calls out from the other room, breaking through the stifling silence. You go stock still on instinct, your hackles bristled along your spine.

When you’re able to gather your bearings, you respond with your name, your vocal cords numb and strained from the cold.

“I mean no harm. I just need a place to sleep out of the storm. I promise to leave at first light,” you quickly add.

Joel stiffens when he hears a woman’s voice, his finger still circling the trigger guard as it had only moments before when the gun was trained on himself.

“Are you armed?”

“Just a small pistol and a jack knife. And I’m out of ammo,” you call back truthfully.

Everything is quiet for a moment aside from the crackle of flame and the howl of wind that rattles the windows and bends the outer wood. The silence between you and the unseen man feels like it stretches on for ages.

“Approach the door with your hands raised. An’ when I say, slide the gun and knife over to me.”

“Alright,” you reply quietly, approaching the ajar door in front of you, hands already skyward, kicking the door the rest of the way open with the toe of your boot.

You step forward two paces into the room, the scent of alcohol stinging your nostrils, your gaze settling on a haggard looking man in the furthest corner from you. His hair is wild and askew, eyes sunken in like a corpse, recognizing the hopeless glint behind them; no doubt a reflection of your own. A large pistol is clutched in his meaty fist, cocked and aimed.

“Gun first. Then the knife,” Joel says, his brow angled downward in a dark line, shading the even darker set of eyes.

You keep one hand in the air as the other reaches into the band of your jeans, removing the pistol and sliding it to him, stilling as it hits his boot.

He picks it up, discharging the clip to find that it is indeed empty, as you had claimed. He sets it next to the bourbon.

You slide the knife next, an average, run of the mill jack knife with a four inch blade. He inspects it, noticing a few remnants of blood still tarnishing the steel.

“Who’d you kill with this?”

“I used it to skin hares and squirrels.”

His face pinches with confusion, tilting his head at you like a dog hearing an unknown sound for the first time.

“Y’skinned hares and squirrels with a jack knife?” he questions doubtfully.

“It’s all I had,” you explain.

Joel eyes you warily. You’re definitely not dressed or equipped for this kind of weather. The only thing that seems to be keeping you warm is a thin hoodie, a regular set of jeans, and a pair of boots soaked through with snow.

He sighs. He isn’t going to kill himself with you here. He may not be the nicest or most caring man in the world, but he isn’t about to traumatize you. He’ll wait until you leave. You said you’d leave at first light.

In the meantime, he has to deal with someone being in his space, which he doesn’t exactly want to do, especially in his last hours. But he isn’t about sending you to your death, either. You probably have more to live for than he does.

“Here,” he says, kicking an old wicker chair toward you. “Your feet’re soaked. Take off your boots and warm your feet ‘fore you get frostbite.”

You lower your arms and take a cautious step forward, and then another, slowly sinking into the flimsy and rotten chair, bending to unlace and remove your boots.

You try to wiggle your toes but they won’t move, at least not yet. Joel watches with a scrutinizing glare, his hand still on the Smith & Wesson in his lap.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, pushing your boots aside.

“Ain’t important.”

You cast him a look but don’t press, scooting your sore and frozen feet closer to the stove, feeling yourself starting to slowly defrost.

You thank him for letting you stay.

He ignores your gratitude, dark browns drifting over your frame.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks.

“Ain’t important,” you counter, casting him another glance.

He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees, pinning you with a deep scowl.

“I’m the one with the gun,” he chides in a deep timbre, his tone brooking no room for protest. “Guns,” he quickly amends.

Your eyes lock with his momentarily, assessing his conviction before deciding not to test it.

“A settlement near Billings.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

He leans back, his gaze unmoving, letting out a breath through his nose.

“An’ exactly what prompted you to run out into a snowstorm with just a hoodie and no supplies?” he asks.

You flinch as if he’d just backhanded you, averting your gaze. If you were looking, you might notice his face softening, if only just a hair.

“Raiders came into our settlement. My father… he gave me the pistol and distracted them while I snuck under a gap in the fence. I didn’t have time to grab anything else,” you tell him.

“And your dad?” Joel asks delicately.

“Didn’t make it out,” you reply grimly, your body beginning to tremor, a combination of repressed emotion and your muscles beginning to thaw.

Joel falls silent, absorbing your words as truth. He can’t find a reason that you would lie about something like that.

“I’m sorry,” he sympathizes, his voice gentling.

You bring your knees to your chest, your chin resting between them, arms wrapped around your shins.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice hardly above a whisper.

——

Your eyes snap open, realizing you must have drifted off at some point, finding yourself curled into a fetal position directly in front of the dying fire.

A blanket you’re sure wasn’t there before is wrapped around your frame. You’ve no idea where it came from, it’s a bit scratchy and smells funky, but what matters is it’s warm, subconsciously pulling it tighter around your shoulders when you feel a chilled breeze brush over you through the cracks in the wall.

“Mornin’,” Joel hums softly above you.

“Morning,” you echo, shifting as your eyes scan the room, the cabin just as dark and cloaked in shadow as when you arrived. You’re unsure how he knows what time of day it is, but you decide not to question it.

He’s in almost the exact position in the old recliner as the previous evening, his hand unmoving from the revolver still in his lap. You can’t help but wonder if he had any rest at all, not sure if him watching you sleep should be comforting or disconcerting.

You sit up with a stretch, your joints crackling like twigs as you work out the aches of not only having traveled this far on foot, but also sleeping on a hard wooden floor all night.

Better than freezing to death, you decide.

You scoot until your back is flush with the wall, leaning against it as you silently study Joel.

“Thank you for the blanket—“ you begin, but he quickly cuts you off with a hard glare, nudging your dried out boots to you with his foot.

“Boots’re dry. It’s morning. ‘bout time for you to leave,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It dawns on you that it’s still dark because the storm hasn’t lessened at all, banks of snow clogging the windows and doors, blocking out what little available sunlight there is.

Your brow knits together and you cast him a wary glance, bottom lip trembling.

“But it… it’s…”

“The deal was first light, darlin’, and I’ve given you plenty more than that.”

“Please… just… a few more hours? Until the storm dies down some?” you plead, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, preemptively threatening to freeze your eyelids together.

He’s silent and contemplative for what you feel is longer than necessary, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

He knows he should send you away, even if it means a certain death. He can’t have you here, swimming in his grief, prolonging the inevitable.

The other option, of course, is to shoot you and then himself, a swift and merciful death that you deserve far more than he does. His fist tightens around the butt of the revolver, an action that does not go unnoticed by you.

“No,” he says plainly.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you say, your voice cracking with emotion and desperation, shifting to your knees as you shuffle a few inches closer to his chair. He did give you a blanket, so there is a human being in there somewhere. “I can’t—“

“I can barely take care of myself, much less another person. Ain’t nothing you can offer me, nothing to barter with—“

“I’ll let you keep my gun and knife. Please. Just a few more hours…”

His jaw ticks again. Your odds are already low as is, but liberating you of your only means of defense, your only means of perhaps obtaining a meal, if only a meager squirrel or hare, would completely diminish any shred of a chance you have left.

He could give you his one and only jacket. Not that he’s going to need it after you leave, anyway.

“No,” he says again, more sternly than before.

His gaze is unmoving from yours, the slow, steady circling of his pointer finger on the edge of the trigger guard doing little to settle your nerves, the conflict apparent behind his dark eyes.

You know you don’t have much to offer. You’re not great at hunting. You’d exhausted your entire clip on what barely qualifies as a meal, leaving you with very little sustenance once the bullet had almost completely obliterated any viable meat.

You can’t fight or shoot worth a damn, either. Your father had tried to teach you in vain, his frustration with you growing to a fever pitch over the years, but it had never been your forte.

Because you never thought you’d have to live without him.

You can scout. Gather. Keep the cabin up, replace rotting boards and rusting nails, keep it clean and tidy. But not in this weather, and not for a few months yet.

So you default to the last thing you know how to do well. The only thing you know without a shadow of a doubt you’re good at, if any of the men at your settlement had anything to say about it before they perished.

You inch closer, your tired knees scraping against the dirty, splintered wood, hands trembling as you hesitantly reach toward his parted knees.

He anticipates more begging and pleading. Maybe a sob story or two.

What he doesn’t expect is for your hands to grab his belt, the meat of your palm ghosting over his crotch as you fumble to undo the worn rungs of leather.

His cock twitches instinctively and he can’t recall the last time a woman touched him like this. Made him feel anything but dead inside.

He moves with a sudden swiftness that surprises and startles both of you, the hand not currently on the revolver grabbing hold of your wrist like a striking serpent, his grip biting into your delicate bones so roughly you realize how effortless it would be for him to snap your wrist, should he feel so inclined.

He rises to his feet, dragging you with him and giving you a hard, reprimanding shake, teeth bared inches from your face.

It occurs to you seeing him fully upright like this just how tall, how imposing he is; worn, threadbare flannel stretched to its limits across broad shoulders and thick biceps.

“Christ, woman, the hell is wrong with you? What kind of man do you take me for?” he growls, a subtle twang piping up in his voice, his clenched fist releasing your wrist with a minor shove. You stumble backwards, catching yourself on the wall.

His nostrils flare, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, his eyes slipping shut as he tempers his simmering anger… and something else he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“Fuck,” he grunts, eyes slowly opening again, rough digits carding through his graying curls. “If it means that much to you… you stay until the snow stops, an’ not a second later,” he nearly spits in your face. “Got it?”

When you easily nod in agreement, he stalks out of the room with a huff, every heavy footfall vibrating beneath your feet, slamming the door shut between you, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, alone and unsure what to feel.

—

Joel goes into the now defunct bathroom, the traditional porcelain toilet that was maybe brand new decades ago currently unusable, the water in the tank and plumbing frozen solid, the pipes under the earth most likely cracked and warped.

He drops trow and leans forward with the flat of one palm against the wall, the other hand gripping himself.

He lets out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in, pissing into the cistern he had dug under the cabin two summers ago, a task only made more difficult by the partial erection he now has thanks to your — albeit brief — touch a few moments ago.

“Fuck, Joel,” he sighs as he empties his bladder, his cock only growing stiffer in his hand as he imagines how good your lips would have felt wrapped around him, what kind of pretty sounds you would have made for him.

“Fuck,” he grits again, cramming his painfully hard erection into his jeans when he’s done.

—

Hours turn to days, days to weeks, weeks to months — “until the snow melts an’ not a day later” — spring not far around the corner, the sun growing brighter and hotter in the sky with each passing day.

Joel’s suicidal ideations were still an ever present plague on his brain, though he kept that part of himself tucked neatly away, as he did most things that were personal and private. He never spoke of Sarah, Ellie, anyone. Never talked about his life before Outbreak.

In turn, you never talked about yours either, aside from what you’d told him the first night, too frightened that you might scare him away simply by opening up, by trying to stitch together what little relationship you had with one another.

The more time you spent with him, the more of a burden you began to feel. It didn’t matter how much you helped out, even if you kept a respectful distance between you, especially when he seemed extra bristly or in his head that day. He was always skulking about, his face pinched in indignation in what you were certain was unspoken hatred for you and your existence.

It was early morning and you were at the edge of the valley, the spot near the treeline that was choked with underbrush, gathering pathetically small handfuls of wild strawberries and huckleberries that were just beginning to fruit. Definitely not enough to have much impact on your aching bellies, but it could be supplemental to whatever protein Joel could scrounge up, which hadn’t been much as of late.

You wipe a fresh layer of sweat from your brow despite the air still being bitterly cold, collecting what meager pittance of berries you can, sucking in a breath of air as you steeled your nerves to head back to the cabin.

—

Joel’s door is still closed when you return. Not surprising, considering how early you’d gotten up that morning, Joel likely still exhausted and aching from the ineffectual hunting trip the previous day.

You place the berries into a bowl on the counter, your fingers curling into the peeling linoleum as you stare out the window that overlooks the southern end of the valley, sun cresting through the twisted and gnarled branches of still-bare trees.

You’ve been milling around the idea of leaving for weeks now. You’ve come close to doing so several times, knowing it would make Joel happy to not have you on his mind or in his space anymore.

Your hand hovers near the hunting rifle slanted against the wall, ultimately deciding against it as you tuck your pistol and knife into your pants, tossing half of the berries into a bag and shrugging on the jacket Joel had found for you on a hunting trip.

You take a final glance at his door before sucking in another sharp breath, opening and closing the back door for what you assume to be the last time.

—

Joel hears you return only to leave again a few minutes later. He thinks little of it, something you do frequently throughout the day when foraging or inspecting snares.

He wishes he could express his gratitude to you, thank you for how much you help out. How much you’ve improved his life just by being here. It kills him to see how you shrink away every time he enters the room, but he understands why. He hasn’t given you a reason not to.

Once he’s sure you’re out of earshot, he resumes pumping himself, hips bucking into his fist seconds before spurting hot ribbons of come onto his lower abdomen, eyes rolling back in his skull, your name a curse on his tongue as he imagines your mouth working him over in place of his fist.

As much as he’s wanted to touch you, sink himself into you every night, he’s been too afraid. Afraid to even speak to you, afraid of becoming attached only to lose you, like he’s lost all the others.

—

When you don’t return by mid day, he begins to worry.

He tries not to. He tries to tell himself maybe you decided to forage a little longer than usual, or maybe you’re at the river searching for freshwater clams since the weather is slowly beginning to warm.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is off. That something is wrong.

He finds the bowl of fresh berries on the counter, evident that you had been foraging at least part of the day. But it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t good enough for him.

When you don’t return by nightfall, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong.

This isn’t you.

—

Two days pass and you realize just how badly you fucked up.

The berries barely made a dent in your hunger and the only other food you managed to find were a few wild mushrooms that you’re pretty sure weren’t the edible kind, if the half gallon of resulting vomit an hour later was any sort of indication.

You fucked up. You fucked up royally and you miss the cabin. You miss the warm stove and the bed Joel made for you close to the fire. You miss how he always kept you fed and protected, even if you’re certain he hates you.

You miss Joel. You miss his grunts, you miss the way his face pinches when he glowers. You miss what he looks like when he chews, almost like he’s angry at his food somehow. You miss his smell when he comes home covered in grime and sweat from a full day of hunting.

Dusk has fallen on your second day without food or water, your bones feeling like powder and your muscles like jelly. You’re exhausted, head pounding with a combination of fatigue and hunger as you take shelter from the wind in a small outcropping of rocks, wishing he was here with you.

You’ll go back tomorrow, you decide.

—

Joel watches the sun sink behind the horizon of trees, cloaking the surrounding forest in near darkness.

He knows he should stop to rest for the night. Like you, he left in a rush without grabbing much in way of supplies or sustenance, but had been lucky to graze a buck that he was passively tracking while searching for you. He’ll likely find it soon.

He periodically came across fresh deer imprints in the earth, clean tracks slowly changing to drag marks, indicating the buck was either dead or close to death.

But you were constantly at the forefront of his mind. You were his focus. His reason to keep going. His reason for continuing to live.

And when he finds a perfect indentation of your left boot moments before the sun lowers completely from the sky, he knows he can’t afford to stop now.

—

It’s still dark when you wake up, your eyes coming into focus along the faint edges of what you can see, which isn’t much. Some rocks. Some trees.

You shift, rolling to your opposite side to go back to sleep, tucking your hands under your cheek as a makeshift pillow. A breeze blows over you, made stronger by the funnel of rocks, and you shiver, pulling your jacket tighter.

Snap.

Your eyes fly open again, immediately jumping to your haunches as you palm the pistol next to you.

You train your ears toward the source of the sound, somewhere in the trees, listening intently, your mind on shuffle with all the possibilities of what it could be.

It didn’t sound large enough to be a bear. A puma, perhaps, one who didn’t seem to be hunting you, hopefully, due to how loud the sound was.

Infected? A slim possibility. Rare up here, but not unheard of, which left you with the most likely option: it was human.

You attempt to still your breath, your fist white knuckled around the butt of the gun. It’s too dark to see anything, and all you hear is the soft whistle of the wind.

—

Joel registers the sound of you shifting from somewhere up the incline above him, limbs turning to stone as his mind cycles through all the same scenarios as you.

He lost your tracks halfway through the night, finding himself going in circles, so it’s quite possible it’s not you he’s just stumbled upon.

He slowly removes the rifle from his shoulder, lifting it to half mast in case whomever he’s stumbled across is hostile… or infected.

“I’m armed!” he calls out, lifting the rifle to a defensive position with the butt pressed to his shoulder. “I have no beef with you if you have none with me,” he adds.

You swear your heart stops, tears suddenly stinging your eyes with salt.

“J-Joel?” you whimper, almost imperceptible, but it’s just loud enough.

Joel can only react, unthinking, responding on muscle memory alone as he somehow manages to traverse the steep, rocky incline in seconds without eating it.

You jump upright to your feet, despite how weak you are, and before your brain even has a chance to tell your legs to move, you’re struck by a wall of muscle, thick arms coiling around you and pulling you against his chest.

“Thank god, thank god,” Joel sobs into your hair as he drags you down to the ground with him, his voice softer than you can ever remember, the wetness of his tears soaking through your shirt. “I thought I’d lost you…” he whispers, his voice wavering.

He inhales your scent deeply, his hold on you nearly painful, but you don’t mind, your face against his chest as your own tears start to fall.

—

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmurs softly as you’re walking back the following day, glancing over at you, dark brown eyes gently regarding your side profile in the early morning light. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care. I just…”

“I know,” you respond, pausing to collect your breath and your thoughts. “I know why you did it. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I scared you…”

“Hey,” he says, gently cupping your jaw as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, calloused thumb tracing your jawbone, pausing at your bottom lip. “S’okay.”

Your lips pucker, impervious to stop yourself from planting a small kiss to the pad of his thumb as it brushes your lip.

He lets out a low breath, his hand snaking around to the nape of your neck, fingers lacing through your hair as he tugs you closer, lips crashing against yours in a passionate, heated kiss that flows trembling from him with every fiber of withheld emotion and desire.

—

You arrive at the cabin half a day later, impressed but not surprised by how swiftly Joel was able to navigate both of you back safely.

He even successfully locates the downed buck, stiff with rigor mortis and cold, half chewed by a pack of wolves that scatter with a single rifle shot fired over their heads, the large animal now dragging listlessly behind Joel as you finally break through the barrier of trees encasing the valley where the cabin resides.

Smoke still curls from the chimney, fire long gone but embers undoubtedly still hot, and you find yourself smiling. With relief, with anticipation.

You’re exhausted, famished and dirty. Yet you still assist Joel in stringing up what’s left of the buck to the outside of the cabin until he can properly butcher it, feeling obligated to do so after everything that’s happened, despite his protests.

Once the task is complete, you retire to the warmth and comfort of the cabin, curled against his chest, feeling at home for the first time in months.

His fingers idly trace the bow of your spine, both of you falling into a fast sleep for what feels like days on end.

—

“I was so goddamn stupid,” Joel growls softly as his lips chart a path down your soft inner thighs, finding himself grinding his hips into the mattress for relief. “So goddamn stupid an’ bullheaded, an’ I almost lost you for it.”

Your spine arcs instinctually when his breath ghosts tauntingly close to your soaked folds, your fists finding his graying locks with a tug.

“Joel, stop talking and make it up to me,” you whine, earning a disapproving glance from between your legs, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness behind his eyes.

“Make it up to you, huh?” he purrs, separating your folds and inhaling your natural scent. “By tastin’ this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whine again, writhing like a worm cooking under the sun in his grasp, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Uh uh,” he scolds, moving further away from where you’re desperate for him. “Ask nicely.”

His lip curves almost imperceptibly into a sly smirk, his gaze growing a shade darker.

“Please, Joel,” you amend, still wiggling, almost involuntary at this point, his fingers digging into your hips as he pins you against the bed.

“Please what?”

“Please, I need to feel your mouth on my pussy,” you whimper.

His nostrils flare, smirk growing just enough for you to realize you weren’t just seeing things.

He doesn’t waste another second as he dives in with a low, reverberative growl and begins feasting on you like a man starved, his meaty forearm barred across your hip to hold you in place so he can eat you out properly.

His tongue parts your folds, licking a broad stripe up your seam with a groan as he tastes your essence for the first time, moving back down to your opening to tongue fuck you, the ridge of his nose grinding deliciously against your throbbing clit.

You tug harder against his strands with a moan, helping to guide him where you need him most.

Joel grunts your name into your core, eyes locking with yours over your mound, and it takes everything in you not to fall apart right then and there.

He abruptly pulls his mouth from you, making you whine in protest, another smirk notching the corner of his lips as he rolls onto his back, rigid cock swaying slightly with the motion of his hips.

“Get on my face, baby, I need to get deeper,” he says, grabbing your wrist and gesturing you closer.

You don’t even have to give it another thought, scrambling over him, folded knees planted on either side of his head.

He yanks you down abruptly to his waiting and eager mouth before you’re halfway settled, tongue curling into your wet heat with a deep groan that vibrates straight through you.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, directing your movements, grinding you against his face as he continues to feast on you like you’re nothing less of a five star meal.

Your hands furl the edge of the headboard, spine arching, and it doesn’t take much longer in this position to be sent over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you like a bolt of lightning, Joel’s name a sacred prayer on your tongue as everything inside of you completely uncoils.

He keeps you there long enough to let you ride out your high, tongue still laving at your spasming walls until it’s too much for you to handle.

You shift off of him, his facial hair glistening with evidence of your release as he pulls you down into a rough, needy kiss, letting you taste yourself, flipping you over and pinning you beneath him, arms caged around your head as he grinds his hardness against you.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you like this,” Joel confesses, nipping at your jaw, then your bottom lip. “How you would feel. How you would taste.” He kisses down to your collarbone, his teeth gently grazing.

“And you have no idea how many times I touched myself thinking about you,” you confess in reply, Joel’s head lifting to meet your eyes at your admission. “I had to bite my lip every night to keep from moaning your name...”

