#tlou fic
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sneaky linking with abby ୧⋆ ˚。⋆



fwb, soft dom!abby, fem!reader, strap sex, fingering (r!receiving), rough/rushed sex. wc 0.8k ᡣ𐭩
a/n: why do i lowk want to write more of these two?? the dynamic turned out kinda cute lmao
"You sure no one's coming in here?" Abby asked breathlessly as she helped you pull your shirt up over your head and toss it haphazardly aside. You began fumbling clumsily with the button of your pants as Abby's hands flew to her belt, unbuckling it and tugging it off feverishly.
You were both already breathing heavily, stumbling into each other and working to shed your clothes frantically as if you'd die if you waited another moment to touch each other. It had only been two days, but it felt like much longer. Too long.
"I'm sure. It's always empty," you assured her, shoving your jeans down your hips with one hand and pulling her into you with the other, so that both of you fell back against the wall. You were in some kind of storage room that seemed to be forgotten, small and tucked away in a far corner of the Stadium that was never busy. Perfect for your and Abby's... meetings.
Abby grunted a little as she collided with you, her hands immediately roaming hungrily over your bare torso and then dipping straight between your thighs, stroking you over your panties. "Don't know why we couldn't have just gone to my dorm," she muttered, rubbing her fingers over the damp fabric a few more times before shoving her hand under your waistband.
"Because," you panted, releasing a shaky breath as her fingers slipped through your wet folds, her thumb pressing over your clit, "last time we did, Manny almost walked in on you fucking me on your desk. Or did you forget?"
"We're not talking about Manny right now," she grunted, bracing an arm on the wall beside your head and leaning almost flush against you as she worked you. Her gaze was zeroed in on your breasts spilling out of your lacy bra, the sight clearly working her up.
"Right. Sorry." Not the time. You hooked a leg around her waist to allow her better access, your hands anchoring themselves on her thick biceps.
She thrusted two fingers inside you then, and your hips involuntarily arched into her touch, a soft moan falling from your lips. You were so slick with arousal that they slipped in easily, that your pussy made a squelching sound as she fucked you with them, curling them repeatedly into that tender spot as her thumb circled your clit.
"God—so fucking tight," she breathed, more to herself than you. She was looking down at the motion of her hand, at your hips rolling against her, her breathing growing heavier.
Your face had begun to screw up in response to the mounting pleasure, head tilting back against the wall and lips parted as her fingers thrusted into you, stretching you just right. Gradually, she sped up, and when the flaring heat started to become too intense, your grip tightened on her arm.
"Mph—need it, Abby," you moaned. When she continued her ministrations, apparently too caught up in the feel of you around her, you let out a strained groan. "Abs, fuck, please."
With a low sound, she pulled her fingers out of you, sucking the taste of you off her before hurriedly undoing her pants. "Turn around," she ordered, and you were quick to comply, turning and placing your hands against the wall.
You heard the sound of her zipper, the shuffling of her pants, and then your panties were violently tugged down, something nudging against your backside. A soft moan of anticipation fell from your lips, but you were both equally desperate, and you didn't have to wait long. The tip of the strap dragged along the slick of your entrance, Abby gripped your hips, positioning you, and then entered you with a firm thrust, filling you all at once.
The rhythmic sounds of her hips snapping against you filled the space, each one hard, unrelenting, pushing you up against the wall. You felt her warm breaths hitting your neck, heard the barely-restrained grunts in between her panting in your ear.
"Mm—mmph, Abby," you moaned out, because you knew hearing her name on your lips like that, all whiney and borderline pornographic, drove her insane—not that she'd ever admitted it. Sure enough, her grip on your hip tightened, and a guttural moan spilled out of her as her thrusts grew faster. You bit your lip against a smirk, reminding yourself in your blissed-out haze to tease her about it later.
"F-Fuck, take it," she huffed in your ear, each little whimper, each sweet sound she fucked out of you spurring her on. "So fuckin' good for me, baby."
It wasn't long before your breaths were stuttering, face scrunched in ecstasy as the heat in your core coiled tighter and tighter. With a muffled cry, you tumbled over the edge almost at the same time as Abby, cheek pressed against the wall and mouth hanging open in undisguised pleasure.