“Fuck…” he growls, settling his pelvis between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, lifting one to prop against his shoulder.

“You make me feel things I haven’t felt in years,” he rumbles, giving himself a few firm pumps before notching himself at your entrance. “Y’want me to go fast or slow, darlin’?”

A warmth spreads through your chest at the simple act of him asking, knowing it isn’t just mindless sex to him, that he actually cares, if that wasn’t already obvious from how enthusiastically he just ate you out.

“Slow, then hard and fast,” you tell him, earning another deep rumble as he starts to push himself inside of you, fat head stretching your walls.

“Christ, you’re perfect,” he says softly as he steadily gains ground, his hips shuddering with restraint once he bottoms out, sheathing himself fully. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re strangling me,” he grunts. “I don’t know how long I can last...”

The pain of withholding in his voice is palpable.

“Joel, you just made me come super hard,” you tell him. “Don’t hold yourself back just for me.”

His bottom lip juts out and quivers with the thin veil of control he still has, fingertips digging into your hips, crescent moon shapes left behind in your skin.

“Y’sure?” he asks, internal conflict evident in his voice as he rolls his hips half a thrust forward. “‘cause soon as I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back…”

“I’m sure,” you reassure him, letting him hear the conviction in your voice.

He takes in a steadying breath and gently gyrates his hips forward once, twice, his head tilting down to watch the way he disappears inside of you.

It must be the way you’re taking him so well — or maybe it’s the months of not allowing himself to touch you — the thin thread of restraint suddenly fraying after the initial soft, testing thrusts, a barely audible ‘fuck’ escaping his lips seconds before he begins railing into you with everything a man of his age has to give… which is a lot.

Joel’s hand is on your calf, holding your leg flush to his chest, the other on your hip in a bruising hold, watching the way your body sways in rhythm with his motions, teeth bared in concentration.

“Darlin’… I’m… I… where do you want it?” he pants, the question almost sounding pained.

You know you should make him pull out and finish on your stomach. Contraceptives are a rare luxury these days and you’d always made your previous boyfriends pull out. But you can’t stop yourself, the permission spilling from your lips thoughtlessly.

“In… inside…” you whimper in desperation and Joel doesn’t even think to question it.

He collapses on top of you, his hips sputtering and shaking, a deep, guttural snarl sounding from his chest as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with hot jets of spend.

Despite not coming a second time, the sensation of him shooting inside of you still feels good, his warmth filling every crevice it can reach inside of you.

He buries his face against your neck, gingerly taking some of your flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to leave a faint impression.

His hips gradually slow and still, your name a reverent curse on his tongue.

“Christ,” he pants, wrapping you snugly in his burly arms. “Christ, darlin’.”

—

Spring finally reaches the valley, replenishing the land with color and sunlight, allowing you and Joel to wander out further and further every day.

He tells you he wants to find something nicer than the cabin. Somewhere larger, more permanent, even though you’ve told him time and again that you’d prefer to stay.

And you do, for a spell.

That is until you find your body growing more sensitive than usual. Until you find it increasingly difficult to keep some of your meals down, trying to convince Joel it’s nothing, that it’s just a summer cold, when you both know it’s not.

Joel dotes on you, burdens himself over you, knowing exactly what it is without wanting to say it. All the signs are there, almost textbook, unable to keep his memories from drifting back to the days before Sarah was born, how her mother’s symptoms were damn near identical.

He doesn’t dare tell you how scared he is, how much this terrifies him all the the way to his bone marrow, but you know. You see it in his gaze when he looks at you, feel it in his touch when he pulls you against him at night.

—

You’re on a scouting run one warm summer day, Joel hardly more than two feet from you at any given moment, so many unspoken words and feelings still hanging in the air between you.

He reaches for your arm to steady you when your feet slide on a patch of loose rocks, his palm instinctively moving to protect your stomach. You’re almost sure he wasn’t even aware he did it.

“Joel,” you say, placing your hand over his. “I’m alright.”

His brow furrows, silence speaking louder than any words he could say.

He’s reverted into his headspace again, more quiet these last few days than he has been. And it worries you. You hate that he bottles everything up, but you know that confrontation could make him shut down even more.

You begin walking again, his hand absently resting on the small of your back, and you continue down the path in stagnant silence.

Suddenly, Joel stops, eyes squinting to confirm what he’s seeing is real.

A neighborhood.

—

The neighborhood would have been considered a new development before the world went to shit, most of the lots bare and choked with two decades worth of weeds, some houses half built and some finished but likely vacant at the time.

There are only a few that look to have been potentially occupied before everything, three larger homes next to one another in a cul-de-sac at the end of unmanaged, cracked pavement.

There’s not much of interest in the first few homes you inspect, watching the way Joel silently scrutinizes everything as a potential future dwelling, not a single corner left unchecked, his latent instincts as a contractor still well ingrained in him despite the expanse of time.

By mid day, you’re both sweating profusely, Joel moreso than you since he isn’t letting you do much, forcing you to put food and water in your body, brooking no argument when he gives you his ration as well.

He knows you should head back soon before you’re out too late, but there’s still one house left to search and he doesn’t want to make the trip a second time if it isn’t worth the trouble.

The largest house, a two story spruce green craftsman with gray trim, his heart aching with nostalgia at how much it reminds him of his former home in Austin.

You start the same route as with the other houses; from the top, room by room, working your way down, your anxiety growing the lower the sun dips in the sky, knowing you only have a couple hours at best before it’s too late to leave.

The main floors scoured, you follow Joel to the basement, your hands on his shoulders for stability as you slowly work your way down the creaking stairs, your eyes adjusting to the shadows the deeper you travel.

When you’ve reached the bottom, Joel pulls out his flashlight, hitting it against his palm a few times before it flickers to life, the thin beam of light reflecting off the freshly disturbed dust.

You cover your nose and mouth with your shirt to keep out some of the flying particles, watching as Joel stumbles upon a stack of neatly piled and labeled storage totes in the furthest corner from the stairs, adrenaline beginning to course through him like a drug as he reads the faded sharpie scrawled on the sides.

“‘Canned goods and preserves’,” Joel says quietly, his voice higher in pitch than usual, more hopeful. There’s at least four totes labeled canned goods that you can see, possibly more, dates ranging from anywhere from late 2000 to summer of 2003.

He moves slightly to the right, his body tremoring as he examines the next set of totes.

Multiple totes labeled MREs, dated around the same range as the canned goods. He rips the top off of a few of them open to confirm that his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this isn’t a cruel dream, nearly doubling over when he sees just how real it is.

“Joel?” you ask, concerned, stepping nearer to him when you see him trembling and clutching his chest. “Baby ..?”

He suddenly turns and throws his arms around you, and it dawns on you that he’s crying, he’s crying and trembling, eyes full of happy tears.

“A fucking prepper. A fucking prepper just saved our lives,” he whimpers into your hair, squeezing you against him, and all he can think in that moment is thank fuck for those crazy assholes. Thank fuck for people like Bill.

—

In the weeks that follow, you and Joel clean and repair the house — Joel doing most of the work, per his insistence — but it’s in surprisingly good shape despite its age and lack of upkeep, and even with just the two of you, it doesn’t take as long as you’d expected.

You can’t help but miss the cabin, the natural beauty of the valley. But Joel was right to move you. It’s safer here, more insulated from weather, more space to grow. And perhaps, one day, the cabin can be someone else’s salvation, as it had been for you.

Another night falls on one of the final lingering days of summer, barely able to see the shine of Joel’s eyes in the dim light as he climbs over you, parting your legs with his knee, rumbling low in his chest as he peppers kisses and bites down the column of your neck.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #angst with a happy ending #smut

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stylesispunk · 9 months ago

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'Silent Strain' | part I

Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

next chapter

summary: Joel and you knew that bringing a child into this mad world was a mistake, but he wanted to give you the best that was left of that world after all.

w.c: 12,6k (this was 5k at the beginning)

warnings: established relationship, age gap (Joel is 43 and Reader 32) angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, fluff, not proofreading, sorry. The events of this story happen 10 years after the outbreak.

a/n: New Sunday, new fic? This one was on my drafts and I thought about developing a little bit more because I wanted to write one where Joel wasn't an asshole. This may become a really short series. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Mornings in the QZ were far from a story teller, always bleak as any other, somber and carrying the weight of the guilty grieving each people who has survived this far dealt with.

Many people had become the worst versions of themselves, just monsters they never thought they would be. Others woke up with the survivor’s guilt, after years of letting go their people, family and friends.

And others carried all that, but had found a little spark shinning on their path.

That was your case.

And Joel’s too.

You both had found each other just a few years after the world descended into chaos. After that, you become each other’s anchor until now.

Even when days seemed to be grayer, even when Joel seemed a bit lost after losing his contact with Tommy.

Even on days when the world seemed grayer, even when Joel seemed a little more distant—his thoughts lost somewhere along the frayed edges of his mind, burdened by the loss of contact with Tommy—you held on. You knew what he was feeling; it was a familiar ache, a common wound you both carried.

Tommy was Joel’s last person who shared his blood. His brother, his last piece of family and what the old world had left him.

But he also had you, and that made him alive.

You woke up slowly, the thin, rough blanket tangled around your legs, the mattress beneath you creaking as you shifted. The air was cold, seeping through the cracks in the walls, and the faint light of dawn barely penetrated the small, grimy window. Outside, you could hear the sounds of the QZ waking up, the distant, muffled voices of guards changing shifts, the echo of boots on concrete, and the occasional shout. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, trying to keep the chill at bay.

The room you and Joel shared was small, barely large enough for the bed and a rickety chair in the corner. Outside the doors, there was the rest of the old apartment that worked as a roof for the both of you, and Tess.

The walls were stained with years of neglect, paint peeling in long strips, revealing the bare concrete beneath. There was a small table near the window where a lone candle had burned down to a stub, wax pooling on the surface, solidifying in random patterns. It had been another long, sleepless night, the dark hours stretching on endlessly, and you could feel it in your bones, an ache that went deeper than simple tiredness.

You glanced over at Joel, still asleep beside you, his face etched with lines of worry even in rest. He lay on his side, one arm slung over his face, his brow furrowed as if he were fighting off some invisible enemy in his dreams. The mornings were hardest on him, you knew. Waking up to the same bleak reality day after day, the hope of finding Tommy growing thinner with each passing moment.

A wave of nausea hit you unexpectedly, a sudden queasiness that made your stomach twist. You shut your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn't been feeling well for a few days now, just a lingering discomfort you chalked up to the lack of proper food or maybe stress. Nothing in this world was kind to the body or the mind anymore.

You pushed yourself up, careful not to wake Joel, and swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold, cracked floor. The chill ran up your legs, making you shiver. You sat there for a moment, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your stomach as if trying to calm the unease that rolled there. There was a strange heaviness to it, something that seemed different, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The thought crossed your mind, quick and unbidden, a possibility you immediately pushed away. It was too absurd, too impossible to consider. Not here, not now, not in this broken world.

You rose to your feet, steadying yourself on the edge of the table, your fingers brushing against the melted wax. You glanced back at Joel, who still hadn’t stirred, his breathing deep and even. You knew he needed the sleep, needed a moment of peace, however fleeting. You moved quietly toward the window, peering out through the dirt-streaked glass. The world outside was shrouded in mist, the familiar shapes of the crumbling buildings barely visible in the pale morning light.

There was a time when you might have found the sight beautiful, in a melancholic way. Now it just seemed desolate. Empty.

Another wave of nausea hit, stronger this time, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself. You felt a sharp pang of fear, a sudden flash of panic that cut through the fog of morning fatigue. You forced it down, tried to stay calm. You couldn’t afford to be anything else.

From behind you, you heard the faint rustle of the bed as Joel shifted, his voice rough and low. “You, okay?” he murmured, still half-asleep, his words slurred with exhaustion.

You turned to look at him, forcing a smile, though you weren’t sure he could see it in the dim light. “Yeah… just a bit cold,” you lied softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He blinked at you, eyes heavy-lidded, and then nodded, seeming to accept it. “Come back to bed,” he mumbled, his voice carrying a warmth that made something in your chest tighten. “It’s still early.”

For a moment, you hesitated, feeling the cold air around you, the uncertainty pressing in. But then you moved back to the bed, sliding in beside him, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers of fabric. He reached out, pulling you close, his arm draping over you protectively, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of safety as Joel stirred Joel stirred, his hand rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. “Are you sure you are, okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in your voice. “Just a headache.”

He kissed the top of your head, the simple gesture sending a pang of guilt through you. “You’ve been getting a lot of those lately,” he noted, concern creeping into his tone.

You forced a smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Just stress, I think.”

He hummed in response, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. He gently nudged you off his chest, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. His eyes searched your face, and you had to fight the urge to look away. Joel had a way of seeing right through you, and you were afraid he might catch a glimpse of the truth you were hiding.

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been saying’ that a lot lately. Maybe you should rest today, stay in bed.”

You shook your head, knowing you couldn’t afford to take a day off. Life in the QZ was unforgiving, and everyone had to pull their weight. “I’ll be fine. We’ve got too much to do, and they’re already short-handed at the ration line.”

You forced yourself to follow suit, pushing through the lingering nausea as you pulled on your worn clothes. The headache throbbed with each movement, but you bit back the discomfort, determined not to let it show. Joel kept glancing over at you, as if expecting you to collapse at any moment, but you just offered him a reassuring smile, even if it didn’t reach your eyes.

Once you were both ready, you stepped out into the harsh reality of the QZ. The streets were crowded, people moving about with a sense of urgency, always on edge. You and Joel made your way through the throng, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you through the chaos.

At the ration line, the day passed in a blur of monotonous tasks—distributing food, managing the restless crowd, keeping an eye out for trouble. But the ache in your head never fully faded, and every now and then, you had to pause, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

Joel noticed, of course. He was always watching, always worrying, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff exterior. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked again when you took a brief break, his tone betraying his concern.

“Yeah, just… It’s probably just the air or something,” you said, shrugging it off. But you could tell he didn’t believe you.

“See you later, then?” he asked before parting ways with you to your different duties.

“Yeah, see you later,” you replied, forcing a smile, trying to reassure him. Joel lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours, he planted a kiss on your lips before turning to head off to his assigned area. You watched him go, feeling a mix of guilt and relief. You hated lying to him, but what could you say? That the world seemed to be spinning just a little bit too fast? That every time you bent over, a wave of nausea washed over you? It would only make him worry more.

The hours dragged on, the sun creeping across the sky, bringing with it a sticky heat that clung to your skin. By midday, your headache had grown worse, a steady throb that pounded behind your eyes. The noise of the crowd seemed to amplify the pain, voices blending into a harsh cacophony. You rubbed at your temples, willing it to stop, but it only seemed to make it worse.

At one point, while lifting another crate filled with canned goods, a sharp pain shot through your abdomen, causing you to drop the box with a loud thud. A few people nearby turned to look, but you waved them off, trying to catch your breath. The soldier supervising the line glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “You good there?” he asked, his tone half-concerned, half-annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, bending down to retrieve the cans that had spilled onto the ground. Your hands shook slightly, and you felt a bead of sweat roll down your back. The soldier didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the line.

“Then clean the mess you made” he ordered.

You nodded, swallowing down the nausea that threatened to rise again. “Yes, sir,” you replied, bending down to pick up the cans. Your fingers felt clumsy, and every time you moved, the pain in your abdomen seemed to sharpen, making it difficult to keep your breathing steady. Sweat dripped from your forehead, stinging your eyes, but you pushed through, determined not to draw any more attention to yourself.

As you gathered the last can, another wave of dizziness hit you, and you had to steady yourself against the crate to keep from toppling over. You glanced over your shoulder to see if the soldier was still watching, but he had already turned away, his focus elsewhere.

You took a deep breath, trying to will away the nausea, when you heard a familiar voice behind you. “Hey, you, okay?”

Turning, you saw Tess standing there, her face set in a concerned frown. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing a weak smile. “Just a rough day.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t look so good,” she said quietly, stepping closer. “You’re pale… and sweating like hell.”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, just… tired, I guess.”

Tess didn't seem convinced. Her sharp eyes swept over you, taking in every detail — the paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you held the cans. Her frown deepened, and you could practically feel the gears turning in her head.

“Look,” she said slowly, almost carefully, “I know you well enough to tell when you’re lying. And right now, you’re doing a pretty damn poor job of hiding whatever this is.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest, an uneasy thump that only made the nausea worse. You swallowed, glancing away from her probing stare. “I said I’m fine, Tess,” you repeated, but your voice came out too shaky, too uncertain. Even you didn’t believe it.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t bullshit me,” she murmured, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve been off for days now… the headaches, the dizziness. I’ve seen this before. And I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about.”

You stiffened, shaking your head quickly. “No, Tess,” you whispered, almost desperate. “It’s not that… it can’t be.”

Tess’s expression softened, but there was still a hint of stubbornness there, a determination to get through to you. “Listen,” she began, her voice a little gentler. “I’m not trying to scare you, but… you need to face this. If it’s what I think it is… then you’ve got a lot to figure out.”

“Please, Tess. Not now” you pleaded.

Tess hesitated, her eyes searching your face, but she nodded slowly, relenting — at least for the moment. "Alright," she said quietly, though the concern in her voice hadn’t faded. "But you can’t keep running from this forever."

You felt a lump in your throat as you looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. "I just… I can’t think about it right now," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s too much going on, and… Joel…"

Tess sighed, crossing her arms. "I get it," she replied softly. "But, you know, you’re not alone in this. Whatever it is, you’ve got people who care about you. Joel might be rough around the edges, but… he’s not going to turn his back on you. Not now, not ever."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you still felt like you were balancing on a knife’s edge. "I know," you said, though doubt still gnawed at you. "It’s just…"

"It’s scary," Tess finished for you, and you could only nod again, feeling suddenly very small. "But you don’t have to go through it alone, alright?" she added, her voice softening. "I’ve got your back. Always."

You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her support, even if the fear still twisted inside you. "Thanks, Tess," you whispered.

She patted your shoulder, her touch gentle, almost sisterly. "Let’s get back to it," she said, glancing back toward the line. "But promise me… you’ll think about what I said."

You nodded again, though your mind was spinning with a hundred different thoughts. "I promise," you murmured, even though you weren't sure if you meant it.

By the time you got back to the apartment, the sun was already low in the sky, casting long shadows through the broken blinds. Your legs felt heavy, your head still pounding from the stress of the day. As you pushed open the door, you were met with the stale, familiar scent of the small, dimly lit space that you and Joel called home. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes scanned the room, and they quickly fell on Joel sprawled out on the bed, his face slack in sleep. But what caught your attention was the nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him, beside a few scattered, white pills. A flare of anger ignited in your chest.

You walked over and grabbed the bottle, knocking it down onto the floor. The sound of the glass hitting the wood was loud, but Joel didn’t stir. Frustration bubbled up inside you. “Joel,” you called out sharply, but he remained still, lost in whatever numbness he’d sought.

With a forceful shove, you shook his shoulder, your voice rising. “Joel, wake up!” you demanded. His eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary and unfocused. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, and groaned.

“What?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and whatever haze the whiskey and pills had put him under.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “What the hell, Joel?” you spat out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and worry. “You’re drinking and taking pills again? You promised me… you promised you’d stop!”

Joel blinked again, pushing himself up on one elbow, confusion and irritation crossing his face. “It’s just… it’s just to take the edge off,” he slurred, running a hand over his face. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do get it,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “I get that you’re hurting, Joel, I get you want to know where Tommy is but this is not the way.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, some of the grogginess leaving his gaze. “I’m trying,” he muttered, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I’m doing the best I can, alright? It’s not that easy…”

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need you, Joel,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I need you here, with me… not drowning in a bottle. We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, he let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “He is my brother, the only family I get left.” he muttered, almost too softly to hear.

“What about me?” you asked, voice trembling.

Damn, why were you getting so emotional.

Joel's brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard by your question. He blinked, as if trying to process your words, and then his expression softened. “What are you talking’ about?” he asked gently, taking a step closer to you. “Of course, you're my family. You know that. You’re everything.” His fingers brushed against your arm, tentative, as though he was still uncertain if you’d accept his touch.

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Then why does it feel like I’m not enough?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Joel's thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You are, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice steady but soft. “I promise you are. I’m just… I’m scared. Scared of what could happen to you… to us.”

You looked up into his eyes, searching for something—an answer, a reassurance, anything to ease the turmoil inside you. "How are you feeling'?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter, more tender than before.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. "I… I don’t know," you admitted honestly. “Tired…”

Joel nodded slowly, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest on your shoulder. “I know, I get it,” he said quietly. “But you gotta promise me… if there’s something’ wrong, you’ll tell me”

You nodded, “I promise.”

You wrapped your arms around Joel, pulling him into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours was a small comfort, a fleeting sense of security in the chaos that seemed to be swirling around you. As you clung to him, the guilt and the weight of the hidden truth about your pregnancy settled heavily on your shoulders.

Joel held you close, his hand gently rubbing your back, his touch reassuring and steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, the words escaping almost involuntarily. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, you hear me? We’ll get through it. We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded against him, feeling a mix of relief and deep-seated worry. The truth about the pregnancy was still looming, a secret that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep. Every time you looked at Joel, you could see the love and concern in his eyes, and it made the weight of your silence feel all the more burdensome.

As you slowly pulled away from the hug, you wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your emotions. Joel looked at you with a soft expression, his worry evident but tempered with the resolve to support you no matter what.

The thoughts of your pregnancy, the uncertainty of the future, and the fear of how this might change everything were still swirling in your mind. You felt a pang of guilt as you remembered Tess's words, and you struggled with the decision of when and how to reveal the truth.

Joel seemed to sense the inner conflict you were grappling with. “If you need space, or if you need to talk about it,” he began, his voice steady, “just let me know. I’m here for you, no matter what.” You nodded, forcing a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel. I… I just need a little time.”