She slumped forward against you for a moment, catching her breath, before slowly pulling out of you, leaving you feeling empty. You turned, leaning back against the wall with shaky-feeling legs, watching her silently begin to dress. When she glanced up at you, you raised your brows at her.
"Baby?"
"Shut up," she muttered, cheeks turning pink.
#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson#abby anderson fic#abby tlou#tlou x reader#tlou fic#tlou abby#abby anderson smut#abby anderson x fem reader
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𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖘 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖇𝖊
porn with plot??, bully!ellie x reader (kinda rushed lmao my bad y’all)
tw: bully x victim dynamic, sadistic and masochistic notes, cnc (?), exhibitionism, heavy degradation, slight praise and probably a few more lmao idk im not woke enough for this/j
pt. 1 of sweet as can be | tlou m.list
The events that transpired yesterday felt like a hazy dream.. especially now as Ellie slams you into a locker, her eyes fully of anger and disgust with a wolffish grin spreading across her face.
Maybe you were stupid to expect that after what happened yesterday, she’d treat you better… maybe even start dating you.. but those daydreams are quickly wiped from your mind as she picks you up by the collar of your shirt and slams again, the locker letting out a rattle into the now empty hallway.
“God, you’re pathetic,” she rasps out, “You think just because we fucked that I give a shit about you?” her lips brush against a mark she left on your neck, “You that desperate for human connection?”
You hang your head in shame and shake your head, words of protest not being able to leave your glossed lips. You feel so dumb, you actually dressed up more than usual today, wearing a shorter skirt, a cute sweater, hair curled to perfection and swiping a pretty sparkly pink gloss along your lips.
Ellie laughs cruelly, “Aw, you gonna cry?” She lowers her head so that she can look up into your teary eyes, her scarred hand reaching up to brush your hair out of your face, “Come on then, cry for me.”
You sniffle and weakly try to push her away.
Ellie begins to say something again but is interrupted by the sound of heels coming down the hall, she groans and rolls her eyes, pulling you along by your shirt collar and into the girls locker room.
“What are you doin—?”
Ellie clasps a hand over your mouth, “God, do you ever shut the fuck up? I’m not done with you yet,” she scoffs and looks towards the door for any sign that a teacher might enter.
‘Not done with me yet? The heck does that mean..’ you think to yourself.. millions of possibilities come to mind, maybe she’ll fuck you like last time or maybe she’ll push you into the showers again… you’re not exactly sure which you would prefer at this point.
Ellie furrows her brows as she lowers her gaze to you, you’re obviously lost in thought, she can’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the way you unknowingly bite your lip, a habit of yours that she’s noticed. Before Ellie can stop herself, she brings her hand to your lip and grazes her thumb over it, causing you to snap out of your thoughts.
Your eyes widen at the weirdly gentle caress and your brows furrow in confusion.
“You were doing that annoying thing with your lips,” Ellie manages to scoff out, pushing your head away from her hand.
You let out a whine as she pushes you again.
She laughs hoarsely at your whine, “What did you like the way I touched you?”
“W-What?! O-Of course not!” you stutter out and back up against a bathroom stall.
“You’re a pretty shitty liar,” she takes a step closer and grabs your chin, “That whine you let out sounded pretty disappointed, huh?”
Her grip on your chin is sure to leave bruises, “I-I’m not disappointed!”
She rolls her eyes and before you could snap back at her, she sticks her fingers into your mouth, “Finally found a good use for your mouth,” she laughs.
Your eyes narrow with anger but as much as you’d like to bite her hand, you know better, Ellie is way stronger than you.
“You’re not even fighting back,” she grins and shoves her fingers deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag a bit, tears once again pricking your eyes and causing your mascara to run, “Ha, I bet you like this.”
You cry and do your best to shake your head without her fingers leaving your lips.
“Aw, crying again? I’ve barely even started,” she laughs and pulls her fingers out of your mouth, she grabs your chin and forces you to look up into her pretty emerald eyes, “God, you’re such a mess,” her lips curl into a smirk.
You can’t find it within you to say anything back.
“Come on, that’s all you got? You’re even weaker than I thought,” she giggles cruelly.
“Just leave me alone,” you whimper pathetically.
Ellie rolls her eyes again, “Come on, you know I can’t do that, you’re too much fun.”
“Why not!” you practically yell.
Her eyes dart to the door and she slaps a hand over your mouth again, “Hey, hey, be quiet.”