He nodded in understanding, and as you both sat down, the silence between you was filled with an unspoken promise of support and love.

You woke up a little later, feeling the soft warmth of Joel’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the comfort and the faint sense of security his presence provided. The room was quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

Gently, you eased yourself out of bed, careful not to disturb him. You tiptoed out of the bedroom, the coolness of the apartment a stark contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. As you walked through the small living space, you noticed that Tess was already up, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

She looked up as you entered, her gaze softening. “Hey,” she said quietly, setting the cup down. “How’re you feeling?”

You offered her a small, tired smile. “Better, thanks,” you replied, taking a seat across from her. “I just needed some space to think.”

Tess nodded; her expression thoughtful. “Did you think about what I say?”

You took a deep breath, considering Tess's question. “A little,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It’s just been overwhelming, and I’m not sure how to handle everything yet.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes reflecting both concern and a hint of sadness “And?” she reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over yours. “I understand it’s overwhelming,” she said gently. “But you have to face it.”

You glanced down at your hands, gripping the edge of the table as if it might anchor you to the present moment. The room felt too small, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your shoulders. “It can’t be…I’m scared” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Tess took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Take the test, I’ll go with you” she said, showing support.

“Wha-wha-what? I don’t have any test” you said, voice trembling

Tess gave you a small, understanding smile, her hand still resting over yours. “I know,” she said softly. “But there’s a way to get one. I can ask around… discreetly. I have a contact who might be able to help.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and disbelief coursing through you. “You’d do that? For me?” The idea of someone knowing, of even a whisper of this spreading through the QZ, sent a chill down your spine. But the calm certainty in Tess’s eyes steadied you.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve got your back, always. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

You nodded slowly, though the tight knot in your stomach seemed to twist even more. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered, trying to sound convinced, even though nothing had felt quite like this. “But what if… what if it’s true, Tess? What do I do then?”

Tess squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Then we figure it out, step by step,” she said. “First things first, we need to know for sure. Until then, try not to let your mind spiral, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding again, though your mind was already a storm of thoughts and worries. You could feel the weight of this new reality settling onto your shoulders, heavier than anything you’d felt before. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try.”

Tess stood up, giving your hand one last comforting squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,” she promised. “Go back to bed and try to rest.”

Your mind raced with possibilities and fears as you made your way back to the small bedroom, trying to steady your breathing, to find some calm in the storm of your thoughts.

When you slipped back into the darkened room, Joel was still lying on his side, one arm stretched across the bed as if reaching for you even in sleep. You carefully lifted the blanket and slid back under it, trying not to wake him. But as soon as you settled in, his arm instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of safety.

Joel's voice came out in a sleepy murmur, rough around the edges. “Where were you?” he mumbled; his breath warm against your neck. You could feel the weight of his arm, heavy and reassuring, holding you as if he sensed your unease.

“Just… talking to Tess,” you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady.

His grip around you tightened slightly, his thumb tracing small circles against your side. Even in his half-asleep state, there was a protectiveness in the way he held you. “Everything okay?” he asked, still drowsy, but there was a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

You hesitated for a second, your heart beating faster. You didn’t want to lie, but you also couldn’t tell him—not yet, not until you knew for sure. “Yeah,” you finally replied, trying to sound convincing.

Joel made a low, comforting sound, a mix between a hum and a sigh. He nuzzled closer, his lips brushing lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as sleep tried to claim him again. “We’ll figure it out… whatever it is.”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words soothe the fear gnawing at your insides. But all you could do was rest your hand over his, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath your palm, grounding yourself in his presence.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, more to yourself than to him. “We always do.”

Joel’s breathing began to slow again, deepening as he drifted back to sleep. You closed your eyes, pressing yourself closer against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you” you whispered to him, breaking the silence. You were afraid of losing him.

For a moment, there was only the quiet of the room, the soft hum of the distant generator outside, and the gentle rhythm of Joel's breath against your skin. You wondered if he'd even heard you, or if your whispered words had been lost in the space between wakefulness and sleep.

Then, you felt his grip tighten around you, his hand moving to hold you closer, almost as if he was afraid, you might slip away. His lips brushed against your shoulder, a tender, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you too," he murmured, his voice a deep, husky whisper in the darkness. There was a raw honesty in his words, an openness that you rarely heard from him, as if he understood the fear hidden beneath your confession.

His lips pressed against your shoulder again, this time firmer, more deliberate. "Ain't nothing gonna change that," he added softly, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb stroked gently over the fabric of your shirt, tracing soothing patterns that spoke of comfort and promises unspoken.

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, feeling a mix of relief and longing. The fear still lingered, but in this moment, held in his arms, it felt a little more manageable. You leaned back into him, feeling the strength in his body, the steady beat of his heart against your back.

Joel held you tighter, as if sensing your need for reassurance. "We'll get through this," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. You and me."

You nodded against him, unable to find your voice, your heart swelling with the weight of everything unsaid. "Together," you repeated softly, your hand squeezing his, grounding yourself in his presence.

For now, that was enough.

Joel woke up slowly, his body protesting against the cold air that had settled in the room overnight. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the cracked blinds, reaching out instinctively to your side of the bed, only to find it empty. His hand moved across the sheets, finding them cool, your warmth long gone.

He sat up, a frown creasing his brow as a flicker of worry ran through him. He scanned the room, half-expecting to see you in the corner, maybe getting dressed or lost in thought, but the room was still, too still. He called your name, softly at first, then a little louder. No answer.

His heart quickened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans from the chair and yanking them on. The apartment was quiet, eerily so, with no sign of movement or life. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud as he pulled them on, his gaze darting around the small space.

Where the hell were you?

He moved quickly to the kitchen, eyes scanning the counters, the sink—anywhere you might have left a note, a sign of where you’d gone. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the building settling around him. He glanced toward the front door, noticing Tess's boots missing from their usual spot. A knot of unease tightened in his chest. Neither of you were there.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. You wouldn’t have left without telling him, not without saying something. And Tess—she was always up to something, but she never left you behind. He felt his pulse quicken, a gnawing sense of dread creeping in as he grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door, slipping it on with practiced haste.

Joel pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, his boots echoing against the worn floorboards. He looked around, scanning for any sign of you or Tess. The hallway was empty, but a few doors down, a neighbor—a middle-aged man Joel recognized but didn’t know well—was stepping out, adjusting his coat.

“Hey,” Joel called out, his voice sharper than intended. The man looked up, surprised. “You seen them?” He gestured back to your apartment.

The man shook his head slowly, clearly unsure who Joel was referring to. “Nah, haven’t seen anyone this morning,” he replied. “Everything okay?”

Joel forced a tight smile, though his stomach was churning with worry. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, turning away. He started down the stairs, moving quickly, almost without thinking. His mind raced, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through his thoughts. Where could you be? Why hadn’t you said anything?

He made his way down to the ground floor, heading toward the small communal area near the entrance, where a few people were already gathered, murmuring quietly among themselves. He scanned the room, his eyes searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of you or Tess.

“Joel!” A voice cut through the chatter, and he turned to see one of Tess’s contacts—Danny, a wiry guy with a nervous energy—waving him over. Joel’s heart jumped. Maybe Danny had seen you.

“Where’s Tess?” Joel asked as he approached, not bothering with pleasantries.

Danny’s face tightened slightly, and he glanced around, lowering his voice. “She went out early, looking for something… didn’t say what. Figured you knew.”

Joel clenched his jaw, frustration flaring in his chest. “And her?” he asked, his voice edged with urgency. “You see her?”

Danny shook his head. “No, man. I just saw Tess.”

Joel felt a chill run down his spine. He took a step back, his mind racing with questions. If Tess had gone out and you weren’t with her, then where the hell were you?

He turned, scanning the room one more time, then made a decision. He needed to find you, now. Whatever this was, wherever you were, he wasn’t going to wait around and let worry tear him apart.

You sat in Lydia's small, cluttered living room, nerves thrumming beneath your skin like a live wire. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old books, a comforting combination that somehow made you feel more at ease, despite the circumstances. Lydia's place was a small haven in the chaos of the QZ, filled with mismatched furniture, faded floral curtains, and a few potted plants she somehow managed to keep alive. The doctor herself, an older woman with graying hair pulled back into a messy bun, moved around the space with a calm, practiced efficiency. Her hands were steady, her expression focused but kind.

Tess stood beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance. She had her arms crossed, her foot tapping lightly against the worn wooden floor as she watched Lydia prepare a small kit on the table. Lydia glanced over at you, her eyes soft with a mixture of concern and affection. “You look pale, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been keeping up with your food and water?”

You managed a small nod, though your stomach felt like it was tied in knots. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind,” you murmured. Your voice sounded small in the stillness of the room.

Lydia nodded knowingly, her gaze flicking to Tess for a moment before returning to you. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said softly. “It's not easy, being in this kind of situation… but you’re not alone, okay?”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat again. “Thanks, Lydia… I just… I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do if… if it’s true.”

Lydia came over to you, setting a warm hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said kindly.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as she handed you a small, well-worn plastic device. A pregnancy test. It felt surreal holding it in your hand, the weight of it much heavier than its actual size.

Lydia’s expression softened. “The bathroom is down the hall,” she instructed gently. “Take your time, and when you're ready, come back out. No rush.”

You glanced at Tess, who gave you a reassuring nod. “Go on,” she urged softly. “I’ll be right here.”

Swallowing hard, you stood up, clutching the test in your hand, and made your way down the narrow hallway to the small, dimly lit bathroom. The old mirror above the sink was cracked, reflecting your nervous expression in fragmented pieces. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool tile under your bare feet, and tried to steady your racing heart.

The minutes stretched out as you stood there, staring at the test in your hands, feeling the weight of this decision. You knew that everything could change in an instant—your life, your relationship with Joel, everything you thought you knew about the world and your place in it.

You finally gathered your courage, took the test, and set it on the sink. You watched it like it might explode, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. You could hear the muffled voices of Tess and Lydia down the hall, their words indistinct but soothing in their familiarity.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the result. Your breath caught in your throat, your knees feeling weak. You stared at it, your mind struggling to catch up, to process what you were seeing.

It was positive.

You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—fear, confusion, a strange sense of disbelief. You gripped the edge of the sink, needing something solid to hold on to, to keep yourself from spiraling. Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden, and you blinked them back, swallowing hard.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself before turning back toward the door. You stepped out of the bathroom, your face pale, your hands trembling slightly.

Tess was the first to notice, her eyes widening as she saw your expression. She moved quickly to your side, her hand gripping your arm gently. “Hey… what’s the result?” she asked, though the look on your face already told her everything.

Lydia stepped closer; her eyes filled with empathy. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Just take a breath.”

You looked at them both, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s positive,” you admitted, your heart pounding. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Tess squeezed your arm, a mixture of concern and determination on her face. “Okay,” she said firmly. “We’re going to handle this. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Lydia nodded; her expression warm. “You’re not alone in this,” she reassured you. “We’ll do what we can to make sure you’re safe… and healthy.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tears spill over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “What… what do I do now?” you asked, your voice shaking. “I don’t want anyone to know this, okay?”

“Joel’s has to know” Tess said.

“No.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, a flash of panic twisting through your chest. “No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I can’t… I can’t tell him. Not yet.”

Tess’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression remained calm. “Why not?” she asked gently, though there was a hint of insistence in her voice. “He deserves to know. He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears start to flow again. “I just… I’m not ready,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He’s already dealing with so much, with losing contact with Tommy, and… I don’t want to put this on him. Not when I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.”

Lydia placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to feel this way,” she said softly. “But Tess is right. Joel will need to know eventually. He’s your partner… in all of this.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath. “I just need some time,” you murmured, feeling a deep ache in your chest. “Please… don’t say anything to him. Not until I figure out how to even say it myself.”

Tess sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding on her face. “Alright,” she agreed quietly, but you knew she was lying.

She walked towards the door before you saying to Lydia “I’ll pay you later.”

“There is no need, I’d do anything for this one here” she said, squeezing your shoulder.

Tess gave Lydia a small nod, but her expression was tight, her jaw set. You could sense the conflict simmering beneath her calm exterior. You knew Tess well enough to recognize that she wasn’t pleased with your decision. She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame, before turning back to you.

“Alright,” she said again, this time her voice softer, almost resigned. “We need to get back. Joel’s probably tearing his hair out by now.” There was a hint of a wry smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You felt a pang of guilt; you could only imagine how worried Joel must be at this point.

Lydia gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she said softly. “And if you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Lydia… for everything,” you whispered, feeling a rush of emotion swell in your chest.

Tess opened the door and stepped outside, waiting for you to follow. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before moving to join her. As you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, Tess glanced at you, her expression unreadable.

“You know he’s gonna ask where we were,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. “And you know I won’t lie to him.”

Your heart sank a little. “I know,” you admitted quietly. “Just… don’t tell him yet, okay? I need to be the one to do it, Tess.”

She nodded, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You better tell him soon,” she warned her tone more serious now. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

Two days had passed since you were delivered the news, and as you went through your shift, the morning sun cast a pale light over the QZ, and the usual noise of activity buzzed around you. You focused on your tasks, trying to push through the lingering fatigue and nausea. Despite your efforts to stay steady, a wave of nausea hit you suddenly, making your stomach churn violently.

You stumbled to the side, clutching your midsection as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Before you could react, the contents of your stomach erupted, and you doubled over, throwing up onto the ground. The sudden and intense discomfort left you gasping for breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and distress.

Nearby, a few of your co-workers glanced over, their faces a mixture of concern and discomfort. One of them approached, a frown on his face. “You alright? Maybe you should sit down or get some fresh air.”

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure. “I’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “Just… give me a moment.”

The soldier supervising the shift, who had already been keeping an eye on you, approached with a stern expression. “What’s going on? You can’t be throwing up in the middle of work. If you’re sick, you need to go home.”

You tried to protest, but your weakened state made it hard to argue. “I’m okay,” you said weakly. “I just need a minute.”

Before you could say more, Joel appeared, his face etched with concern as he hurried over to you. He placed a supportive hand on your back. “You need to go home,” he said firmly, his eyes filled with worry. “You’re not doing yourself any good pushing through like this.”

The soldier gave Joel a skeptical look. “She needs to get back to work. We can’t afford to have people slacking off.”

Joel’s expression hardened, and he took a protective step forward. “She’s not slacking off. She’s sick. You wanna have her work herself into the ground? Take her home, and I’ll deal with it.”

The soldier seemed taken aback by Joel’s intensity but eventually relented, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. Take her home, Miller. We don’t need sick people on duty.”

Joel nodded, helping you to your feet and wrapping an arm around you for support. “Let’s get you outta here,” he said gently, guiding you toward the exit.

As you walked out of the QZ, the cool air was a welcome relief, but the anxiety and guilt still gnawed at you. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Joel glanced at you, his eyes softening. “You don’t need to apologize, honey.” With Joel’s reassuring presence beside you, you made your way back to the apartment, each step feeling a bit heavier as you faced the reality of your situation.

When you and Joel arrived back at the apartment, you were both greeted by the quiet, familiar surroundings. Tess was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes lifting from a worn-out map she’d been studying. She looked up as you entered, her expression shifting from concern to relief.

“Hey, you’re back,” Tess said, standing up quickly. “How are you feeling?”

Joel helped you inside, guiding you to the couch. “She’s not feeling great,” he said, his voice low. “She had another wave of nausea at work.”

Tess crossed the room, taking a seat next to you on the couch. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable,” she said, her tone gentle. She reached for a blanket and draped it over you, her eyes scanning your face with worry.

You nodded weakly, feeling the exhaustion and the strain of the morning catching up with you. “Thanks, Tess,” you murmured, settling into the couch as Joel stood nearby, his hands resting on his hips, clearly trying to mask his concern.

Tess turned to Joel. “You should take a break, too,” she suggested. “I can keep an eye on her for a bit.”

“No.” Joel glanced at you, “I want to know what’s happening, and don’t lie to me” he demanded, especially to you.

You frightened under his stare. You looked over at Tess looking for a way of reassurance.

Tess met Joel’s gaze steadily, her own concern evident. “Joel,” she began softly, “we need to approach this carefully. We don’t want to push her too hard.”

Joel’s eyes softened slightly, but his jaw remained set. “I just want to understand what’s going on. She’s been sick for days, and I need to know why.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of both their stares. “Joel,” you said quietly, “I’ve been… trying to manage. It’s been hard to admit, but… Tess might be right. I’m not sure how to handle it all.”

Tess reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What we’re dealing with isn’t just a simple illness. It’s important that we address it properly.”

Joel’s expression shifted from frustration to deep concern. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with worry.

“Joel, I…I” you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words or the courage to do it.

Joel's gaze was intense, waiting for you to continue. Tess’s hand on your shoulder was a grounding presence, urging you to find the strength to speak.

You took another deep breath, the lump in your throat making it hard to talk. “Joel,” you began again, your voice trembling, “I’ve been feeling… really sick, and it’s more than just the usual stuff. It’s… it’s because…”

Again, your voice got cut.

“Because of what?” he demanded.

“She is pregnant, Joel” Tess answered for you.

Joel’s face went pale as he absorbed Tess’s words. His eyes flickered between you and Tess, trying to reconcile the new information with what he had seen in you recently. The silence in the room grew heavy, punctuated only by the sound of your shallow breaths.

Joel’s hands dropped to his sides, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Pregnant?” he repeated, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. His voice was a mix of confusion and pain, and he took a step back, needing space to process this revelation.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill again. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” you said quietly. “I’ve been trying to manage, but it’s been really hard.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly as he tried to gather his thoughts. He turned away from you, his face contorted with frustration. “Goddammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again, the tension in his body palpable. “This… this is just too much.”

You flinched at his outburst, tears spilling freely now. “Joel, please—” you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Joel’s tone was harsh, though there was a tremor of anguish beneath the anger. “We’re barely surviving as it is, and now… now you’re telling me you’re pregnant?”

Tess stepped in, placing a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Joel, this isn’t helping,” she said sharply. “She needs support right now, not anger.”

Joel shrugged off her hand, his frustration boiling over. “I know, I know,” he snapped. “But it’s a lot to take in! I can’t just ignore it!”

You watched, your heart breaking as you saw Joel’s struggle to come to terms with the news. “Joel,” you said, trying to reach out to him despite your own pain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to add to the stress, but I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the anger in his gaze faltered, replaced by a deep sadness. “I just… I don’t know how to fix this,”

he said, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “I thought we had a chance to figure things out. Now everything’s just falling apart.”

Tess moved closer; her voice softer but firm. “Joel, getting angry won’t solve anything. We need to focus on what we can do now. What matters is getting her the help she needs.

“We were supposed to leave to find Tommy and now we won’t be able to.” He said, angry.

“What?” you asked, absorbing the new information.

Joel’s gaze dropped to the floor, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “We were planning to leave for Tommy’s,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But with this… we might not be able to. We’re stuck here now, trying to figure out how to manage all this mess.”

You stared at him, the realization hitting you like a cold wave. “Wait, you were planning to leave? To find Tommy?”

Joel nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, Tess and I thought it was the best chance for us. Tommy’s got connections, and he might be able to help us get through this. But now…” His voice trailed off, the anger and sadness mixing in his eyes. “Now, everything’s fucked up.”

“When were you planning to tell me?” You asked, hurt.

Joel’s face fell at your question, and he looked away, struggling to find the right words. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he said, his voice rough. “Things were just… so complicated. We thought we had more time to figure things out before we had to tell you.”

You felt a pang of hurt at his words. “So, you were just going to leave me in the dark? You were planning to leave without even talking to me about it?”

Joel looked back at you; his eyes filled with regret. “No, that’s not what I meant. Of course you were coming with us.”

“But now I’m a burden.” You uttered a thought Joel perhaps was having.

Joel’s face tightened at your words, the weight of your accusation clearly hitting him hard. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice strained. “You’re not a burden, never say that again.”

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, the weight of the situation overwhelming you. “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do. I thought you were going to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay, but—fuck this!” You turned abruptly and walked towards the bedroom, trying to escape the chaos of your emotions.

Joel's heart ached as he watched you go, his own emotions roiling. He hesitated for a moment before following you, his steps heavy with regret and worry. He reached the bedroom door just as you were sinking onto the edge of the bed, your shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Hey,” Joel said softly, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this. I was just… scared and confused. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

You didn’t look up, focusing on trying to control your breathing. “Leave me alone.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, feeling his presence beside you.

“Leave, Joel.” You sobbed.

Joel’s heart sank further as you pushed him away, the pain in your voice cutting him deeply. He hesitated at the bedroom door, torn between his desire to comfort you and the need to respect your space.

“Alright,” Joel said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ll give you some time. I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your emotions.

As Joel retreated, Tess quietly entered the room. She found you on the edge of the bed, still shaking with sobs. Without saying a word, she sat down beside you, offering silent support. Tess’s presence was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside.

“Hey,” Tess said gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. “I’m here. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”

You looked up at her, your eyes red and tearful. Tess didn’t try to force conversation; instead, she simply sat with you, her hand a reassuring presence on your back. Slowly, the comforting silence and Tess’s steady presence began to soothe you. Your breathing gradually steadied, and the tears started to subside.

Tess helped you settle into a more comfortable position on the bed, making sure you were warm and covered. As you drifted off to sleep, the emotional exhaustion finally taking its toll, Tess stayed by your side, her watchful gaze softening with concern.

After a while, Tess glanced toward the door and saw Joel standing there, his expression one of deep regret and sorrow. He looked as though he was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Tess gave him a sympathetic nod before turning her attention back to you.

“I know this isn’t the ideal situation,” Tess began, her tone firm yet understanding. “But she needs you now, Joel. More than ever.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking from Tess to where you lay curled up on the bed, still trembling from your tears. “I don’t know if I can do this, Tess,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with the weight of his fears.

Tess placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You’ve got to try,” she urged. “She’s scared, and she needs you to be there for her. You don’t have to have all the answers, but you do need to stay. You need to lay down next to her and protect her, like you always have.”

Joel looked at her, conflicted, the fight still lingering in his eyes. But Tess didn’t back down, her gaze unwavering. “She’s not asking you to be perfect, Joel. She’s asking you to be there.”

For a moment, Joel hesitated, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. But then, slowly, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He walked over to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate as he lay down beside you, his presence cautious but steady.

You stirred slightly, sensing his nearness even in your sleep, and instinctively moved closer to him, seeking the comfort you had always found in his arms. Joel wrapped an arm around you, holding you gently, as if afraid you might break. And as Tess watched, she saw the fear and anger in his eyes slowly give way to something softer.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your breathing, as you finally found peace in sleep. Joel stayed awake, his thoughts still tangled, but his grip on you never faltered. Tess left the room quietly, leaving the two of you to find whatever solace you could in each other.

Joel lay beside you, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the apartment. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind raced, replaying the argument from earlier and the harsh truths he had tried to push away for so long. The room was quiet now, but his thoughts were anything but.

His gaze shifted to you, lying peacefully next to him, your breathing soft and even. You looked so small, so fragile, and it hit him all over again just how much had changed in the span of a few hours. The life growing inside you was a reality he couldn’t ignore anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. He watched you, his heart heavy with a mix of fear, guilt, and something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—hope.

The thought of becoming a father again terrified him. After Sarah, after everything he had lost, he didn’t know if he could survive that kind of pain again. But here you were, carrying his child, and it was as if the world was asking him to take that risk all over again. He didn’t know if he had it in him, but as he watched you sleep, so peaceful and trusting, he realized that you were counting on him.

Joel stayed awake through the night, his thoughts swirling with memories of Sarah, the life he had lost, and the uncertain future ahead. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harshness of the world outside, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to protect you both from the dangers that lay ahead. The weight of responsibility felt crushing, yet he knew he couldn’t turn away—not now, not ever.

As the first light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the curtains, Joel’s exhaustion finally began to catch up with him. His eyes grew heavy, and despite his best efforts, he drifted into a restless sleep, his arm still draped protectively over you.

When he finally woke, the apartment was filled with the pale light of early morning. He blinked groggily, his mind still clouded with sleep, but something felt off. The warmth of your body beside him was gone. He reached out, his hand finding only the empty space where you had been.

Panic flared in his chest as he sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the room. The bed was cold where you had lain, and the room was eerily silent. “Where the hell are you?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair as he forced himself out of bed.

His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the small apartment, calling your name, but there was no answer. The sense of dread he had felt the night before came rushing back, stronger than ever. He knew you couldn’t have gone far, but the thought of you out there alone, especially in your condition, made his stomach twist with worry.

Joel threw on his jacket, his movements frantic as he prepared to leave and search for you. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you, not when he had just realized how much he needed you. As he headed for the door, he stopped short, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to think. You were strong, capable—he knew that. But still, the protective urge in him screamed to find you, to bring you back and keep you safe.

With one last glance around the empty apartment, Joel stepped outside, his mind racing as he tried to figure out where you might have gone. He couldn’t lose you—not now, not ever.

Joel knew you had a habit of going to certain places when you needed space—when you needed to clear your head. He made his way through the maze of streets, his mind fixated on finding you. As he walked, his thoughts spiraled. What if you were angry enough to leave the QZ? What if you’d decided you didn’t want to face him again? The guilt from the night before weighed heavily on him, and the fear that he’d pushed you away was overwhelming.

He headed towards a small, secluded spot behind one of the less-used buildings—a place you often went when you needed to be alone. It was out of sight from most people, offering a rare bit of privacy in the crowded QZ. As he turned the corner, his breath caught in his throat. There you were, sitting on an old, crumbling bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Relief washed over him, so intense it almost brought him to his knees. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the sight of you. You looked small and lost, your shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world had finally settled on them. But you were safe. You were here. That was all that mattered.

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle you. The crunch of gravel under his boots made you look up, your eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in your gaze—fear, uncertainty, and something that looked like regret—hit him like a punch to the gut.

Joel stopped a few feet away, unsure of what to say, how to bridge the gap that had opened between you. His mouth opened, but no words came out. What could he possibly say to make this better? To fix the hurt he had caused?

“I didn’t mean to leave,” you finally said, your voice small and fragile. “I just…needed to think.”

Joel nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I get it,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. He took a cautious step closer, wanting to reach out, but unsure if you wanted him to. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let you leave like that.”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not your fault. I just—” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your eyes, frustration evident in the gesture. “I don’t know how to deal with all of this. It’s too much, Joel. Everything is too much.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Joel crouched down in front of you, his hand still on your shoulder, his gaze locked onto yours. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he said softly.

“There isn’t a place for raising a baby.” You spoke, looking down at your hands, the thoughts swirling in your mind too overwhelming to express. “Lydia could help me,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “She could help me…terminate it.”

Joel’s reaction was immediate, his voice hard and unyielding. “No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, and he saw you flinch. He softened his tone, but the resolve remained. “We’re not doing that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. “But, Joel, what if—” you began, but he cut you off.

“I said no,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “We’re not ending this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. “But I’m scared, Joel,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “What if we can’t do this? What if it’s too much?”

Joel crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll do it together. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

You clung to him, the fear and uncertainty still gnawing at you, but for the first time since you’d found out, you felt a small measure of comfort. Joel wasn’t backing down, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“I love you and I won’t leave you alone, baby” he whispered, kissing your lips.

Joel’s words wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of your fears. You clung to him, your grip tight but gentle, as if you were afraid, he might disappear again. The warmth of his embrace, the sincerity in his voice, and the tenderness of his kiss were all anchors in the storm that had been swirling inside you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. You could feel the tears drying on your cheeks, replaced by a sense of tentative hope. The weight of your worries didn’t vanish, but Joel’s presence made them seem a little more manageable.

Joel gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “We’re gonna get through this,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how, but we will. We’re a team. We’ve faced worse before.”

You nodded, finding strength in his conviction. “Okay,” you murmured, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “I’ll try to believe that.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promised. “But right now, my focus is taking care of you and the baby.”

Hours later, the apartment was quiet once again, save for the soft hum of a generator and the occasional creak of the building settling into its nightly stillness. You had managed to distract yourself with small tasks around the apartment, trying to keep your mind occupied and calm. The weight of the conversation with Joel still lingered, but his earlier reassurance had brought a sense of calm you hadn't expected.

You were in the middle of organizing some supplies when you heard the front door open. The sound of footsteps followed, and a few moments later, Joel's voice cut through the quiet. It was a familiar, comforting sound, but this time, it was tinged with an edge of frustration.

“You think this is a joke?” Joel’s voice was sharp, and you could hear the anger in his tone.

You quickly moved toward the front of the apartment, concern etching across your face. When you reached the living area, you saw Joel standing in the doorway, his face set in a hard line. Beside him stood a teenager—a girl who looked no older than sixteen. Her clothes were ragged, and she had a wary, defensive posture.

The girl’s eyes flickered between you and Joel, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. Joel’s anger was palpable, and it was clear that the situation was tense.

“Joel, what’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though you felt a pang of anxiety at the sight of the girl and the intensity of Joel’s demeanor.

Joel's eyes shifted to you, the anger in them still evident but now mixed with a hint of exhaustion. “She’s got a name,” he said, gesturing toward the girl. “Her name’s Ellie.”

Ellie looked up at you, her eyes wary but hopeful. Joel’s expression softened slightly as he continued, “Turns out she’s supposed to be delivered to the Fireflies.

You glanced at Joel, understanding dawning. “You’re going to take her to them,” you said, looking back at Ellie. “And you’ll have the chance to find Tommy along the way.”

Joel nodded, a hint of resignation in his stance. “Yeah, that’s the deal,” he said.

“But what about—”

Joel cut you off gently. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We need to leave now. There’s an opportunity for us to get out of the QZ and head to a place where things might be better. But it means we have to move fast.”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Joel. “I don’t want to be a problem,” she said quietly. “If it’s too much—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not sure what to do. I mean, this is all so sudden.”

Joel stepped closer, his expression earnest. “We don’t have much time. We need to move quickly before things get worse. I know it’s hard, but this is our chance to get out of here. To find some place where we can start over.”

You looked at Joel, the weight of his words sinking in. “And what about the baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “How will we—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Joel said firmly. “We have to. There’s no time to waste. This is our chance to make a new life, to give the baby a better chance.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation. “Alright,” you said finally, nodding. “I’ll do it. We’ll go. Just… let’s make sure we’re ready.”

Joel’s face softened with relief, and he gave a nod. “Good. Tess will be back soon. We need to pack up and get out before anyone notices we’re gone.”

As you hurriedly packed, a thought clawed at the back of your mind, growing louder and louder until it burst out of you in a shaky whisper. "But I’ll be a burden," you said, your voice breaking. "I’ll slow you down, Joel. You know it."

Joel stopped what he was doing, turning to face you. "No," he said firmly, the word cutting through the tense air like a knife. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. There was a fierce intensity in his gaze, something raw and unwavering.

"You’re not a burden," he insisted, his voice low and filled with emotion. "You're the reason I wake up every day. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you, baby. Without you… without you, nothing makes sense anymore."

Your breath hitched, and tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, his words breaking down the walls you had built around your fears. Joel’s hands trembled slightly as he continued, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"So, if this is the chance I have to give you a life you deserve in this shithole," he went on, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "then I’ll take it. I’ll take you with me and give it to you and our baby. I promise you, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re both safe. I won’t lose you. Not now, not ever."

You could feel his sincerity, the depth of his determination to protect you and the life growing inside you. You felt a wave of emotions crashing over you—fear, relief, hope, and love, all swirling together. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, letting his words sink in.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for any of this."

His grip on your face tightened just a bit, his gaze never wavering. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But we’ll figure it out. We’ve faced worse, and we’re still standing. We’ll get through this. Together."

You nodded slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "I’m not letting you go," he murmured.

Ellie stood by the door, her arms crossed, an incredulous look on her face. "Are you seriously risking your pregnant girlfriend?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. She looked between the two of you, clearly struggling to understand the situation.

Joel turned his head, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features, but he kept his voice calm. "It's not that simple, kid."

Ellie scoffed. "Seems pretty simple to me," she shot back. "You're dragging her and… whatever's in there—" she gestured vaguely toward your stomach, "—through god knows what to get me to the Fireflies. What if something happens?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward to meet Ellie’s eyes. "I know what I'm getting into," you said firmly. "I can take care of myself."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and what if you can't? I mean, what if you get sick or something? What if you get hurt?" Her voice softened, just a bit, the worry evident. "It’s not just about you anymore."

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He turned to Ellie; his tone more measured. "I get it, Ellie," he said. "But leaving her here… leaving her in this place… that’s not an option either."

Ellie threw her hands up. "Great, so it’s a lose-lose situation."

You couldn’t help but let out a small, dry laugh. "Pretty much," you said, trying to inject some lightness into the tension-filled room.

There was a beat of silence, the reality of the situation settling over everyone. Joel reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "We’ll figure it out," he murmured, more to you than anyone else.

Within a short time, Tess arrived, and the group of you prepared to leave the apartment, stepping out into the uncertain world beyond the QZ. The prospect of escaping to a new place, combined with the responsibility of ensuring the safety of both Ellie and your unborn child, loomed over you.

Joel led the way, his eyes scanning the area as you followed, Ellie close behind. The journey ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a new beginning.

As you stepped out of the QZ and into the unfamiliar landscape beyond, the weight of your situation pressed heavily on you. The world outside was a mix of desolate ruins and overgrown wilderness, a stark contrast to the relative safety of the quarantine zone. With each step, you could feel the gravity of the journey ahead, not just for yourself, but for your unborn child and Ellie, who now looked up to you as a beacon of hope and guidance.

Joel walked beside you, his presence a constant reassurance in the chaos. He kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, his hand occasionally reaching out to make sure you were close. Tess, ever practical, moved ahead, scouting the path and ensuring that it was as safe as possible.

Ellie followed behind, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. The harsh reality of the world outside the QZ was a stark contrast to the relative safety she’d known, and she looked to you and Joel for guidance and protection.

The landscape seemed to stretch endlessly, with the occasional remnants of civilization scattered among the ruins. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential threats and unknown challenges. Yet, with Joel’s hand firmly grasping yours and Tess leading the way, you found a small measure of comfort in the unity of your group.

As you walked, Joel glanced at you occasionally, his gaze softening when he saw the lump forming in your throat.

With each step you took away from the QZ, you felt a mixture of trepidation and hope. The future was uncertain, and the dangers were real, but you were determined to face them head-on, for yourself, for your child, and for the family you were trying to protect.

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seethesunny · 1 year ago

Text

Y'ALL IT'S FINALLY HEREEEE ❤️❤️❤️❤️

- The shark tooth settled at the edge of her shirt collar. He wouldn’t do shit. Every few seconds Joel flicked his eyes up, his gaze growing sharper, his mouth a set line. Finally, he stopped looking, instead scowling into the fire.

Commission for @adhdprincess 🧡

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discodinosaur · 5 months ago

Text

➳ homegrown

Summary: It takes three games of darts for you to win your bet against Joel. After much grumbling and cursing you out he agrees to play at the open-mic night. Perhaps this might be the right time to act on your feelings.

Note: I've had this idea for months and finally had some time to get it written. I've checked this over so many times but I'm bound to have missed something. - Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡ - link to the song Joel sings. I love this song and just thought it kinda fit.

You didn’t expect the bar to be this packed.

But in hindsight – yeah, you should have. Not only is it open mic night at the bar but it’s also a Friday, meaning traffic had be awful. So yeah, you should’ve been more prepared.

You had promised Joel ages ago that you would be here for this. ‘I always thought about singin’’, he’d told you one night. An idea, a bet and three darts games later you turn to him with a glint in your eye, asking for your win to be see him play at the open mic night. He’d griped about it, cursed you out multiple times under his breath while Tommy had laughed, and then, with some reluctance, agreed. But only if you were there to watch.

Like you’d say not to that. You two of you had been dancing on the ‘will they, won’t they’ iceberg for months. You weren’t even sure if Joel felt that way about you. Even with the lingering touches, the flirtations between the two of you, you didn’t know if it was all just in your own head.

So here you are. If only you could see or find your friends. Being a head shorter than most people in front of you isn’t helping, you can barely see the stage let alone the table where your friends are. The woman behind the bar you can barely hear over the group of raucous men next to you, repeating yourself four times before she hears you, giving the men a sidelong look as she gets you a lemonade.

Just as you grab your glass there’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn, ready to tell the next guy to at least wait a second. But the words die on your tongue and you let out a relieved sigh at Tommy’s familiar face. You squeeze through the gap, the loud group of men guffawing again and you wince as the sound goes right through you.

“There y’are!” he exclaims, his hand grabbing yours to guide you through the crowd. You sidle past more groups of people, the crowd thinning the further away from the bar you get. Lemonade spills over the top of your glass, pooling in the gaps of your fingers as you get led over to a small corner booth.

You greet Maria who gives you a half hug and you raise your glass over to Tess and Frank, the two deep in conversation. You slide into the seat that’s been saved for you between Joel and Tommy, your eyes falling on Bill, who even with his eyes closed looks like he’s ready to leave this place already.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you and you turn, your eyes raking over him. Well-worn jeans and a green shirt. Classic Joel. His hair sticking up in different directions from where he’s ran his hand through it one too many times and his eyes burn into yours as you meet his gaze.

You can’t help it, your eyes drop to his lips and then back to his face. His hand wrapped around his beer, bringing it to his lips, seemingly having missed your fleeting look.

You okay? He mouths around the bottle and you nod quickly, the knuckle of your thumb coming to your mouth to lick off the remaining lemonade. You turn your head to Tommy, missing the way Joel’s throat bobs as he watches your lips.

“I can’t believe you got him to do this,” Tommy says to you, knocking his knee with yours, a glance in his brother’s direction.

You smile, watching for a moment as he takes a sip of his scotch, ice-clinking gently together.

“Beginner’s luck. I’m terrible at darts but somehow beat him three times,” you shrug, hiding your grin with your hand.

Tommy laughs, his head tilting back as his shoulders shake. It’s infectious and you find yourself smiling, leaning into him for a moment, a quiet laugh escaping you. As you look up, you catch Joel’s expression – a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. This time you ignore it as Tommy erupts into another round of laughter at an offhand comment from Maria you don’t quite hear.

Instead, you watch Joel even after he’s turned away, arm slung over the back of his chair, body twisting in his seat as one of the employees approaches him, gesturing to the stage. Joel points down to the floor and your eyes follow, your heart fluttering when you see his guitar case.

You chance another look at him, the overhead lighting catching on the silver in his hair, shadowing his face. He’s not looking towards you, engrossed in something with Tess and Bill so you take the opportunity to just look.

You start to think. Think about how close you two have been to a ‘moment’ only for it to be shattered seconds later. How Joel knows you inside out, back to front, better than you know yourself, like a missing limb.

You’ve never confessed out loud to anyone, not even Tommy. God, even just thinking about his teasing is enough to put you off. He would never let you live it down. It’s enough that he has this weird look on his face whenever you and Joel get a little too close like he knows he’s interrupted something.

You take a sip of your lemonade, blinking away from Joel only to catch Frank’s eye. You might not have told Tommy but Frank doesn’t miss a thing. He definitely knows, even if he’s never explicitly told you, you just know that he knows. He looks between you and Joel and raises an eyebrow at you as if asking ‘will you finally tell him?’

You shake your head the tiniest amount and glance at Joel again, finding him already watching you. His eyes flash with something. Nerves, probably, you think. It’s almost showtime.

The lights dim, dousing the room in an intimate shadowy light again and Frank stands moving around the table, a warm hand on your shoulder, a murmur of ‘what drink?’ but you lift your still-full glass and he nods, squeezing your shoulder before leaning down in your peripheral to ask Maria the same question.

Joel also gets to feet with a loud, exaggerated sigh in your direction and you don’t even hide the smile that creeps onto your face. He picks up his guitar case and spares you one last glance. “Guess that’s m’cue,” he mutters.

Tommy raises his glass, toasting his retreating back you huff with a laugh, raising yours as the rest of the table follows suit. You clink your glass with Tommy’s and take a long drink, doing anything but looking at Joel preparing himself.

The same guy from earlier steps onto the little makeshift stage, tapping the microphone already to get everyone’s attention and introduces Joel. You don’t hide the soft smile on your face as Joel dithers in the background, guitar strap over his shoulder as he leans in to hear whatever he’s strumming.

The guy gestures to the seat for Joel, adjusting the microphone for him. Joel looks over at your table, meeting your eyes for the briefest of seconds and then he’s clasping the fretboard, closing his eyes.

“Would you calm ya leg? Tommy whispers in your ear, hand on knee where you’ve been subconsciously jiggling your leg in anticipation.

“No,” you reply, batting his hand away and clutching your glass tight in your hands, the condensation cooling your clammy palms.

Joel gives a quick hello, tells everyone else why he’s up there, nods over to your table and then his fingers find their chord and he starts with a slow gentle melody.

“I got a piece of land out in the countryside

Lay back and smell the sun, warm up the Georgia pine

Been so good to me, takin' it easy…”

From the first lyrics, you shake your head in disbelief. Fucker. Of course he plays this one. Whenever Joel plays for you, you always request it but this time it’s slower, like every word is being carved just for you. This time, his voice goes right through you, a juxtaposition of mellow and rough around the edges.

His eyes find you as he sings the chorus and your breathing hitches. You find that you can’t look away from him – illuminated by the orangey light they have on the stage like a halo.

“I got some good friends that live down the street

Got a good lookin’ woman with her arms ‘round me

Live in a small town where it feels like home

I got everything I need, and nothin’ that I don’t….”

Fuck.

His voice has always made you weak, but now, amplified by the mic and the intensity of his stare, you are just about putty. Strands of his wavy hair fall into his face when he finally looks away from you down at the guitar and you shift in your seat.

You really need to do something about this crush of yours.

He sings the last part of the chorus for the final time and your eyes drop to his hands – those fucking hands on his guitar, fingering the fretboard and you look up. You can’t look away until the lights go down around him.

Everyone around you erupts into applause and you blink away, coming back to your surroundings, joining in and clearing your throat, lost in the noise of appreciation for Joel.

“Felt like I was intrudin’ on somethin’ towards the end there,” Tommy murmurs in your ear and nudges your knee with his again. You tense your shoulders, heart lurching in your chest, a twist in your stomach.

“Not that I know what you’re talking about but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

He scoffs quietly and shakes his head, “C’mon, the way you were lookin’ at each other,” he mutters, catching your questioning expression and smirks, “Christ, you didn’t even know I caught you lookin’.”

A reply is on your tongue but luckily for Tommy, Maria pulls him along with her towards the bar and you watch them leave, stewing on your thoughts because he was right. You had been completely unaware of anything going on around you while Joel had sung.

You glance around your table. Bill’s eyes are closed, leaning back against the seat, head lolling onto Frank’s shoulder while his other half is in a heated debate with Tess. You could get involved but you take the moment to try and gather your racing thoughts.

Until –

“Jesus, I ain’t ever doin’ that again,” Joel sighs as he slides into the chair beside you, guitar propped against the table next to him. Even with your stomach in knots and a hummingbird in your chest, Joel’s presence is something you need to calm you.

“Best you don’t lose a bet to me again,” you tease, plastering a smile on your face and he groans, pulling his chair in. You reach out to his arm, your smile becoming genuine, “You were good, Joel. Really good.”

“Yeah, well. You’re welcome,” he murmurs, leaning in close to you. His hand reaches out for your glass, fingers smearing the condensation. You meet his eyes as he brings the glass to his lips, taking a long sip of your lemonade, his eyes never leaving yours.