The two of you go white with fear as you hear the clacking of hills get closer.
Ellie groans quietly and pulls you into the bathroom stall, lowering her voice to a whisper she says, “Now look what you did,” she shoots you a mean glare, one that almost makes your knees buckle.
“I-I’m sorry!” you whisper yell.
“Yeah? I’ll show you how sorry you’ll be,” she pushes you up against the stall door and flips your skirt up, revealing your embarrassingly cute panties. pink panties with little strawberries on them and a bow in the front, “These are cute,” she mutters softly and parts your legs with her foot.
Your face flushes a deep red, “H-Hey, knock it off, what if someone hears!” you whine quietly.
“Just be quiet and nobody’ll find us,” she says in an annoyed manner, though you can’t see it, a small smile dances on her pretty lips, part of her secretly happy that you didn’t tell her to stop or to get off you.
You open your mouth to say something but you’re interrupted by the feeling of her calloused fingers plunging into your sopping wet cunt, “I knew you liked this,” she whispers into your ear, her chest pressed firmly against your back as she moves her fingers in and out.
“I-I don’t,” you whimper a little too loudly, “You—.”
“Shut up,” she growls into your ear quietly and shoves two fingers back into your mouth, the sound of the locker room door opening and the sound of heels clacking through the dimly lit room.
“Hello, anyone in here?”
Ellie’s wolffish grin spreads over her face again as she speeds her fingers up, curling them to brush against that sweet sensitive spot within you. Your whines are choked against her fingers, tears streaming down your face from the utter humiliation at the thought of being caught. You couldn’t risk it, you were a model student, a ‘nerd’ as Ellie liked to call you.. you had straight A’s, a clean record, and all the teacher’s looked at you with adoration… the thought of being caught in this type of position with your bully’s fingers plunged deep inside your embarrassingly wet cunt.. it honestly made you a little bit more horny.
Ellie lets out a deep chuckle, “Fuck, you’re clenching around me. You like the idea of being caught, hm? The teacher’s pet likes the idea of being caught taken advantage of by her big, scary bully? Fucking perv.”
Another muffled whine escapes your lips and tears stream down your cheeks.
“I always knew you were too fucking perfect, too sweet.. guess you are a perv, huh?” she moves her lips along your neck, “first you let me fuck you, pin you down on my bed and ram my strap into that pretty hole and now you’re letting me finger you at school? Am I that much of a bad influence on you?”
You can’t help but clench around her long fingers as she recalls yesterday’s events.
She pulls her fingers out from your mouth and wraps the still wet fingers around your neck.
“Go on, let those pretty cries out, you want them to hear how good I fuck you, right?” you can feel her gaze on the back of your head as she bends you over and pushes your chest against the bathroom stall.
“N-No,” you try to stay quiet but ultimately fail, that little ‘no’ of yours, bounces off the walls and into the ears of the teacher across the room.
“I can hear you,” the teacher sighs, “Come on out, I don’t got time for this.”
Your eyes are blown wide with fear but Ellie just laughs against your ear, “You hear her? Come on, don’t act like you don’t like it, you’re practically sucking my fingers in.”
You shake your head and clasp a hand over your mouth.
Ellie scoffs in annoyance and grabs your hand, pinning it behind your back, “Nah, don’t do that,” she chuckles.
You try your best to be quiet, little whimpers slipping past your lips as Ellie’s fingers speed up and slam into you, your eyes squeezed shut as you pray to any god that’ll answer your prayers to not let the two of you get caught.
“Stop tensing up, it’s making it hard to move,” she chuckles against your ear, her hands still moving at that unbearingly harsh speed, “Don’t know why you’re so scared, all you gotta do is keep that pretty mouth shut,” she says in a condescendingly concerned tone, the smirk on her lips betraying it.
“F-Fuck y-you,” you try to whisper but your words come out in choppy whimpers, a result of her adding another finger.
“These damn kids,” the teacher grumbled, her heels clacking closer.
For a moment, you can see an expression of worry and uncertainty flicker over Ellie’s gentle facial features, the scar on her brow becoming more prominent as she furrows them, “Shut up,” she covers your mouth and stops moving her fingers, a small wave of disappointment washes over you.
Ellie listens closely until the heels clack away and the door to the locker room clicks shut, still she waits a few more minutes to make sure that the teacher really is gone.