You shiver, a wave of desire coursing through you. And for the second time tonight, you’re transfixed by his eyes. But this is just another dance you two do around each other. He then tilts his head back, downing the rest of your drink, his throat bobbing obscenely and you stand, suddenly too hot.

“I need another drink,” you say quickly, swallowing hard and brushing past Joel as quickly as you can. The crowd has thinned out a little by now but the bar is still crowded with the regulars and you squeeze into a gap, nodding to a couple of the older guys you recognise.

The barman holds his fingers up, silently asking you to give him a minute and you nod, grateful for the reprieve. You let out a much-needed sigh, closing your eyes for a moment and composing yourself – Or at least trying to. The barman comes up and you lean on the sticky counter, asking for another lemonade with extra ice. You fumble your phone out of your pocket, getting ready to pay when you freeze in place at the sound of a very familiar voice.

“Have you actually told her yet?” Frank’s soft voice says to your left, the other side of the older guys and you swallow hard. “Or are you still beating around the bush about it?”

“It’s hard, Frank,” you hear the sigh in Joel’s voice. “Her and Tommy are fuckin’ inseparable, you know how they are.”

You strain to try and hear the rest of it – your heart fluttering in your chest, a knot forming in your stomach.

“Thick as thieves, yeah. But you could argue you and her are close, just in a different way. You know her, Joel. But you’ve gotta tell her soon. You know what Tommy’s like, loves to play matchmaker.”

You’ve heard enough and quickly pay, thanking the barman before scurrying back to your table. You squeeze between Bill and Tess, the former grunting at you before closing his eyes again.

It takes you a moment in your seat before you’re internally freaking out because Joel seemingly has a thing for you too – what the fuck?

You pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s glaring headlights flashing at you twice before he turns off down the road. You shut the radio off and cut the engine, turning in your seat to look at Joel.

“Want to come in for some cards? Maybe a coffee? Night’s still young after all.”

It manages to pull a laugh from you and you duck your head with a fond smile. It’s an easy question, even if the overheard conversation between him and Frank has been on your mind since you heard them.

“Sure.”

Even in the shadowy light of your car, you can still make out that grin of his and he nods once, getting out of the car without another word. You mirror him and smile to yourself before giving yourself a little shake and following him inside.

Joel’s home always feels warm.

Helped by the yellow glow of the lamps and the olive green walls reflecting on the warm wood flooring. You kick off your shoes, following Joel through to the kitchen where he’s already got the coffee going. You lean against the counter, watching the muscles in his shoulders ripple under his shirt as he leans up for some mugs.

“What?” he asks, catching your look with a grin.

You shake your head, “Nothing, just thinking about my next winning bet.”

Joel’s chuckle goes right through you, his expression soft as he looks over at you, “Nuh-uh, darlin’. You ain’t doin’ that to me again.”

He continues to look at you for a moment and squints at you, “And why you standing so far away from me, c’mere.”

You feel the blush rise on your cheeks and you scoot closer to him. Close enough that you can smell his aftershave. Close enough that you could easily lean your head on his shoulder like he could put an arm around your waist, kiss the side of your head –

“Better?” You ask dryly, pulling yourself out of your own wishful thoughts.

“Much.”

The hummingbird rears its head in full force once again.

“And that’s that,” Joel murmurs, slapping his hand of cards on the table. You kiss your teeth and sigh, showing him your cards left – two threes, a four and a seven. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Which leaves me to believe that you owe me a bet.”

You take a sip of your now lukewarm coffee, suddenly feeling a wave of trepidation and nerves come over you. “Oh really? And what do you want to win?”

Joel runs his tongue over his top lip, leaning in on his elbows with the ghost of a smirk. “Y’know, I think I want a kiss.”

You baulk, gripping your coffee mug tight between your clammy palms. Surely you had misheard, right? Joel didn’t say kiss. You clear your throat, opening and closing your mouth before you answer. “You… what? You want a kiss from me?”

“No, a kiss from fuckin’ Santa.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and instead mirror his movements, leaning on the table, keeping your voice steady. As much as you’re in shock, you can’t not tease him a little bit.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

It’s Joel’s turn to clear his throat, meeting your eyes, “Then we pretend this didn’t happen and I ask you instead to buy dinner next time we’re out.”

You laugh, a breathy sound coming out of your mouth and blink slowly, “Right, right. Which means I’ll also have to pay for Tommy too.”

Joel groans, leaning back in his hair, and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, you’re so invested in fuckin’ Tommy that you can’t see that there’s plenty of other people that wanna spend time with ya.”

You frown, also leaning back in your chair. “Hey, I spend plenty with you,” you say with a small shrug of your shoulders.

Joel sighs again and rolls his eyes, “You know that ain’t what I meant.”

You grin, folding your arms across your chest as you lean back further on the chair, pushing it up onto two legs. “Yeah? I think I know what you meant. I heard Frank at the bat.”

Joel narrows his eyes and you applaud yourself for the bravery, unsure of where it’s coming from so quickly. You can see the wheels turn in his mind.

“Frank? What the fuck has Frank got–” his eyes widen as it clicks. “Oh. You heard that, huh?”

You wet your lips and nod slowly, putting on your best Frank voice, “Have you actually told her yet?” Tommy loves to play matchmaker.”

Joel just stares at you, one eyebrow slightly raised and you carry on back in your normal voice, fit to burst:

“Well, Tommy has tried to set me up on dates and guess what? Every time I told him no. Call it stupid but all I wanted to do is go on a proper date. With you.”

You admit the last part quietly and the confession hangs heavy and thick in the air.

Joel is quiet for a moment, his expression the same as it was. But then he exhales slowly. Panic fills you, wondering if you’ve overstepped, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter –

“Say it again,” he says quietly, he breathes, fingers on the back of your hand. “That last part.”

Your chair falls forward onto all four legs, the sound too loud in the silent kitchen and you take a breath, “All I’ve wanted is to go on a proper date with you.”

Joel’s on you in a flash, lips meeting yours, one hand cradling your cheek. But one kiss isn’t enough for either of you, as soon as he parts from you to breathe, he steals another and another and another from you.

“Joel,” you murmur and he grunts, moving your lips to trail a hot line of fire down over your jaw and down your neck.

“Yeah, baby? Do you want this?”

You nod against his shoulder, breathily heavily against his neck, your fingers finding purchase in his belt loops. “You know I do.”

“Need t’hear you say it proper,” he croaks, pulling back to look at your face, drawing a quiet whine from you.

“I want you, Joel.”

“Let’s go upstairs, baby. I ain’t having my first time with you on the fucking dining table.”

Joel stands, his knees clicking as he does and you fight back the jab on your tongue but of course, he notices it anyway and kisses you to silence it.

“Up,” he breathes against your lips and you stand, following him up to his room.

His room is the same as it always is, cluttered and just that little bit messy. He keeps the door open and follows you back towards the bed, your hand reaching out for him and then he’s kneeling over you, lips finding yours again.

“Fuckin’ months I’ve been wanting this,” he rasps, “Daren’t do a fuckin’ thing about it.”

“Why? You should’ve.”

He huffs a laugh and noses at your cheek, “Yeah. I know that now. But because of my fuckin’ brother. Wasn’t sure how you felt but knew that he would find the whole thing hilarious. Couldn’t humiliate myself in front o’him again.”

You rear back, carding your fingers in his messy hair, twisting it between your fingers. “Funny thing is, I couldn’t talk to Tommy about anything either. I think he knew I was crushin’ on you but I could never outright tell him. Frank knew though. But it looks like we were just oblivious to each other.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

You smile softly at him, your hands moving from his hair down his back, feeling the muscle there, to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He reads you like a book and pulls it off, leaning over you to click the bedside lamp and you rake your eyes over him.

Even in the lamplight, he’s so fucking hot.

He cradles your cheek in his large hand and leans closer, pressing his soft lips to yours. You respond instantly and his hand moves lower, thick fingers flexing on your neck and you gasp, lifting your hips at the touch. He’s not even choking you properly and you’re reactive to every single touch.

“Fuck,” he swears gruffly, “You like that, don’t you?”

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice soft and breathy. You lift your hips towards him against his already hard cock trapped in his jeans, desperate for some kind of friction against you. You want to feel him in your hands, want to watch how he reacts to your touch.

“I know, baby, I know. Let me take care of you.”

You swallow thickly and you sit up properly, pulling your shirt off your head and throwing it to the side. You can feel Joel’s eyes raking over you and you don’t hide yourself away. Your hands cover his as he places his palms on your stomach dragging them up over to cup your breasts through your bra, eliciting a shiver from you.

He leans in, his beard scratching over your delicate skin as he peppers more kisses over your shoulder while his hands reach around you, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. It takes him a moment – his lips pausing on your collarbone in concentration.

“Hate these things, how can you even take ‘em off smoothly,” he mutters as you feel it come undone. You hear it hit the floor and then feel his fingers tracing idle patterns over the swell of your breast.

“Try wearing it every day, you’ll get there then,” you reply in a hushed tone, nudging his cheek with your nose, finding his lips and sliding your tongue along his lips.��

He moans into the kiss, hands palming properly over your breasts, thumbs circling your erect nipples, stealing another breathy whine from you, your back arching into his hands and you’re gone, completely putty in his hands.

“Fuck,” you grunt as he tugs on a nipple. Joel smirks, wetting his lips and taking the hard bud into his mouth. You squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, fingers tangling in the back of his hair, twisting the strands at the nape of his neck.“Joel.”

He nips his teeth on your nipple and you gasp, eyes closing as his tongue swirls a hot, wet circle and pulls away, moving to your other nipple while the cool air on your sensitive bud sends a ripple of desire through you.

But Joel doesn’t stop.

Once he’s finished giving the other nipple some attention, he presses you down onto the mattress and continues to kiss open-mouthed over your ribcage, over your stomach down to between your thighs.

His hands grasp the backs of your legs, dragging you down the bed so he can kneel on the floor. One hand moves to undo the button of your jeans, the drag of the zip and you lift your hips as he pulls them off you one leg at a time.

“Will you let me taste you, baby? It’s all I can think about,” he says, hands coming to hold your ankles and you find yourself digging your fingers into the mattress, needing something to ground you.

“Please. I’m yours, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ right you are,” he growls, a burning hot kiss just above the waistband of your panties. He takes his time, kissing up each of your legs and your heart leaps in your chest. God, this man will ruin you.

He keeps your legs apart as he drags his lips up your inner thighs, nosing against your damp panties and your fingers tighten on the sheet, a gasp leaving you at the tiniest amount of friction.

“Christ, you’re soaked. This is what you’ve been keeping from me?”

“Joel,” you splutter, craving the sweet friction against your clit.

“How long you been this wet for?” he asks, slowly peeling your panties from you, tossing them to join your other clothes. “Since the bar?”

“Since… since –fuck – since you were singing.”

Joel smiles against you, the tips of his fingers trailing feather light over your seam, gathering the wetness there.

“Like the song, did ya?”

Another whine leaves you as the heat from his hand is back on your thigh and finally, finally, he gives you something. His nose parts your folds, tongue flattening as he gets his first taste of you and a low moan rumbles through him.

Your head falls back against the pillow, one hand finding his hair, fingers curling into his soft strands. Struggling to keep your eyes open as the pleasure melts through you because holy fuck this man is good at eating you out.

Joel isn’t exactly quiet – he doesn’t hide the sound of his grunts or the sloppy licks and sucks as he eats you out. You tilt your head down, watching him as he presses himself closer, opening your thighs wider, burying his face there.

He picks up on what makes you moan or whimper. He likes to alternate, going back to the broad long licks over your clit that have you writhing beneath him.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, an obscene wet sound as he laps over your clit, “Can’t believe I’ve let it go on this long without tasting ya.”

You chance down another look at him, the glow from the lamp catching on his grey strands that are scrunched in your fist and you give an experimental tug, making him moan louder – the vibrations going through you.

There’s a warm pooling in your stomach as your orgasm fast approaches. Between the obscene sound of Joel devouring you and the way his tongue flicks over you just right you know it won’t be long. You slowly start to rock your hips in time with his tongue, grinding against him.

Your back arches as you try and hold onto that feeling, not wanting this to be over but you know you won’t win, not this time.

“Joel,” you gasp, tightening your hold in his hair as you feel the white-hot pleasure flooding through you.

“That’s it, I’ve got you, atta girl,” he grunts against you, holding your thighs tightly as you wriggle in his grasp.

“Fuck–Joel.”

You writhe under him, your thighs clenching around his head as you come. Your head hits the pillow with soft cries, your hand tugging at the threads of his hair as you ride out the high of your climax. Joel works you through it, groaning into your cunt as he laps at the mess you make.

He rests his head on your thigh and once you’ve caught your breath you lean up on your elbow to get a look at him, shiny lips and chin, dark eyes blown wide with lust and you flop down onto the bed again.

Then you feel his fingers caressing over you, thumb on your clit massaging small circles and you moan breathlessly as he opens you up. One thick finger sliding in your wetness and stretching you open.

“Joel,” you breathe, letting out a sigh. “Jesus Christ.”

“Too much?” he murmurs against your skin, resting his head on your thigh.

“No, no, not enough–”

Your eyes roll back as his finger curls and you jolt, gasping for breath. “Fuck!”

You’ve just come and this man is unrelenting, taking his time to tear you apart piece by piece.

“Loved seeing you come for me,” he murmurs, pressing small kisses to wherever his lips reach. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.”

He adds a second, stretching you open and you whimper as he deliciously rubs against your soft walls. You rut against his hand, pushing his fingers deeper and deeper –

“Right there.”

“Yeah, sweetheart? Is that it?”

You nod desperately and he encourages you to keep rutting against him, working up your second orgasm. You feel it, wanting more and more of him. Whatever he’ll give you, you’ll eagerly take.

“Fuckin’ love lookin’ at ya,” he mutters, his eyes droopy and half-lidded. Your lips are slick with saliva and parted, chest heaving and another warm heat coiling in the pit of your stomach again.

“You gonna come again for me?”

His thumb flicks over your clit, smearing the slick of your arousal and paying attention to the bundle of nerves. You nod, another whimper catching in your throat as you feel it crescendo over you.

“Oh fuck!”

Your second orgasm of the night rips through you. This time, Joel kisses you through it and you can taste yourself on his tongue. It’s overwhelming and as his hand slows, pulling out of you carefully.

“Christ,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to look you over. “Think you have one more in you for me?”

You nod, raking a hand through your hair. “I just need a second,” you laugh breathlessly.

Joel hovers over you, hands running up and down your sides as you catch your breath and then you slowly lean up on an elbow, your other hand cupping his cheek.

“C’mere, Texas. You have too many clothes on.”

You kneel next to him. Now it’s your turn to take your time with him, take him apart piece by piece. Joel’s throat bobs and he lays down beside you and you sit over his thigh. You push your hair that’s falling into your face behind your ear and press a kiss to his pulse point on his neck, testing the waters.

He sighs, turning his head to the side and you take the invitation to suckle a sweet pink mark onto the hollow of his throat. Your tongue darts out to soothe the mark as you work down. You reach his collarbones, your fingertips dancing over the smattering of dark hair on his chest.

Joel’s breathing is shaky and you trace over his body until you get to the waistband of his boxers and look up at him.

He’s already watching you, eyes fixed on yours and he nods once. You shift between his thighs to pull them off and he kicks them off impatiently. For a moment you just gaze at him, taking in the size of his hard, leaking cock already beading with pre-cum.

The sound Joel makes when you wrap your hand around him will stick with you on your lonely nights at home. His eyelids flutter, slick lips parting in a wanton sound between a moan and a sigh as you slowly stroke him.

You take your time, feeling the heavy weight of him in your hand as he gather the pre-come, using your thumb to coat the tip. You want him in your mouth, your mouth already watering just at the thought.

Joel’s sounds are enticing, pulling you in. You shift again, tilting your head to take just the tip into your mouth, unable to resist.

You can’t help but moan around him, your lips stretching around the swollen head of his cock. You hand stroking over the rest of his length –

“Baby,” he murmurs, tugging at your hair.. “Don’t. I’ll come before we even start.”

Your eyes flick over his face bathed in the lamplight and he looks wrecked. Kiss-bitten lips parted, his chest heaving and strands of curling hair falling into his face. You pull off him, moving to lay beside him, waiting for his next move.

He reaches over you, going towards the nightstand and you can’t help yourself. You cup his cheek, titling his head towards you, kissing him again.

When you part from your kiss, he has one knee on either side of your thighs to find a condom in the drawer. He flips the box over and his head falls back with a sigh.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters, closing the drawer with some force, “fucking expired. The fuck does that tell you?”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head at his apparent distress and reach for his wrist, gently tugging him towards you. “Joel. Come here.”

“I can run to the gas station,” he tries, evidently not listening to you and you tug his wrist again, kissing along the thin skin over his veins and over your pulse point.

“Joel,” you say again, sharper than before and he finally looks over at you, his eyes soft and sorrowful but you lean close, kissing his cheek. “Joel,” you whisper in his ear, “I’m on birth control.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since I last tested. Obviously,” he says, gesturing wildly towards the drawer and you laugh again, louder and kiss him, pulling him close.

“I haven’t been with anyone either. Kinda had my eyes on you for a while.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna tell me more about that, sweetheart?” he asks quietly in your ear, making you shiver. “Because I could tell you some things if we’re sharin’.

“Hmm. I used to think about you,” you tell him as you take hold of his wrist again, guiding him to your leaking slit, moaning quietly as he doesn’t hesitate to find your clit again. “Used to fuck myself, used to wish it was you. I had it bad.”

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck, you can’t say things like that.”`

“Sure I can if it gets you over here,” you say, a content smile on your face as he starts to kiss up your neck. You just know you’re going to have a mark tomorrow – people will see that Joel Miller has marked you.

He smiles down at you, lifting your leg as he settles between your thigh, one hand wrapped around his cock as he lines himself up with you. He leans in to murmur in your ear.

“If it hurts, you tell me and we slow down, yeah?”

You swallow hard and nod, “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

Joel hooks two fingers under your chin, looking at you as he pushes into you, just the tip and your eyes widen, mouth parting and one hand clutching his shoulder.

The times you had thought about this, imagined it in your head all those times you needed to make yourself come, it doesn’t hold a candle to how he really feels in the flesh. And as he slowly bottoms out inside you, there’s only one word to describe how you feel is full. You feel so full and –

“Stop that,” he croaks desperately, forehead falling onto yours. “Jesus.”

“What?”

“You—you keep clenchin’, gonna fucking make me come before I even get started.”

Oh.

He presses you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as his hips roll at a tortuously slow pace. Joel’s thick and each thrust is dizzying, soft grunts leaving you as he kisses over the marks on your neck.

“Fuck, baby, you feel better than I imagined,” he says against your neck, tilting his head to capture your lips again.

Together your movements become rougher, the way you wrap your legs around his waist, crossed at the ankles as he thrusts deeper into you. The sounds of the headboard thumping against the wall, the mattress creaking and both your heavy breaths and soft sounds fill the room.

You want more of him, want to feel him come apart so you slowly start to meet his thrusts, raising your hips and he notices, of course he notices.

“Up,” he grunts and you obediently lift your hips again. Joel balances on one hand, grabbing a pillow with the other and moving it under your hips. “How’s that?”

He times a perfectly deep thrust with his question and the answer is ripped from you. You moan, low and raspy at the added sensation and your thighs tighten around his waist.

“Please,” you whine quietly, teeth finding his shoulder as he fucks you hard and slow into the mattress.

He noses at your neck, your walls fluttering around him on every thrust. After two orgasms already, you won’t last much longer – as much as you don’t want this to end.

“You're close, ain’t ya?”

With your nod, he slides a hand down between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb, massaging fast and hard circles over it, bringing you closer and closer. Satisfied with your reaction, he fucks you faster, his hips slamming against yours, puffs of breath against your neck.

“Joel, Joel,” you gasp. It’s all too much as you writhe below him and he presses gentle kisses to your neck. “I’m gonna come.”

“I gotcha, come on, baby. Let go.”

Your orgasm wracks through you. It tears through you with some force, his name uttered in breathless gasps, your whole body spent. Your tingly with overstimulation, muscles in your legs twitching. Joel’s thrusts are erratic now, his cock pounding into you and then he swiftly pulls out with a grunt, fisting his cock twice, the hot spill of his come splattering your stomach, a moan right into your ear.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, panting hard in your ear and you wrap your arm around his shoulders, his damp forehead against yours. “You’re a marvel, you know that?”

Even though this man has given you three of your best orgasms, you feel your cheeks heat up at his words and hide your face in his shoulder. He laughs, pressing small, innocent kisses to your temple.

“What? I’m just telling ya the truth.”

His weight moves off you, falling beside you onto the pillow and he grunts, finding his breath again. You turn your head onto the pillow, your eyes are heavy as you hear Joel move around in his room, the sound of a tap running and then the mattress dips beside you again. .

“Stay?” Joel asks you quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed to wipe your thighs and stomach with a warm cloth and you trail your fingers over his arm, nodding gently.

“Like I’d rather be anywhere else,” you murmur, a small smile pulling at your lips. Your three orgasms start to catch with you and you let him clean you up.

He gives you an almost shy smile and you look at him in the lamplight. He moves, tossing the cloth into the laundry basket and digs around in his drawer, pressing a soft shirt into your hands and blinking at him tiredly, a frown forming on your face in confusion.

“To sleep in,” he says, kissing the crease in your forehead.

You nod, pulling it on and it pools around your waist from where you’re sat. It smells like Joel, the cotton soft and well-worn. He slides into bed next to you, clicks off the light and you shuffle back against his chest - something that he easily adapts to by rubbing his hand over your thigh in a gentle caress.

When you wake, the first thing you feel is warmth. Joel’s face tucked into your neck, his beard bristling against you, almost tickling you and his snores are oddly comforting. You managed to move your arm without waking him, curling around his neck to play with the strands of hair as the sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains.

You know the moment Joel wakes up: his hands gently squeeze you, his breathing heavier, and he mumbles against your shoulder, slowly joining the waking world.