She dryly laughs, “You almost got us caught there.”
Her fingers speed up again, her free hand running down your stomach to rub your aching clit. The sensation of her rough fingers rubbing slow circles causes your brain to short circuit, the only thing on your mind now is the girl ramming her fingers into your greedy hole and whispering dirty words against your neck.
Before you know it, you’re unraveling around her fingers, her fingers don’t stop moving as you ride out your orgasm, if anything, they speed up again. She bites back a soft moan at the way you tighten up around her fingers, the sight of you beneath her once again sends a wave of desire through her already lust filled body.
“Good girl,” she mutters against your neck, “See, that wasn’t so bad was it? I knew you’d like it, perv.”
#ellie the last of us#ellie willams x reader#ellie williams#ellie x fem reader#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie fanfic#ellie tlou#ellie williams x reader#ellie x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams smut#ellie angst#tlou x you#tlou x y/n#tlou x reader#tlou fluff#tlou smut#tlou2#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic
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“Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace”

. ݁Unkissed Bruises- A.A . ݁
⤷ Pitfighter Abby! Forbidden Love x High Society
. ݁₊ . ݁⚠︎ cw: Angst, Caitvi inspired, sexual content, death/grief, based off this draft! . ݁₊
9k words- mlist
݁₊ . ݁ Once upon a time, Whitehaven and the Rookery were one. two halves of a thriving whole, a city of beautiful contrasts where differences coexisted rather than divided. The grand halls of Whitehaven stood proudly beside the winding streets of the Rookery, their people mingling, trading, sharing stories beneath the same sky.
But with time came greed, and the growing sense of hierarchy that came with seclusion. and seclusion greed came walls, not the kind built with stone, but with power and privilege. The wealthy of Whitehaven withdrew behind gilded gates, drawing an invisible line between themselves and the Rookery below. The divide deepened, fed by whispered justifications and the belief that separation was natural. That it was better.
Now, they were no longer one.
The Rookery became a place of struggle, of resilience, of those left behind to fend for themselves. It was a city of flickering lanterns and hurried footsteps, of shadowed alleyways humming with secrets. The air smelled of spice and smoke, of meals stretched to feed too many mouths, of rain-soaked stone and burning ambition. Lifestyle shaped by survival.
Whitehaven, in contrast, remained untouched, pristine, a city of towering buildings , and shimmering glass. Its streets were wide, its air perfumed with florals from large gardens. Voices carried in refined tones, syllables drawn out as if even words themselves had the luxury of time. Its people dined on delicacies, oblivious to the hunger just beyond their borders. Oil and water. Two cities, once bound together, now separated by more than just wealth. By history. By resentment. By the quiet understanding that though they still existed side by side, they had long since become worlds apart.
But When the sickness hit, most folk called it the “bug”, a constant infectious shadow that never leaves, leaving you a hollow version of the person you once were. It’s been contained for the most part, but its remnants linger, and those who fell to it never stray too far, no matter how high the walls around Whitehaven rise.
Your father, a respected scientist, kept you safe inside those walls. As a girl, you ran through his office, spilling coffee on important papers and giving him wide eyed apologies when he threw his hands up in frustration. Your mother, a talented caterer, made food that could heal you from the inside out. comfort in every bite. Growing up, you often found yourself perched on the window sill, watching the distant figures on the bridge, wondering about the people outside. The Rookery was rarely spoken of, but you knew why. The guilt and pride of those inside Whitehaven kept it at a distance, as did the stories of struggle that slipped through the faint cracks when the walls opened for supply runs.
You’d ventured outside the walls a few times, as a young woman, but you always returned to the duties and comforts inside. Letting that curiosity slip away in favor of the life you had. After all, those people had their own way of living. They weren’t helpless.
But little did you know, three-four years ago on Celestial Day; the city’s grandest holiday, marking the “enlightenment” of Whitehaven’s founders, would bring a taste of the Rookery right to your feet.
And she was just on the other side of those said walls. Staring right back. A younger Abby sat on the rooftop of the abandoned store, half listening to her friends beside her.