“Did I wake you?” you ask him softly. Your fingers curl in his hair at the nape of his neck.

“No,” he mumbles, “C’mere.”

He gently tugs you closer, a warm hand sliding up your side as you settle against him, a small sigh leaving your lips.

His lips find your shoulder, a small kiss planted and another as he trails them up your collarbones, over your throat and finally settles against your lips.

“What a way to wake up. You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice sleep thick and rough. His lips find yours again and again. “Let me make you breakfast.”

“I’d rather you stay right here,” you mumble, basking in his embrace. “At least for another five minutes.”

“You drive a hard bargain, honey,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear and your eyes close, a soft smile on your lips.

Warmth blooms in your chest at the term of endearment and you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Joel tilts his head down and captures yours in a tender, soft kiss. When you part, he’s got a look in his eye that has you tilting your head and you brush your fingertips through his messy, bed-ridden hair.

“I like this,” you comment, smiling as his hair flops back onto his forehead.

“My hair or this?” he asks sleepily, closing his eyes and you can’t help but kiss him again.

“Both.”

Joel’s laugh vibrates against you from where his head is tucked into your shoulder – a low, rough rumble that’s thick with the dregs of sleep. His thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles on your waist and his breathing soon evens out as he falls back asleep.

When you do eventually make it downstairs, Joel goes straight for his coffee machine, leaning up to grab two mugs from the cupboard and you don’t stop yourself from staring at the rippling muscles in his back. You lean against the counter, arms folded across your chest as you just take him in.

He’s gone shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep and from your hands. He doesn’t catch you staring just yet, muttering to himself as the machine beeps at him for water. You could picture this happening more often, and while that thought should terrify you, it’s Joel.

It’s always been Joel.

You wouldn’t dance around anyone like this.

“Here,” he says, eyes glittering with a soft smile and you match his smile, brought out of your thoughts by the smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s fingers linger on your as he passes you the mug of coffee and you can’t help but notice it’s in his owl mug, the one you’ve seen him use so many times before. You don’t know why but it warms your heart that he’s sharing this with you. You smile at him, the morning breeze floating in through the open window.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

#my fics #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #fic: homegrown

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ohraicodoll · 1 day ago

Text

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.

#the last of us #tlou #raicodoll writes #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader

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covetyou · 8 months ago

Text

nothing left to prove

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos, Joel x Tess x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyeurism (consensual and not), cuckolding/cuckquean, unprotected PIV, oral sex (m recieving), masturbation, praise kink, brief spit kink, little bit of choking (as a treat), bisexual reader, asshole Joel, no use of y/n word count: 5.8k summary: Some risks are worth taking.

A/N: this is the last in my planned oneshots for SWAT this month! if you have any uh... 👀 questions, comments or concerns, my ask box is open. I love you all, and thank you so much for welcoming SWAT back with open arms.

title from movement by hozier.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Like most things where Joel was concerned, you're not entirely sure what made you do it.

One minute you were walking down the street - the bustling midday crowd rushing from one job to another, stopping by street vendors if they were lucky enough to have the cards to trade - and the next, you were mindlessly heading in the opposite direction.

It's not like you didn't know not to follow him. He'd warned you before - men in his line of work were always the target of something, and following after him, even acknowledging him in public, made you a target too. It was dangerous, and it was stupid.

Still, you did it anyway.

Without thinking, you had turned and followed, hands tucked into your pockets and collar drawn up over your face in an effort to keep back the bitter chill of wind. There was something too enticing about seeing Joel swagger down the street with someplace he clearly had to be. Something so enticing you couldn't resist. Even from the distance he was rapidly putting between you, you could tell it was him. Your eyes were locked onto his broad frame as it parted the stream of footfall, and his long, heavy strides carried him further and further away from you.

It was a fight, walking upstream through a throng of people going the direction you should've been, but you made it out of the other side and hurried down the sidewalk after him, barely a few minutes behind if your shorter strides were anything to go by.

Out of nowhere, he slinked down an alley, stealthy despite his size. You stalled on the corner of the block once you reached it. In any version of reality you'd been taught to keep away from places like this if you knew what was good for you. Things lurked in the shadows that you didn't want to encounter, and yet, here you were, embodying stupid as you contemplate throwing yourself down a dark alley after a man who was nothing but trouble.

You're still going to do it, of course. Nothing could stop you now, even as you waited with impatient jitters in your hands for an older couple to shuffle past.

Then, the way is clear and you can finally slink down the same alley Joel had turned down not five minutes before. He could have been long gone, of course. That probably would have been for the best.

But he wasn't.

A familiar Texan drawl tells you as much. There's no tinge of threat to it, just casual chat from what you can piece together, so you slip further down the alley and into the shadows. You make careful steps, trying to be silent as you step over rubble, until you reach the mouth of another alley and tuck yourself tight against the wall.

You hear him clearer from here. Whatever he's saying in the darkness sounds positively encouraging, and then you hear the other voice. Softer. More delicate. More breathless too.

Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you finally turn and peek down the alley to see the tall sillhouette of Joel pushing up against the much smaller one of someone else as they're pressed against the wall. He presses forward, and the gasp you hear tells you all you need to know. The rattle of his belt confirms it. Then, with a slow grind of his hips, he keeps on a steady pace as he fucks her right in the alleyway where anyone could watch - you're watching after all.

And you can't tear your eyes away.

The snap of his hips gets quicker, shallower, the longer you stare. His hand had long disappeared around her front, probably to rub tight circles over her clit as you peak around the corner of the alleyway. Her arms move, fists balling tight by her head, opening and flexing, gripping the worn brick as Joel works himself in and out of her from behind.

He's whispering too. No doubt talking filth in her ear, spurring them both on as he thrusts in and out of her wet heat. You're entranced by the muffled sounds of it all - the heavy rustle of his jeans, the soft whimpers, moans, and groans - and soon your core is clenching as you watch with debauched curiousity.

You stand there against the wall, watching, as minute after minute ticks by. And then, the biting wind comes back, this time carrying a high pitched moan towards you, and you try to focus on the shape of her in the darkness as she shakes against the wall, barely keeping herself upright as she comes around Joel's cock.

But, instead of plowing onwards, fucking her until she walks away with him dribbling down her leg, he delicately pulls out. You hear praise mumbled into her hair, where he kisses her, before he turns in your direction to tuck his still-hard cock back into his pants.

Your heart is pounding, you realize, when you throw yourself around the corner to hide from him. He hadn't seen you. Neither of them had. You were sure of it. Then when you hear the murmured sounds of thanks followed by footsteps, you peer back down the alley.

Only to watch as Joel's eyes flick up to yours in the darkness just as his fly zips, and you scurry away knowing you'll pay for whatever this was later.

The note had come through your door before you'd even got home that day. You knew it was from Joel before you even opened it, and when you finally did in the darkness of your room after stuffing it into your pocket so your dad wouldn't see, your heart had practically jumped out of your mouth.

my place. friday. hour before curfew. don't be late.

So, here you were, a little before an hour before curfew in an apartment block across town from yours. Being here was risky - who knows how long you'd be inside - but it was a risk worth taking as far as you were concerned. You didn't even have to knock as you approached his familiar door - it opens as soon as your feet step outside of it to reveal a stern looking Joel Miller.

"Get your ass in."

He doesn't wait for you, doesn't usher you inside or pull at your clothes. He simply moves inside and stands there, back turned, arms across his chest, waiting for you to close yourself into his space.

Whatever you'd expected when you held that note, even going as far as touching yourself thinking about what was to come, the silent treatment never came to mind. Joel didn't do silent - not with you, anyway. He always had something to say and was always ready to make sure you knew it. Now, he was stood there, silent and stoic as ever. You watch the rise and fall of his shoulders for a moment, before an anxious ripple pulls its way through you and you're speaking to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry, I -"

"Y'ain't," Joel says, turning to look at you with a scowl on his face. "Knew exactly what you were doin' - you ain't fuckin' dumb, sweetheart. Or maybe you are, given how fuckin' stupid it is to pull that shit with me."

He steps toward you then, closing the vast distance between you in just a few strides.

"You've been gettin' bold. Bold means stupid, and stupid gets you killed. Now, I don't give a shit how you are with me in here. Out there you don't know me, you don't even look at me, and you sure as fuck don't follow me."

"Am I not allowed to -"

"No," he says simply, and you snap your mouth shut just as Joel pulls open your jacket and peels it off your shoulders, daring you to stop him as he stares daggers into your eyes.

"I didn't mean to -"

"Get caught?" he finishes, raising an eyebrow at you as he tosses your jacket to the side and kicks lightly at your feet to prompt you to take off your boots.

For once, Joel is wrong. Massively, glaringly, wrong. You did mean to get caught. You realized as much the second the smile spread across your face after reading his note. You realized too that you liked more than just the promise of Joel's threat to you when your fantasies of his stern words and rough hands had turned into watching that scene in the alleyway all over again.

And maybe he knows all of that too, because one second you're standing sheepishly in his living room and the next he's pulling you toward him and growling in your ear.

"Couldn't help yourself, could you?"

You shake your head, breathing him in now that he's so close you're practically chest to chest.

"If you wanna watch so fuckin' bad..." he starts as he tugs you further forward, pulling you into him as he steps back and back until you find yourself in his lamplit bedroom.

It's different. Not noticeably, at first, but then you see it.

In the corner is a chair, dragged in from its usual place at Joel's the dining table. There's barely room to walk around it, but Joel hauls you over to it anyway and pushes down on your shoulders.

"You're gonna sit your ass there and watch," he says as your knees buckle and your ass collides with the chair. "Got it?"

Dumbstruck, you blink up at him. You don't know what's happening. You don't know what you're going to be watching, here in this room with no one but you and Joel. There's something very big, and maybe very obvious, that you're missing, but before you can search your brain for the answer, he's pinching your chin and forcing you into an exaggerated nod.

"I said, got it?"

You continue to nod and trail your eyes after Joel as he strolls back out of the room, leaving you perched there on the edge of the seat. You're in half a mind to follow him, but then a knock on the door startles you and you listen out as voices carry through the open doorway.

It's Tess. You're sure of it. You'd only met her twice, but she wasn't exactly a person you forgot easily, and your late-night fantasies certainly wouldn't let it happen either. They spend a few minutes talking while your mind runs away with itself, their soft voices too light for you to hear where you sit, forgotten, in Joel's bedroom.

Their hushed conversation turns to something else as you listen, and the heavy sound of clothing hitting the floor reaches your ears and it's all you can do to keep yourself rooted to the spot. You said you'd sit, sure, but from here you can't watch anything, you can just wait in anticipation as the sounds of groaning and clothing being stripped off gets louder and louder.

You see Joel first. It's impossible not to as he's pushed backwards into the room by Tess, shirtless and belt hangling loose around his waist. And then you see her, clothes seemingly intact and her lips attached to his, hands grappling with his shoulders and scraping red trails down his bare chest until the gasp you were trying to contain slips out from your mouth.

She looks to you, lips swollen and hand steadily trailing back up Joel's chest until it clasps softly around his neck.

"Didn't tell me I'd be sharing," she says, and you watch as she grips the thick column of his throat beneath her deceptively strong fingers.

He swallows, hard, just about stifling a groan. "You ain't. She's stayin' right there. Ain't you?"

With wide eyes, you snap your mouth shut and nod.

"That right? You like watching, pretty girl?" Tess says, her eyebrows high as she leans into Joel, his thick fingers finding her waist.

You nod again, taking them in as they press into each other, and try to bite down the pang of jealousy that creeps through you. It's not that you want them to stop. Not at all. You do want to watch. You've never been more certain of anything. You want to see them, you want to be here as they come apart. You'd give anything to trade places with either of them, too, you think, but mostly, what you want is to slot yourself right between both of them.

Instead, you're stuck here on this fucking chair, uncomfortable and antsy as their hands roam and she tugs down Joel's jeans.

"Likes doin' as she's told, too," he groans, as Tess's hand makes it way down to the front of his boxers and squeezes the lump you'd been desperately trying to avoid looking at.

"Sounds like someone I know."

She laughs. She laughs, and it's all you can do to keep yourself on that fucking chair, not throwing yourself on the floor at their feet and begging that they let you join in. They might even let you, you consider. But you also knew there wouldn't be the same satisfacation in that. You wouldn't be able to savor and hold onto every sound and movement, keeping it locked away in your mind until later, if you were too fucked out and silly with it to know which way was up and which was down. And fuck did you want to watch Joel do all the things to her you wished he'd do to you, the things you wish you could do to her too.

So, you were going to do as you were told. You were going to be good. And you were going to watch.

When you nod again, Tess rewards you by pressing a kiss to Joel's mouth, and you can feel as you almost chase it with your own lips.

"You're gonna sit there," she says, pressing another kiss to his mouth, "and you're gonna keep watching, pretty girl. And keep those hands right where I can see 'em."

Planting your hands on your thighs, you watch Joel kick off his pants, standing now in nothing but boxers. Tess presses him back, pushing until he stumbles into his bed and lets himself collpase down onto it and shift back until he's resting on his elbows. Your eyes dart between them. She's practically eating him alive, hooking her own fingers into her jeans and pulling them down as Joel palms himself over his boxers. Then, in one elegant move, she flicks her pants off and climbs over the bed onto him, spreading her legs wide as she settles herself down onto his stiff cock.

Joel bites his cheek, keeping his hands soft on her creamy thighs as she rolls her hips over and over his, grinding her cunt against his length. He doesn't move. Doesn't pull her shirt off or force her down harder with a bruising grip to her thighs. He simply lets her use him until she's panting on top of him, his toes twitching and curling as he stifles his own moans.

Falling forward, her hair briefly shields them from you. You can hear it though. The wet, appreciative sounds of their mouths working against each other, tongues lapping against one another while Tess rocks back and forth across his length where it's trapped between them.

"You're gonna fuck me, Texas," she growls into his mouth, flicking her hair to her other shoulder so now you can see the flush that's rising up Joel's neck. "And make it good."

He flips her with a grunt, rolling her over easily and slotting himself between her spread thighs. You're breathing heavy as you watch on with hazy eyes, imagining the feel of him between your own thighs, or her hair over your shoulder as she kisses you, making biting kisses into your neck.

And then, when your eyes focus on the room once more, his boxers are gone and you're staring at the back of Joel, completely nude, and it has you suddenly sitting up straighter. Even with his hand pressed somewhere between her thighs, drawing out soft moans from her, all you can focus on is his back.

You're not unfamiliar with it, of course. You've seen him nude before. But you've never seen him like this, splayed out over the top of someone with one leg hitched up as he slowly rolls his hips and grinds his bare cock over a clothed pussy. You've never seen the way his back ripples and his ass flexes with each rock forward, or the way he keeps his toes curled as he moves. You've never seen that silvery scar to his side either, visible only by the angle he's in in the lamplight.

You've never seen him with thighs wrapped around his waist either, pinning him down to another body while soft hands snake around his back. It could be you. But it's not. It's her, and that's somehow better and worse all at once.

Tess groans and tilts her head back, letting her grip around his shoulders slip to slide her own hand down between them, replacing his.

His own fingers are glistening when he pulls them away from her core. If you could move you'd lick them clean, taste her off of them, but you're stuck here watching, balling impatient fists on your thighs. And then, he's shifting into position, letting Tess tilt her hips until he's right there, and he presses forward, slipping into her wet hole with a groan.

"Fuck, that's it, make me come."

It's hot in here. You're listening to Tess say the filthy things Joel usually says to you, and it is so fucking hot in here.

So hot, you realize, that your cheeks are burning and your hands are sweating where they fidget on your thighs, and when Joel thrusts home, deep, and Tess cries out, you moan with them, and it's like they've just remembered you're there.

They turn and look at you, Tess's eyes catching yours first, but Joel soon following. But then she's dragging his focus back to her.

"She's being so good, Joel," she says as he tucks his head into her neck to press soft kisses there. "Thought she'd be rubbing her cunt by now but look at her, she's doing so good."

"So fuckin' good."

You groan when he says it. You can't stop it, or the way your hands flex and want to reach out for either of them.

"She likes that. She likes being a good girl."

And you do. Even as you spread your legs wide and try not to rock into the seam of your jeans and make yourself come.

Then, as if you had never made a noise at all, Joel is pulling out and pushing in deep all over again, drawing out moan after moan from Tess.

Just like that, you're back to being the dirty voyeur in the corner. Ignored and desperate, and one second away from pleading with them to let you have a taste of something, anything. You don't. By this point, as Joel's ass flexes into the space between Tess's thighs, you don't even need to. You can almost feel every movement, every inch, right from where you're sat, fully clothed over the other side of the room. You can feel the slow stroke of his hips between yours, feel her heavy breaths tickle your cheek, the hard grind against your clit. You almost gasp when she does, and you catch yourself rocking your hips to each roll of theirs.

"Fuck, that's it, Texas," she says, as he kisses her neck again.

It's not hard to see he's different with Tess.

He's softer, less rough, but just as hard. He's as silent as you've ever heard him, that filthy mouth stalled in his head, but also as loud as you've ever heard him be. He's grunting and groaning and panting as he fucks into her, huffing in quick breaths and goading himself on with stacatto nods of his head, desperate not to stop, to keep going, to make her come, until he's groaning frantically, pushing through the pain and ache in his muscles.

And then it hits you that maybe he is like this with you.

Maybe Joel Miller is just as fucked out and loud now as he is with you. How were you to really know - you were usually too deafened by your own screams and focussed on the feeling of him inside you, to really notice much to anything else.

He shifts her, maybe the most he's dared lay his hands on her, until you're no longer watching from somewhere behind and instead looking from the side as Joel pounds down and down into Tess's cunt, her head thrown to the side, stealing glances at you as you worry your lip with your teeth. You're breathing so hard you're almost whining, nodding whenever Tess makes a particularly deep moan that you can feel push through your own chest, until Joel looks up at you and smirks.

"Fuckin' likin' this, huh?" he groans. "That's it, sweetheart, you wanted to watch. Fuck. Fuck. Keep watchin'."

You whine then. You can't stop it, and you don't care. You're ready to sob, could probably come untouched right here if you thought about it hard enough, but you don't. You don't want that. You want to focus on the way he fucks her, and the way she sounds as she meets every thrust, because you know it's all going to be over soon.

You know, because Tess is grabbing his hand, forcing it between her legs and threading her hand through his hair and pulling a moment later.

"There. There. Ohh -"

His arm flexes and moves between them, rubbing over her clit as he slips and slides inside her. You're leaning forward in your seat now, hands gripping the edge, ready to move whenever - if ever - they give the word.

And then, with an open mouthed silent scream, she tenses beneath him, the pulsating grip of her cunt making him stutter his thrusts but never the movement of his fingers, until she falls limp, delivering a swift punch to his arm to make him stop a moment later.

So, Joel stops.

Completely.

For the second time this week, you watch as Joel doesn't come inside someone else.

He holds himself deep in her as she floats down from whatever cloud he'd just launched her to, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. And then, when she opens her eyes, he kisses her, and you're floating right along side them in the ether, entranced by the way she pulls herself out from underneath him, and pulls her clothes back on while he watches after her, cock stiff and neglected, covered in his own precum and her slick.

You expect her to turn to Joel, but instead she rounds on you the moment she's dressed, and cups your heated cheek in her palm.

"Maybe next time I'll let him come in me and you can clean me up, pretty girl."

And with a pat to your cheek and a nod to Joel, she leaves, shouting out behind her.

"Twenty minutes, Texas. Don't be late."

"Not gonna take twenty minutes," he growls, standing and rolling his shoulders while you still sit on the chair he'd pushed you into.

He's wild eyed, staring at you as you practically drool down your own chin at the sight of him. His thick cock hangs heavy between his legs, twitching as his muscles flex and contract. His fists ball tight by his sides, eyes dark as he looks down at you, sitting still and obedient and good right where he left you. You can smell the sweat on him, smell how much he smells like Tess, and you want nothing more than to roll yourself in the sheets they'd just made a mess off.

"Bring that mouth over here," he grunts, beckoning you over with two fingers that had been buried in Tess not long ago.

You let out a desperate sigh of relief as you slip to your knees right from the chair and make an upright crawl the short distance to Joel and his weeping cock. He smells just like you remembered she tasted like. Sweet, tangy, musky. And then, he nods down at you, and you take your first tentative lick of his slick coated length, and you're groaning, holding on to his thighs to steady yourself.

His hand finds the back of your head, stroking briefly at your neck, sending prickles across your heated skin. Despite the sweat, his hands somehow feel cooler than you, and the sensation of them on your skin somehow grounds you, holds you back from falling into a heap and sobbing, begging, screaming in frustration. You're so pent up, that all you can do is make strangled groans as you look up at him with teary eyes as you lick over and over his cock with a broad, flat strokes of your tongue.

"That's it, that taste good?"

It does. It tastes better than it ever has. Him and her, all together. You liked how you tasted off of him, but this was something else entirely, and all the while that soft promise of next time runs rampant through your mind, stalling your moan of agreement right as it pulls out of your throat.

"Shit," he curses as you gently lick a drop of cum weeping from his tip. "Good fuckin' girl. Like that too, don't you? Can't get enough."

With a groan, he's suddenly pulled away from you, and you whine at the loss, before he's crouching in front of you, grabbing you roughly by the face and kissing you, plundering your mouth with his tongue.

"Mm!"

"So fuckin' good."

You don't know if he's talking about you, or the taste in your mouth, but you preen anyway, eyes brightening when he stands up, gripping his cock firmly in one large hand. "She creamed all over my balls too, sweetheart. Don't want to miss a drop now do you?"

Eagerly, you lap at the soft skin of his balls, swirling your tongue and groaning as you clean the taste of her off of his sack. He's slowly pumping his cock, squeezing the tip, cursing, as you work your tongue over his delicate balls, massaging them with your tongue before sucking each one into your warm, wet, mouth.