Abby knew ‘wallflowers,’ aka those who lived within WhiteHaven who turned their nose up at people who had lint on their clothes, ripped not by accident but by fashion, and looked down on those who didn’t. It was bullshit, honestly. Everyone would have the same fate if a cure wasn't found in the next 10 years for the bug. No gold or shiny shoes would save you when you were on your deathbed, lips cracked, eyes glossed over.
It was terrifying. The kind of thing that made you want to pray even if you didn’t believe. For some kind of hope.
Abby’s father, Jerry was a respected figure here, someone who people looked to for guidance. A man of science himself, just with the resources he could scrape together. She’d warn him to be careful; the last thing she needed was to lose her rock. The same man she had to beg to call her Abby; now, she was too old for ‘Abigail’. Made her feel like she was still in pigtails.
But there’s always sun after the storm, and for her? That’s Sidekick, Manny. And the definition of loyalty, Nora, is also from The Rookery; those down here were like family.
The kind of friends you could raid a junkyard and turn it into a mini shooting range. jumping off the large bridge into the blue waters below. Or—watching them do that as she’s terrified of heights. But it looked fun. Just…from a distance. That was her life.
. ݁₊ . ݁ in Whitehaven, on celestial day. It was ice sculptures, crystal glasses filled with drinks Abby couldn’t even pronounce, and so much food that even she knew she wouldn’t be able to try it all. Everything smelled like money. Everything from the banners to accents was navy blue, white, and gold, as polished as the people in attendance. Outside the walls, in the Rookery, people had their own ways of celebrating.
Officials claimed the walls of Whitehaven were meant to protect against crime and disease, but Abby knew better. They weren’t meant to keep anything out. They were meant to keep people like her from getting in. The suffrage these people would only hear about in passing.
The Rookery was her home. Over that broken bridge between the city’s. cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights, and a kind of toughness where dirty looks were as good as compliments. But here? But here? In prissy Whitehaven, it was nothing like it. Everything was quiet, pristine, and expensive. And her borrowed dress shirt felt like a straitjacket. Suffocating even.
Noses pointed in the air. Ironed shirts, pleated skirts, and laughs that screamed financial stability. That was the first thing Abby noticed. That, and how fucking uncomfortable she felt standing in the middle of it all. She shifted against the stiff fabric, resisting the urge to roll her shoulders. “Remind me why I’m here again?” she muttered, just loud enough for Nora to hear. Nora, having family in Whitehaven despite the tension, would drag her friends to explore the city of bright and white across the bridge.
“Because I refuse to suffer alone,” Nora answered smoothly, scanning the crowd with the ease of someone who belonged somewhat. “And because my parents think dragging me to these things will make me ‘appreciate fine company.’ I think.”
Abby groaned, shifting her plate of food to her other hand. It was an unsorted mess of expensive appetizers and tiny, overly decorated portions that tasted too fancy for their own good. Nora glanced down at Abby’s plate and wrinkled her nose. “Are you seriously eating caviar with… a breadstick?”
Abby shrugged, chewing the piece in her mouth. “What? I’m hungry.” She trailed off. Before Nora could get another jab in, Abby’s attention flickered across the room. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped mid-bite until Nora followed her gaze. A girl around their age, working the room. Now she belonged here.
Nora turned back to her curiously. “So that’s what’s got you all quiet.”
Abby snapped out of it, rolling her shoulder. “What?” “The one with the stick up her ass?” Abby turned back to look at you. Standing near the center of the venue, posture straight, wearing something white and elegant. Talking to the right people, nodding at the right times. Everything about you looked polished. put together in a way that made Abby’s hands twitch at her sides, suddenly way too aware of the bandages she’d wrapped around them earlier that day out of habit.
She scoffed, tearing her eyes away. “She’s… okay, I guess.”
“Okay?” Nora snorted. “Try again.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Fine. She’s hot. Are you happy?”
“Absolutely,” Nora grinned. She swore she was some kind of matchmaker. But the last time her friend set her up, she vowed to never let her meddle in her love life again.
Abby shook her head, as she decided it was best to step away before Nora found more ways to get under her skin. She needed an escape, just for a moment. Under the guise of grabbing another drink, she turned on her heel and strolled toward the kitchen, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. The air was thick with laughter and the faint hum of conversation, the warmth of bodies packed into the space making it easy to disappear. As she moved, she brushed shoulders with strangers, their faces blurring into the background. A murmur of apology here, a fleeting glance there. But she barely registered any of it. She just needed a second. A breath. A chance to shake off whatever it was that had settled in her chest.