You can't help but slip a hand between your own legs as you work your tongue back and forth over him. The taste of him and her together on your tongue is sending your eyes practically rolling in your head, making you groan as you lick from his balls up the length of him and attempt to suck him down and lick every drop of her you can from his skin. Over your jeans isn't enough though, the sensations too muted by the thick fabric, so with a pop you pull yourself from Joel, look him in the eye, and tug your jeans open. Fuck, if you haven't earned at least a little bit of relief, and you stare at him, daring him to stop you as your fingers slide down and find your sopping wet cunt inside your ruined panties.

He groans when your eyes lose focus, your finger sliding over the twitching bundle of nerves that had lay neglected by not one, but three people.

"That's it. Touch that pussy while you suck me, sweetheart."

You do, swiping your finger in slow soft circles as he guides the tip of his dick back into your waiting lips. "Can still taste her, huh?" he says, when you groan at the taste of him again.

"Mhm."

"Can't get enough of it can you. Fuck you're so fuckin' desperate. Look at you. Rubbin' that little thing with my cock in your mouth."

You suck and bob your head, twirling your tongue around to taste every inch you can reach of him. You're aching, panting, grinding into your own hand as you suck him. The heat in your core is searing you, making you sweat beneath your clothes. If you had a hand to spare you'd be tearing them off of you, but you need your hand between your legs right now, and without the other to steady you, you'll be falling flat on your ass in no time.

"Finish me first," he says, noticing your desperation and the way your hips buck into your own hand. "That's it. You can come after. Fuck, that's it. So close. You wanted that pussy so bad, didn't you?"

You groan around his cock, the many ways you wanted her pussy flashing through your mind as you slide Joel's cock between your lips, until he's yanking you back, making you gasp and your fingers stop the steady circles you were making over your cunt.

"You want this too, don't you?"

"Yes," you moan, watching as he starts to jerk his cock in his fist. You don't even think as you open your mouth wide, tongue out and waiting for him to make a mess of you.

"Good fuckin' girl."

He jerks his cock faster, your saliva and Tess's cum slicking up the movement of his fist as he brings himself closer and closer. He steadies one hand at the back of your neck again, suddenly spitting down into your waiting mouth, making you groan as his spit hits your tongue and slides into your mouth.

"Keep that there. Keep that right fuckin' there."

He pants, chest heaving above you as you look between his dark eyes and the dripping head of his cock. He's so close. You can see as his muscles tense and twitch, one hand resting on his twitching thigh, the other holding off, slowly jerking your clit, until you slip your hand underneath him, cradling his balls, and gently squeeze -

Milky white spurts shoot into your mouth, his tip pressing down onto your tongue so you can taste every drop as he milks it from himself, your own hand massaging and tugging lightly on his balls until he's empty, tapping the tip on your tongue and wiping away the last remnants of the release you hold in your mouth.

"That's it. Swallow it all sweetheart."

The bitter salt of him coats your mouth as you swallow, not a drop wasted.

"You still want it?" he asks then, nodding down to your open jeans. Your own hand has stilled between your legs, fingers that were moving steadily are still now, hooked into you while you waited as promised until after you made him come. Now, the after was here, and with swollen lips and glassy eyes you nod up at him.

"Go on," he says softly, and you pull your dripping fingers from your cunt to coat your throbbing clit. "That's it. Wanna see you rub that fuckin' thing. Who you gonna come thinkin' about? Me or her?"

"Both," you gasp, pressing your face into his bare thigh, your fingers steadily building up and up the pace. "Both of you. Looked - fu - so good."

His hand strokes your hair, holding you to him while you work your fingers between your legs.

"Yeah? You liked that? Just like watchin' so fuckin' much don't you."

"Ye-eah. But," you whine. "Wantedtojoinin."

He laughs then, soft and gently above you. You don't see it. Your eyes are pressed shut and you're breathing in nothing but the smell of his skin right where his thigh meets his groin. You're ready to lose yourself in it all now. You don't care what you look like or if he's looking at you. You just care that you're pressed to him with your fingers between your legs, finally getting closer and closer to relief you'd been aching for since you saw him in that alleyway.

"Know what this proves though, don't you?" he asks, and with a harsh yank of your hair he pulls your head so you're looking directly up at him, fingers working swiftly over your clit as you gasp. "You know how to be a good girl and do what you're fuckin' told after all."

You nod, letting the drop of your head tug your own hair even more. "Yes," you say desperately. "Yes, I'll be good, I'll be good."

"Then show me. Gotta show me how good you come thinkin' about my cock in that cunt."

"Uh-huh," you nod again, and suddenly the jerk of your fingers over your clit and the thought of watching Joel's cock slide up and down Tess's slit, tasting his cum as it drips out of her hole has you exploding against your palm.

You barely hold yourself upright as you come, eyes pinched shut and jaw slack, Joel's hand in your hair probably the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And then, when the last of your orgasm has run through you, your fluttering cunt finally ceasing its twitching, Joel gently releases you, and you slump down on your knees, falling to the side until you're curled on the floor, propped up by the end of his bed.

You rest your head on his mattress and sex rumpled sheets, blissful and floating as Joel finds his clothes around you. Then, he nudges you up, murmuring encouragement as you stand and shake the fuzzy feeling out of your head.

Joel spots your look of surprise at the darkness outside. Curfew is rapidly approaching now, and if you're not careful you won't be home in time before you're free game for any FEDRA asshole that you come across.

"Still got time," he says, passing your jacket as you stuff your feet into your boots and ushering you out into the dim corridor.

To your surprise, he follows you out, throwing a bag over his shoulder before noticing your curious look.

"Won't be around for a few weeks," he explains. "Got some stuff to do."

He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask. You don't move either, locked to the spot in front of the door as he locks it, and tucks his key away inside an inner pocket.

"And, just so we're clear, sweetheart. I don't expect to be sharin' you with anyone while I'm gone."

"You really need me to tell you I'm not gonna fuck anyone else?"

His raised eyebrow says it all, and you roll your eyes. You both know you won't, wouldn't, don't even want to, but to stroke his ego you say as much anyway, and he gives a satisfied nod.

You kiss him then, right out in the hallway before he can turn and leave, or push you away. Only, he doesn't. He never does. Never has. Probably never will. And, even out in the hallway where anyone could see, you think Joel Miller is quite a nice man to be kissing here, in an old apartment block at the end of all things.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," he murmurs into your mouth, and, before you know it, he's stalking away down the hall and, in a blink, he's gone.

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seventeenpins · 2 months ago

Text

a slight miscalculation - pt. iii

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: You hooked up with Joel months earlier, before you both realized you’re his daughter’s housemate. Now, you’re in Austin for a week, and Joel might lose his mind.

content/warnings: lovers to almost enemies to worse enemies???, age gap, marijuana use, Tess is queer and married to Marlene, Tommy Miller is sleep deprived, Joel is stuck on you and is handling it BADLY, Ellie is nonbinary, tension tension tension

a/n: Hi everyone!! I'm sorry, this chapter is a year late 🫣 Hope y'all enjoy, and still want to see more of these two!

pt. i • pt. ii

MONDAY

A soft glow of light illuminates the room beneath the blinds. Joel is adrift in the most soothing comfort that can only come from a cool space and a warm nest of covers. It's a lazy, velvet repose. He's on his belly, his aching limbs sprawled across the bed, totally lost in sleep. As he slips from pleasant dream to pleasant dream, he knows that, if given the chance, he would stay in this bed forever.

But something has started pressing on his back.

This weight started tentatively, a gentle, hesitant pressure. The walls of his dreams began contracting towards him, the space shrinking, setting off a sharp twist of panic in his unconscious state. Joel rolls over.

The pressure wanes for a moment before it reshapes itself, grows, and becomes targeted, dividing itself into multiple prodding jabs. It's unbelievably heavy. Needle-like points emerge and begin to scrape and stab-- and that smell.

Something richly fishy is overwhelming his nostrils, hot and horrible.

He tries to claw at the enclosing walls, tries to force the rancid fish smell away from him, but his arms don't work. He can't move.

It's all too much.

Joel wakes with a start, and the stab he'd felt all over his abdomen hooks deeper, moving with him as he thrashes. After a moment, his vision focuses and he discovers a very satisfied, fish-breathed feline latching claws-first to his sleep tee, grooming his jaw with the utmost enthusiasm.

"Jesus Christ," Joel howls, grabbing on and trying to hold the little criminal to his body as he does his best to roll over and sit up. This was a classic Miller move that he'd executed thousands of times with Sarah's childhood cat, the imaginatively named Kitty, an elderly ginger tabby from the local rescue.

Unfortunately for Joel, Spatula was not Kitty.

His attempt at relying on muscle memory betrayed him immediately. The second that Spatula felt Joel's arms tightening around him, he did his best to wriggle out of the grasp, clawing Joel the whole way up his body before launching off his chest and yowling throughout the entire exit. Joel watches furiously as he disappears past the door frame.

He drags a palm down his face and sits up, yanking his shirt off and taking a moment to examine the scratches that streak their way up his chest.

The scratches aren't deep, but they do sting.

Please, he begs the universe, let this not be an omen of the week to come.

After disinfecting the scratches, Joel dresses quickly.

The moment he steps onto the downstairs landing, he’s gut-punched with so much joy he almost forgets his frustrations. He’s greeted by the sight of his family.

Sarah sits at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee on the table before her. Maria stands behind her, neatly sectioning her hair. Tommy’s dead asleep, draped haphazardly across the sofa, baby asleep in the carrier next to him. They’re snoring together in unison.

Joel heads straight towards his girl, ready to wrap her in a hug. Unfortunately, he doesn’t clock you turning the corner, heading right towards him, your own coffee in hand. A sudden “Dad!” rings out, and he halts abruptly, but you still crash into him, your coffee spilling over you both, staining his t-shirt, making your tank cling to your chest.

He averts his eyes, gracelessly conspicuous.

“Dad,” Sarah calls, gesturing up at Maria whose fingers hadn’t stopped deftly braiding, “Could you get her a towel?”

“Oh. Oh yeah-,” Joel snaps out of his affect, turning to the kitchen drawers. A moment later, a tea towel is being thrust towards you. You pat yourself down.

“Mr. Miller,” you nod towards him in greeting. You’d hoped it would break the tension, but he stiffens, and you immediately feel worse.

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Sorry bout that, sweetheart,” he says, and falls back into awkward silence. His lack of eye contact would be almost funny, if it didn’t sting quite so much.

But no. You will not let this ruin your holiday. There’s plenty to do, and you’re here with your best friends, and you will not let this man’s absolute petrification make you feel bad.

“Where’s Ellie?” You ask, and, to your surprise, Joel’s the one who responds.

“Oh, I think they said they were stepping onto the porch for a smoke.”

“Thanks,” you shrug, still dabbing yourself with the tea towel.

Maria and Sarah are in a world of their own, chatting and laughing, and you catch Joel looking at you. You head to the door. You can feel his eyes on you, and you turn around to look back. Possessed by some surge of small insanity, you pull away the tea towel. At first, he mostly just looks ashamed at the sheer amount of liquid he managed to spill on you, but then you see his eyes widen as it dawns on him just how wet the fabric really is, and how he can see the outline of your areolas, pebbled nipples poking against the fabric. With a wink, you open the door and step out, leaving Joel agog.

Ellie sits on the porch swing, joint in hand, humming along to the music presumably playing through their headphones. Their sketchbook is laid haphazardly next to them, papers rustling in the breeze. You walk over and wave, announcing your presence without startling them. They grinned, seeing you, and pulled off their headphones.

“Wake and bake?” you ask.

“I am on vacation!” they announce. “You want a hit?”

“Sure,” You snort, and reach out for the joint. “So, did you smuggle weed through security, or did you already find a plug?”

“Nah, I know it’d stress the hell out of Sarah if anything went wrong. I found a plug.”

You take a hit, coughing a little on the exhale. “Do I want to know?”

They smile, mischievous. “Probably not.”

Then they notice the wet front of your shirt, and frown. “Was drinking coffee a challenge for you today?”

“Didn’t even get a cup of coffee,” you grumble, “Mr Miller bumped into me, and my coffee went over both of us.”

“Oh, damn-”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a minute, passing the joint back and forth. The breeze is light and the weather surprisingly pleasant.

“You know, I have a lot of mixed feelings about the South,” Ellie says, “But I gotta say, they got porches right.”

“Oh yeah?” you laugh.

“Yep,” they nod, somber. “It’s a classic feature of southern architecture that should be more popular nationwide. Love a porch.”

“I… do not disagree,” you nod. Then, you glance at their sketchbook. “Oh, these are cool! Are you focusing on porches this week?”

They shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? But there’s just so much cool stuff. I’ve never travelled much, and there’s so much I want to render.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing at the pages.

“Go for it!”

You examine the sketches. A few are simple, some basic shape studies. And then they evolve. Some are neat, others more careless, but each is a recognisable depiction of the houses across the cul-de-sac.

“I don’t know how you can see things like this,” you gesture at the page, awed, “Like, it’s so true to life, but so much more that it? I know if I took a picture of those houses, it wouldn’t look like this.”

Ellie grins. It’s one of your favorite things about them; their confidence. They know what they’re good at, and you envy their ability to take a compliment.

“Well,” they take a drag, “What do you see when you look at the houses in front of you?”

You contemplate. You should have an answer. An artistic answer. Something clever. But instead. “I just see fucking houses.”

Ellie snorts. “Okay, so. These sketches are black and white, so I’m not focused on color here. But I am focused on light. So. What are the brightest bits of that house?” They point just across the way, and you consider.

“Um… The trim, along the underside of the roof? And around the windows. Oh, and the way the light’s hitting the drainpipe!”

“Exactly! Now, what are the darkest bits.”

“Well, since the light’s hitting the front, I guess the shadows on the side? So the front’s kinda a middle-tone, right? But the shadows under the siding, too, are dark.”

“You’ve got it,” they smile, enthused. “It’s really just about seeing the world like that. In shades of light. And the more you can see, the more you break it down into smaller and smaller pieces.”

“And then adding in color?”

“That’ll be your next lesson,” they laugh, “You just work on seeing the light first.”

“Just need to see the light,” you snort, “Will it cure me of my wicked ways?”

“Absolutely not,” Ellie grins, “With any luck, you’ll get even wicked-er.”

With that, they put out the end of their joint, and start assembling their things.

“Hey, random question–” you blurt, before Ellie can get up and go inside, before you can stop yourself. “What do you think of, uh. Of Sarah’s dad, Mr Miller?”

“Oh, that old man’s cool.” Ellie answers immediately.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling in spite of yourself. Another thing you admire in Ellie is their absolute refusal to be made uncomfortable in service of others. If someone was being a dick, Ellie would be the one to step in, and they made themself plenty of enemies like that. But it also meant they were selective in their friendships and, beyond anything else, fiercely loyal. You trust their judgement.

Thank fuck for Ellie.

“I mean, shit, did you see his movie collection?” they continue, “And, he’s not misgendered me once, so I think we’re off to a good start. His friend’s cool, too! I was talking with Tess before she left last night and she and her wife invited me to a dyke night this week. So, I mean. I could be wrong. But I’m not getting any bad vibes. He’s a middle aged dude who’s actually a good dad, has lesbian friends, and has good taste in movies. Basically a walking green flag.”

“Cool,” you say. “Yeah. That is a lot of good stuff.”

It’s overwhelming, honestly. Because even those small things, listed off as bullet points, were significant. They weren’t the reasons you were stuck on him, but part of the bigger picture. Those small pieces that form the whole.

Immediately, the urge to tell them what happened between you hits. You want to unload, want to tell them how much you think about that night with Joel. That the man that’s consuming too many of your waking thoughts happens to be just yards away, through that door, spending time with your best friend, his daughter.

But you don’t.

It’s all too much.

“You coming back inside?” Ellie asks, hand on the doorknob.

You shake your head. “Nah, need just a little more air.”

“Cool,” they nod, “Well if you need any more weed, let me know.”

“You got it. Thanks, El.”

They pull the door open, but look back at you.

“Hey,” they ask, suddenly serious, “Are… Are you okay?”

“I? Yeah, I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“I dunno. You just seem a little bit off, maybe?”

“Well. I’m good.”

They look at you, searching your face for something.

“Okay, well. If you’re sure. And if there is something, and you’re just worried about it, or processing it or whatever. You know you can tell me, right?”

You look at them, and feel a surge of love in your belly.

“I know. And I won’t forget it. Thanks Ellie.”

They nod, and slip back inside.

You spend the next fifteen minutes on the porch swing, breathing in the air around you. It’s a change, for certain, and change can be a beautiful thing.

As you survey the block, you try to consider the light.

When you head back inside, Maria’s dipping the tips of Sarah’s hair in boiling water, and Tommy’s still passed out on the couch.

“I think that’s there for you!” Sarah calls over, pointing at a steaming cup of coffee on the counter.

You frown, turning to look. Next to the cup of coffee is a small note in neat, straightforward block capitals.

It’s a surprise, and the gesture makes your stomach flip. He’s just being nice, you remind yourself, trying to keep the peace. Maybe he thinks that if he pisses you off enough, you’ll tell Sarah just to spite him.

You hope he doesn’t think you so spiteful. But even if he does, as pathetic as it is, you know that at least this little note proves one thing to you: he does think of you.

That knowledge stays with you the whole day.

Your first full day in Austin is, admittedly, a pretty good day.

The entire Miller clan had taken you and Ellie downtown. Tommy and Maria led the charge, with little Benjamin in his stroller. You did tourist-y things, Joel grumbling the entire time, but even he was in a good mood with his daughter so close.

You all go for lunch, and then split off. Tommy and Maria have errands. Joel suggests a walk. Ellie decides to break off and visit an art museum, and you’re left to decide what to do.

“You’re more than welcome to come with,” Ellie says, “But I can’t promise that I won’t geek out. Looks like there’s an exhibition by one of my favorite contemporary painters and I gotta try not to lick the paintings.”

You nearly say yes, not even considering another option, but then–

“You know, we got rain a couple weeks ago. I’m sure they’re not at their peak, but we did have some cool fungus for a bit there. Wouldn’t be surprised if you can find something interesting along the way,” Joel said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“Ooh, dad, yeah! Honestly I’m surprised you remembered that she studies mycology.” Sarah’s eyes widen just the littlest bit, impressed. Then, she turns back to you. “What would you like to do. Art or mushrooms?”

You grimace and shake your head. “Damn. I gotta do mushrooms.”

And that settled it. To fungus you went.

TUESDAY

All things considered, Spatula was a very good boy.

You’d heard later last night that he’d had a bit of an incident with Joel. To Joel’s credit, he wasn’t bitter or mean, just a little hesitant about the cat.

This morning, you awoke to your small goblin blessedly minding his own business, conked out on your pillow next to you. You enjoyed your coffee without causing a single spill, and managed to avoid physically running into Joel.

Tommy and Maria dropped by again for breakfast at ten, and slowly, everyone else emerged. Sarah was first, freshly showered after her run. She’s a beacon of joy, swinging her braids around her shoulders as she gets used to the new sensation again. She’s so delighted to be home, and to be around family.

Family, you think. It’s… nice. It’s also, admittedly, not really your thing.

Ellie emerges with charcoal smudges all over their hands, a few messy fingerprints at their temples where they’ve brushed their hair back, stoned as a skunk.

Joel seemed more relaxed today, too, as though now that the first day was over, maybe it wasn’t quite so bad. Maybe this didn’t have to be a problem?

Once breakfast was over, Joel had babysitting duties until early afternoon. You all felt a bit tired, that shift from place to place wearying, so you opted to stay at home, at least for the time being.

Sarah doted on her cousin, bouncing him on her lap, tickling his tummy till he gurgled and burped, howling with giggles. As you watch her, you glance aside to take a look at Joel. You swear you can see his eyes water as he gazes at his daughter and nephew.

Ellie plugged in their PS4 and, after some coaxing, and Benjamin safe in Sarah’s arms, Joel joined them. They played round after round of the Crash Team Racing remaster. Ellie was bloodthirsty, but once Joel started getting the hang of it, he was frustratingly good.

“C’mon, old man, how’d you get that box!” Ellie yelled, as Joel cackled, hitting a “?” crate, evading Ellie’s assaults.

Joel smirked, and Ellie narrowed their eyes and batted him on the knee.

The afternoon was pleasant. A much needed respite.

Joel felt strangely comfortable, despite his company. Ellie was a funny kid, he’ll give them that. They’ve taken him off guard so many times, but he’s trying to play it cool, and not get too outsmarted by another 19 year old. Sarah keeps him on his toes enough already.

And it was nice, if he’s honest, but he can’t be honest. Maybe just to himself, for a moment? And it feels dangerous, but he wants to let himself be honest. Just in his own head. Just for right now. Because it’s just- It’s so nice to see you. To hear you laugh. See the way that you light up when you’re talking about something that excites you. He never stopped dreaming about you, and now he sees the bits he got wrong. Where a memory smoothed a wrinkle, or straightened a hair, you’re vivacious around him. So fucking vibrant. Too fucking real.

It feels so good to have life back in the house. He’s been so grateful for Tommy and Maria in his life, and his little nephew. But at the end of the day, it’s just him again. Alone in a big, empty house.

He’s determined to enjoy it, just for this week. Pretend everything is perfect.

Then he steps into the room, turning the corner, expecting to look over to Sarah. Instead, he sees you, and you’re bouncing Benjamin on your knee. In a moment, his heart stops.