And then there you were again. You weren’t out in the crowd anymore. Instead, you were standing by the catering setup, arms crossed, giving one of the kitchen staff a very unimpressed look.
“No, seriously,” you said, exasperated. “What’s the point of me making a list of allergens if you’re not going to follow it?”
The staff member stammered an apology, but you barely heard it, too busy scanning the trays of hors d’oeuvres for any more potential disasters. This day was important. not just for the city, but for you and your mother. Celestial Day was more than just an extravagant celebration. it was a chance to prove your worth, to show the officials that you belonged inside these walls, that your family’s place here wasn’t just a courtesy. At all. One wrong dish, one guest sent into an allergy attack, and it would be a catastrophe. A stain on your mother’s reputation, on yours. Your grip tightened on the notepad in your hand as you exhaled sharply. There was no room for mistakes today. You earned your keep in these walls.
Abby leaned against the doorway, amusement tugging at her lips. Yeah, she was right about the stick-up-your-ass comment. But she wasn’t expecting to find it this entertaining. The way you talked with your hands. Politely ripping them a new one. She let out a small laugh at something you said louder than intended. You turned at the sound, eyes landing on her. And for the first time that night, or ever, Abby actually felt like she was being looked at.
Taking in the slightly wrinkled button-up, the way she wasn’t quite standing like she belonged here, the sharpness of her jaw, the broadness of her shoulders. her hair not neatly tucked out of her face. Your expression shifted just slightly, curiosity and…something else. You cleared your throat and spoke.
“Are you lost?” you asked, tilting your head.
She shrugged, glancing over your outfit. “Should I be?” Abby countered, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer.
You returned her once-over. “You just don’t seem like the type to frequent places with, hm… ice sculptures.” That sounded worse than instead, mentally kicking yourself.
“Mhm. And you don’t seem like the type to chew out waitstaff at over-the-top events.” She glanced behind you at the staff, remaking something she wouldn’t eat.
You exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “Well, they had one job.”
Abby held back a laugh. “Aw, Tragic.”
That earned her a slow, assessing look that made her fingers twitch again. She could see it now, past the perfectly curated exterior. The way your eyes gleamed when challenged. The way you weren’t as prim and proper as she expected you to be. Watching your face as you continued on the conversation. She couldn’t help but like it. And maybe she really liked the way your breath caught just slightly when she leaned in a little closer. Holding her eye contact like you were trying to communicate something, whether it was intentional or not. It was there.
“Are you always this uptight?” Abby asked, voice lowering into something that made your heart race. You weren’t sure if she was testing you or teasing you. Maybe both.
You opened your mouth to respond, not sure how to. But before you could, a microphone crackled into the background. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention for a moment—” your father’s voice pulling you back. Your head snapped toward the sound. your parents. About to give some speech to the crowd. You let out a small sigh of disappointment, before glancing back at the other girl.
“You should get back,” Abby said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you ran off with the hired help.”
“Good idea, really wouldn’t want that.” Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you back into the sea of white and gold, but your head felt lighter, buzzing with something unfamiliar. You weren’t sure why it took more effort than usual to turn away. Why you had to smacking yourself not to glance back.
Abby, on the other had, didn’t look away. She stood there, arms crossed, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pressed together as if she were trying to make sense of something. You weren’t what she expected. Not even close. She replayed the conversation in her head, the way you had looked at her, the slight hitch in your breath when she stepped closer. The way her own stomach had twisted in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
With a slow exhale, she rolled her shoulders, forcing the thoughts away before they took root. Whatever that was, it didn’t matter. At least, that’s what she told herself as she finally turned back toward Nora. But even as she walked away, that faint flutter in her chest refused to settle.
Nora took one look at her and groaned dramatically. “Oh, no. You’re making that face.”
“What face?” She huffed, knowing exactly what she was talking about.
“The ‘I suddenly don’t mind the stick’ face.”
Abby rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Maybe,” she said, biting back a smirk. “…Maybe I don’t.”
. ݁₊ . ݁ She never got your name that night, but she wouldn’t forget a face like that. those eyes full of curiosity, watching her, trying so hard to keep composure. There was something in the way you looked at her, like you were trying to figure her out, Abby almost admired the effort. Almost. She hated that she was so focused on you even with that sudden spike of the bug in the background.