Nope. This sure as fuck could not be happening. Because in an instant, he is bricked up beyond all reason and possibility, and without being able to stop it, he’s staring at you, memories flashing through his head. He stumbles into the room, and stops abruptly, dropping into the nearest armchair, half paralyzed with how overwhelmed he now is. The way you’d spoken to him that night you shared, the line that runs in circles round his head every night since, as he tries to tire himself out with his fist around his cock and guilt and pleasure in his belly, as he remembered the way you rode him, coaxing him along all the way, “It's okay, daddy, you can let go–”

He needs to be inside you. He needs to tear your clothing off, needs to hear your moans again. Bury himself deep and fuck up into you till tears run down your cheeks as you come around him, urging him along. He wants to press deep into you when he comes, knowing how sweet you’d feel, clenching around him. To fuck you full of him, of his child–

But no–

What he actually needs, is to fucking stop. It ain’t right. You’re his kid’s friend. Her roommate. He shouldn’t be thinking about you at all, let alone fantasizing about you. He’s a dirty old man. A fucking pervert. Unfit for society, probably.

All these thoughts blinked by in a moment, and it’s then that he refocuses his eyes and realizes you’re looking at him.

He frowns, face heating, immediately worried you’ve read his thoughts. He fumbles for a throw pillow, trying to inconspicuously settle it across his lap.

You’re looking at him with such confusion written across your face.

Joel feels automatically defensive. “What, what is it?” He snaps.

The confusion dissipates. It’s replaced by a resigned, exhausted expression.

“Sorry, I thought you’d heard me. I said you could sit closer if you wanted. Have a turn with Benny.”

“Oh.” He deflates, and immediately feels like an asshole. But his raging boner was still a matter of issue, so he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good here.”

“I don’t bite.” You tell him, lamely.

To your utmost surprise, Joel snorts, a thing of actual amusement, “Oh, sweetheart. We both know that ain’t true.”

Immediately, he regrets saying it, looking terribly abashed, his face continuing its journey in shades of flushed. You nearly laugh in response, but you’re half-paralyzed with the surprise of it.

And then, before either of you can respond, Sarah steps back into the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand, ready to resume time with her cousin.

She sits down next to you, totally oblivious, and reaches for Benjamin. It’s only as you pass him back that she sees her dad in the armchair across the room.

“Oh, hey dad! You’re so far away! Wanna hang out with us?”

“Sure, baby.” Joel grimaces, possibly aiming for a smile, and nods. He stands up gingerly. Sarah’s not paying close attention, but you see the way Joel rearranges himself, moves the throw pillow off his lap, and makes his way over.

For the briefest moment as he adjusts, his t-shirt rides up the tiniest bit. In that instant, you can see the line of him, see that he’s hard, and that he’s got his entire cock tucked up into his waistband, getting choked by his belt. You catch his eye, and he turns away, pulling his tee the littlest bit lower.

You make up some excuse, some reason to leave, and you slip out of the room.

Fuck. Fuck. Joel Miller’s gonna be the death of you.

Afternoon turns to evening, and Maria and Tommy join the group, followed shortly by Tess and her wife, Marlene. You band together and place a massive takeout order,

You were thrilled, actually. After dinner was finished, you got to have an evening alone. Joel and Sarah were going to see a movie. Tommy and Maria were heading home. Tess, Marlene, and Ellie were all going to Dyke Night.

You loved your housemates, you really did. But, when you think about it, you realize it’s been months since you had a proper night home alone.

The Millers had a hot tub, and tonight, you intend to use it.

Ellie, Tess and Marlene leave first. The event starts at 8pm, but Ellie’s so excited to go out, they leave at 7. Tess and Marlene insist that they’ll take good care of Ellie. It’s not their usual scene these days, but they’re both gripped by Ellie’s enthusiasm, delighted to show them the local scene.

Joel and Sarah headed out a little bit later, planning to catch a movie. Sarah had told you before how she and her dad like to go out to the movies. It’s a holdover from childhood, she’d told you. When she was really little, he’d rent a movie every Friday. Then, with Sarah playing contractor, and Joel playing foreman, they’d construct a pillow fort, built for maximum structural integrity.

By the time they started their movie, she’d be getting sleepy, but they’d stay up together anyway. And, when she fell asleep, her dad would carry her up to bed and tuck her in gently, looking forward to doing it all again next week.

It was their time together. Their sanctuary. A tired, overworked single dad, and the most important thing in his entire world; his baby girl.

Once they had left, you took a deep breath. Finally, you were alone. You have a few hours to yourself before you’ll expect anyone back, and that goddamn hot tub is calling to you.

As Joel drives, some song plays on the radio that catapults them back to Sarah’s childhood. He’s not certain, but thinks it might be an Avril Lavigne one. She was one of her favorites. He almost thinks if he looks over, he might see that sweet, smart, skinny kid next to him. But instead, it’s even better. His beautiful, brilliant daughter is grown. Such a wonderful woman, inside and out. And not only that, she wants to spend time with her old man.

Joel nods his head, and Sarah starts singing along, belting out the lyrics the way she’s done since she was little. He grins as she shimmies her shoulders through the instrumental break, and he hums along with her as she takes on the next chorus.

The song ends, and Sarah erupts in giggles, and Joel reaches for her hand, and she gives it a firm squeeze.

Then, a loud pop sounds, and the car jolts, the front left dipping forwards.

Joel curses, body surging with tension, tugging his hand from hers to grab onto the wheel, navigating the suddenly swerving car over to the shoulder.

“You okay?” He asks, heart pounding, turning to Sarah.

She nods rapidly, turns back to him. “Are you okay, dad?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, and puts a hand on her cheek, looking her over. He nods again, satisfied, and steps out of the car.

He moves to the front of the car, out of the way of the traffic zipping by, and curses.

“Yep,” he says to Sarah as he sits back in the driver’s side. “Big ol’ nail’s gone right through it. Blown the tire. God dammit.”

“We got a spare?” Sarah asks.

Joel sighs, putting his fist to his forehead and considering. “Yeah. That should get us off the side of the road at least.

He gets out and starts to work, pulling out the jack, and some other tools. He loosens the lug nuts and raises the car.

All in all, it doesn’t take all that long to swap the flat for the spare. But, he knows, he won’t be able to go over 50mph with the spare. It’s a busy week, too, with so many people travelling, so he’ll need to get it fixed sooner rather than later, especially getting Sarah back to the airport–

Goddammit.

He lowers the car again, and inspects his work.

“All done?” Sarah asks.

“All done.” He nods, wiping grease from his fingers.

“Think we can still make a movie?” Sarah grins, hopeful.

Joel winces and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, babygirl. I think I gotta get this tire taken care of. Can’t drive on it for long.”

“Oh,” Sarah deflates. “No, of course!”

“How about tomorrow night?” Joel asks.

She considers, then brightens. “Actually, I was gonna see a friend tomorrow. But I might be able to swap days! Let me check with her–”

Sarah taps away on his phone, and Joel peers at his own phone. He’ll find the number for the 24/7 tire folks.

A moment later, Sarah hops up with a “Yes! Alright, she’ll pick me up from the intersection down there. And then you and I can do a movie tomorrow night!”

“Alright kiddo,” he nods, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be able to get back, and I’ll have the tire guys come tonight. You want a ride to the corner?”

“I’m good,” she smiles, “I need the walk.”

He nods again. His wonderful, independent girl. “Be safe tonight, hon,” he tells her, “Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks dad,” she smiles, and pulls him in for a hug.

He hugs her back, tight. She breaks away, waves, and heads off.

He watches his daughter as she goes.

Joel’s night is now wide open, but even despite the cancelled plans, it doesn’t feel lonely the way most of his nights do. Instead of empty and hollow, he feels full of life. Full of possibility. Before he even left, he called the tire service. To Joel’s surprise, they have an opening right now, and they're mobile. He gives them his address and lets them know he’ll be home in 20. They say they'll meet him there in 30, and he drives back, careful of the spare.

The mechanic gets to work quickly, and fifteen minutes later, he’s heading back out. A weight lifts from Joel’s chest. One less thing to worry about.

Joel steps through the garage door into the kitchen. He kicks aside his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, rolling his aching shoulders, trying to rid them of tension.

He digs around in the fridge, navigating between takeout boxes, to find a can of Bud Lite hiding at the back.

He cracks it open, immediately feeling the tension leave his body at the sound of the sizzle. Then, he takes a swig, sits down in his favorite recliner, and realizes– something is off.

The back porch light, to be exact.

It was on a motion sensor, and no one ever turned it on. There were guests, of course, so someone could have turned it on. But there’s also been a family of raccoons that has been inching closer and closer to the house, and he’d be damned if they were getting into the garbage.

He steps out, prepared to wave his hands at his feral guests in hopes of herding them away.

Instead, he sees you. Sat in the hot tub.

Joint in one hand, glass of wine in the other.

And you’re completely naked.

In a blink, any surprise or confusion Joel may have felt turns into fury.

He storms out, slamming open the sliding glass door. You jump, whipping your head towards him in an instant. The wine splashes down you, blindingly cold against the heat of your skin, trailing down your collarbone, between your tits. By sheer dumb luck, you manage to keep hold of the joint.

You can hear Joel’s words before you can even see his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me, woman?”

“Jesus christ, Joel, I thought you were gonna be out!”

“So what, you just decided to sit your naked ass down in my hot tub?”

“Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t think to bring a swimsuit, and Sarah said it was okay! You said you were going to a movie–”

“You’re a pain in my fuckin’ ass, you know that?”

Now, he’s pissing you off. “What have I actually done to you, Joel, really? I’m not making this difficult. You are.”

“What have you done?” He growls, and a rage boils in you as he sneers. “I’ll fuckin’ tell ya. You hooked your fuckin’ claws into me. Made me absolutely stupid with ya. And now you’re here, and Sarah could find out exactly what kinda piece of shit her dad really is. You’re just parading around–”

You’re done. You’re fucking done. You take your time relighting your joint, making sure to take a deep drag as he glares daggers at you. And then you catch movement at the screen door, still open behind Joel.

Panic rises up in you. Your boy. Your beautiful cat son. A small little man who does not know how to survive in the wild.

“Spatula!” you shout, and Joel doesn’t turn, just frowns.

You jump up, entirely unconcerned about your own nakedness, and hurtle towards the door, realization suddenly dawning upon Joel.

The little criminal howls in defeat. You scoop him up before he can get more than a single paw outside.

Naked but the cat in your arms, you turn to him, words laced with venom. “Parading around, Joel?” you ask, voice quiet but dangerous. You don’t try to cover yourself. Joel’s jaw clenches, grinding his teeth.

He takes a breath. “I’m– I’m sor–”

You cut him off. You don’t want to hear it. “Fuck you, Joel. Fuck you.”

You storm inside, and head to the room deemed yours for the next few days. Rubbing angry tears from your eyes, you place Spatula on your bed and towel off properly, slipping into pajamas. You smoke the last of the joint through the bedroom window, and try to clear your mind. It’s not polite, smoking inside like that, but frankly you’d like to piss him off, if you can. At least that would be a reasonable thing for him to be angry about.

You go to sleep, a lump in your throat, and tears stinging your eyes.

#joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x f!reader #i really didnt mean for it to take so long to finish another chapter #i hope yall like it ahhhhhhhh

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dear-aubade · 12 days ago

Note

Could you make a joel x reader smut where reader is picked up by Joel & Tess on a hunt one day and has been staying with them. After a while Tess notices Joel’s attraction to reader and gets jealous. Maybe reader & Tess get into a fight or Joel & Tess but either way it ends with reader underneath Joel😩Bonus points for age gap/innocence and dom!Joel

Heyyyy! Thank you so much for this ask, and I’m so sorry for the delay! Things have been crazy lately, I’m trying to get back into writing little by little :) Because this was getting a little long, I decided to turn it into two parts ♡ enjoy!

Useless Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue. You still didn’t know why they kept you around.

You weren’t supposed to be alive. Death had tried to come for you a long time ago, but unfortunately his plans were thwarted by a man named Joel Miller.

You don’t really ever remember having a home before now—or, not a traditional one, at least. The group you had previously been a part of was nomadic so you’d always been moving around and never stayed in the same place for more than a few weeks. You guys hadn’t had a specific destination in mind, you’d just sort of…wandered. It was pointless, and definitely stupid, but moving felt better than doing nothing. Part of you had still longed for some sort of stability, for some sort of permanence. At night you dreamt of a world where you’d have a garden with strawberries and carrots and a peach tree. Your house would have a wraparound porch. You’d paint your window shutters blue.

But that wasn’t possible in the world you lived in, so you always pushed those thoughts away and kept going.

Until that day.

Your group of wanderers had been staying in the abandoned city for about a week when the raiders came. It had been a quick job in the middle of the night—they’d killed half of your numbers before you’d even been fully awake. When lucidity had breached the wall of sleep in your mind, you grabbed your backpack and ran like a coward.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been shot until you’d gotten far enough away where you felt like you could breathe again and the adrenaline wore off. The bullet had lodged itself in your upper arm and within days it was a sweltering mess of infection. You’d taken refuge at the top of an old hotel and waited to die.

You didn’t really remember what had happened next, which was probably because of the delirium brought on by the fever. All you knew was that one day you were slouched against the peeling wallpaper, half-conscious, when you heard the voices. They’d been hushed, urgent, whispering back and forth to one another, and a short time later you were being lifted. Your head lolled against the man’s solid chest and you were out.

You’d woken up in Joel’s apartment a few days later, bullet wound cleaned and stitched up.

That had been two years ago.

“No.”

“Awe, please?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But I can help!”

“By doing what? Batting your lashes at any Clickers we come across?”

You huffed as you stared at Tess across the counter of your guys’ tiny kitchen. “I know how to use a gun.”

“Not while aiming at a moving target, you don’t.” Tess’ face was stonelike, lined with crevices around her eyes like carvings in marble. “You’re not coming. This supply run is a two-person job.”

“But—”

A deep voice from the corner of the room muttered your name. You turned to meet Joel’s gaze—he was sitting at the small wooden dining table staring at his hands, all callused from the hard labor required to survive in this new world. He looked up and the message in his eyes was clear: Leave it alone.

You looked down obediently and didn’t further the now-finished argument. You weren’t sure it had even really started.

When Joel and Tess allowed you to stay with them, you’d been surprised. You had expected for them to hand you over to FEDRA or kick you out after you were healed, or something of the sort. You didn’t expect for them to keep you around.

You still didn’t know why they did. You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue.

That was another thing. Joel. That first week you’d been awake and recovering you had sort of had a permanent starry-eyed look to you and chastised yourself each time you got nervous around him, which was always. You’d only speak when spoken to, and when you did it was in a soft voice that didn’t match your roughed-up appearance. You’d thought that it would go away, that the only reason you were like this was because he’d been the one who had saved you. You’d thought the silly crush would have worn off eventually.

Oh how very wrong you were.

You were better about it now—you’d gotten more used to things. You didn’t talk quite so quiet anymore. You didn’t jump a little everytime he entered the room.

But your feelings lingered. There was still something that changed in you when you were around Joel. You couldn’t help but want to do what he said even if you disagreed with him sometimes. You weren’t sure why. Something about him appealed to a smaller, more primal part of your brain, filling you with need. You couldn’t count the number of times you had been in bed late at night with your knuckle in your mouth as you pleasured yourself thinking about him.

It wasn’t just a physical need, though. Sure, he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair, his thick biceps, his strong jaw. You remembered how he’d carried you out of the city in his unyielding arms with you resting against his solid torso. He’d lifted you so easily. A part of you ached to be held again, to be cared for.

You tried not to think about things like that. You knew he saw you as nothing more than a stupid, naive little girl.

“Glad we got that settled. Again,” Tess was saying, voice dripping with annoyance. She slid her gun into the waistband of her pants and looked at Joel. “Ready?”

He nodded and stood, then looked at you. “We’ll be back in about two days. Cover for us. Stay out of trouble. Don’t sign up for any labor jobs while we’re gone—”

“—and don’t be stupid,” you finished, knowing Joel’s little spiel by heart now. “I know.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “And make sure you eat while we’re gone.”

“Yes sir.”

You’d meant it as a joke—maybe even a bitter one—but then something flickered in Joel’s eyes and he stood there for a moment before nodding and heading out the door. Tess gave you a sideways glance before following. She shut the door behind her.

And then you were alone.

Your time in solitude wasn’t much different from you you lived when Tess and Joel were there. You organized your meager pantry. You took inventory of your supplies so you know what Joel and Tess took and so you could log whatever they brought back. You cleaned the gun Joel hadn’t taken.

The only thing you didn’t do was sign up for any of the jobs FEDRA had listed for people to uptake to earn ration cards. Joel didn’t like you doing things like that when he wasn’t around. Besides, he was always the one who picked for you, who said what you couldn’t and couldn’t do—he mostly had you write your name down for the more boring jobs like helping with the QZ’s main food supply inventory or distribution. You couldn’t remember Joel ever signing you up for any hard labor jobs.

Usually you might have been insulted that your role was essentially a glorified maid, but Joel had claimed your part was necessary. That was enough for you.

Currently you were attempting to slice a half-frozen loaf of bread you’d gotten from today’s ration pickup. FEDRA always froze rations when they could so that the food didn’t go bad as quickly, but usually by the time you were ready to use them they’d already been sitting in the pantry for a few days so they could defrost. However, you were completely out of bread now and you wanted a sandwich for dinner tonight, so you thought you’d try and slice off a couple pieces so they’d unfreeze quicker.

You wondered if you should slice off more so that dinner could be ready for Joel when he got back. And Tess, you quickly added in your mind. You weren’t sure exactly when they were going to return, but maybe it would be nice to have the bread thawed at least a little more by the time—

The knife slipped.

You dropped it with a yelp and it clattered to the floor right as ruby red blood started to bead on your skin where the blade had cut into you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you thought as tears pricked your eyes from the sting of it. You put pressure on it with a spare cloth and ran for the first aid cabinet, but hesitated when you saw the hydrogen peroxide.

You really did not want to deal with the extra pain that would bring right now, so you decided to just clean the cut with water and bandage it. It wasn’t deep enough you’d need stitches, but the knife had gotten you pretty good still.

A sigh escaped your lips. Tess was right. If you couldn’t even cut bread without hurting yourself, how were you ever supposed to be competent enough to use a gun against a Clicker correctly?

“—s half your age, Joel!”

You blinked your eyes open, brow creased in disorientation. Was that Tess’ voice? You yawned and looked out the window of your room to see that it was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn.

“—s not like that.”

Joel’s voice had you wake up a little bit more. You removed the blanket from where it had been twisted around your legs and sat up in bed, now lucid enough to determine that Joel and Tess were out in the living room. When had they gotten back?

“Then tell me what it’s like.” Tess’ voice was like a blade to a whetstone.

Silence.

A scoff, then Tess continued. “Seriously? You’re not even going to try to defend yourself?”

“Can’t defend myself if I’ve done nothing wrong.” Joel’s words were muttered but intense. You could almost picture the muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Fine.” The single word was sharp. “I can’t deal with this anymore, Joel. Come find me when you’re ready to act like an adult.”

The sound of the front door opening and then slamming echoed even in the back room you were in.

You sat there for a few moments but didn’t hear any movement from Joel—not even a sigh or anything—so you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and crossed to peek out into the living room.

Joel was sitting on the couch, legs spread and arms folded as he stared off into space ahead of him, his jaw working ever so slightly. His backpack was on the floor near the couch, though Tess’ wasn’t. She must have taken it with her to…wherever she’d gone.

Your courage waned and you almost turned to head back into the room, but Joel’s head moved and his eyes fell on you, something changing in his expression.

“Hey,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “Didn’t think you’d be awake already.”

Caught, you stepped into the room fully and gave a shrug. “I’m a light sleeper.” But then, who wasn’t these days?

Your words caused an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both as you realized what it meant. He knew that you’d heard him and Tess, and you knew he knew.

“Where did Tess go?” Your voice was unsure.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she coming back?”

Joel sighed. “I don’t know. I…” He trailed off as his eyes caught on something near your hip. “What’s that?”

“What’s…?” You followed his gaze to the white bandage on your hand and you quickly hid it behind your back. “Oh it’s nothing, I was just being stupid—“

He stood. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I just…“ You left your sentence unfinished as he walked over to you and lifted your hand delicately in his large one, examining the bandage.

“You’re bleeding.”

You looked down to see a red spot seeping through. “Huh,” you said stupidly.

“Come on.” Without asking he gently took your wrist to pull you along to the kitchen. The tile was cold on your bare feet.

“Hop up on the counter.”

You frowned in confusion. “What are you—”

Joel’s hands landed on your ribcage and then he was lifting you up and back to sit you on the laminate. A gasp of surprise left your lips; that seemed to reach something inside Joel and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning to open a cabinet near your head and extract the white box with a red cross on it.

“S’fine,” you whispered. You watched as he flipped the lid open and rummaged around.

“You clean it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you. “With?”

“With water,” you mumbled. “Really, it’s fine. It’s not that—”

Your heart fell as he pulled the brown square bottle out and set it on the counter along with some more bandages. You were about to move to begin tending to your cut, but to your surprise Joel beat you to it. He lifted your wrist and started to peel back the bandage.

He was standing between your slightly-open legs, close enough so that he could work at a good angle. He was close enough where the scent of him invaded your senses and made you dizzy. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to him….ever.

Apart from when he’d carried you, of course, but you’d been half-unconscious at that point so you didn’t count it much.

“‘S gonna sting a bit,” he muttered. The cold press of the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cloth made you gasp. It bubbled and fizzed and bit into your skin, burrowing deep down into the cut.

You tried to blink your tears away discreetly, but one fell and streaked down your cheek. To your surprise, Joel didn’t say anything. All he did was hand a cloth to you without looking up from his work.

You let out a small surprised chuckle. “Thanks. Sorry.” You took the cloth with your free hand and dabbed at your eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” was all Joel said.

Despite what he said, you went on, voice slightly bitter. “Doubt Tess would appreciate seeing me cry over—”

“Don’t listen to what Tess says.” The tone in Joel’s voice signaled that the topic was dropped. He finished bandaging you, then stepped back and turned, headed for his room. “I’m gonna get some rest.”

And there he left you, sitting on the countertop with a newly-mended cut, utterly perplexed.

——

Stay tuned for Part 2!

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