She’d learned your name later, after prying it out of Nora, who had way too much fun making her suffer for it. Abby endured every teasing remark, every knowing grin, all for that small detail about you. God, did that make her desperate or just determined?
She liked you. A girl she barely knew. A wallflower, of all people. But she saw something beneath the polish, the grace the way you bit back at her, that sass behind your words. That familiar defiance. She wasn’t wrong about you. That much was clear when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop. But she did anyway. That was only confirmed when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop, but she did anyway. She knew you two knew each other, but something about the way you spoke, the way you glanced around like you didn’t want to be seen, made her think, no, know the conversation was about her. What did you want with her.
The next meeting wasn’t an accident. You made sure of that.
Late-night meetups just beyond the Whitehaven gates became routine, standing in the quiet where the city’s golden glow didn’t quite reach. It was easier in the dark—less pressure, fewer eyes. But the push and pull between you never let up. Abby kept her distance, stubborn in her refusal to be someone’s reckless experiment. And you? You stood your ground just as fiercely, unwilling to let her push you away. You were trying. Why couldn’t she see that?
This was new for you too. sneaking out, breaking rules that had never been yours to bend, just for the chance to see her. To talk. To exist in a space that wasn’t preordained by duty or expectation. It wasn’t about proving a point, or defying the invisible lines drawn between your worlds. It was about her. About this thing between you that neither of you could quite name.
And sure enough, it all came to a head one night. too much tension, too many words left unsaid, both of you too frustrated, with each other, with yourselves, to keep pretending there wasn’t something more. Abby huffed, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together. “What—what is this? The wall’s not enough for you?” She was fighting herself more than she was fighting you. But that didn’t make it any easier.
You had come to see her, and things had been fine.until it got a little too close, a little too handsy. Until she suddenly pulled away, realizing what she was doing and who she was doing it with. “It’s not about that,” you sighed.
“Then what. Is. It,” she challenged, voice sharp, daring you to say something that would justify all of this. That would clear up what hadn’t been said outright.
But you didn’t say anything.
Instead, you stepped closer. Close enough that Abby could see the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers twitched at your sides like you were fighting yourself. She could feel your breath, shallow and unsteady, and for once, she didn’t know if she wanted you to pull away or get even closer. Abby’s jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath her skin as she forced herself to stay still, waiting. Seeing if you’d do it for her. Your gaze flickered down—to her lips, to the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides—before snapping back up. Like you were making a decision you couldn’t take back.
Then, without another word, you kissed her. It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t careful. It was a decision. A line crossed. Abby barely had time to react before instinct took over. Before her hands found your waist, pulling you in like she’d been waiting for this longer than she’d ever admit. The tension between you-the late nights, the teasing, the push and pull, the distance she kept forcing-it all crumbled in an instant.
It was game over. Her fingers dug into your sides, desperate, like she was anchoring herself to this-to you. Your hand slipped into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groaned against your lips, her resolve snapping. She pressed harder, kissed you deeper, as if trying to make up for every second she'd spent pretending this wasn't exactly what she wanted.
By the time you pulled back, your breath was shallow, your forehead resting against hers. "That clear it up?" you asked, voice still breathless, a grin tugging at your lips.
Abby's hands stayed firm on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles against your skin. She let out a short, breathless laugh, her lips still hovering over yours. "Might have to do it again," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her lips barely brushing against yours. "Just to be sure."
. ݁₊ . ݁ That hesitation melted away after that. Late-night meetings turned into something more. something neither of you named but both understood. It was unspoken but ever-present, settling into the quiet moments between teasing and stolen touches. You fixing her posture when she slouched, Abby shoving some Rookery dish at you, practically spoon-feeding it while you tried not to gag. It was different, the good kind of different. The kind that made Abby actually do something with her hair in the mornings, especially if she knew she’d be seeing you.
And then one night, caught up in the warmth of her touch, your heart hammering against your ribs, you blurted it out before you could think better of it.
“I—want… mm, to be together. officially.” The words tumbled out, breathless, as Abby kissed her way down to your shoulder.
She froze for a beat before grinning against your skin. “Yeah? Not too scrappy for you, Miss Perfect?” She was always testing, always pushing, her lips traveling lower, her hands steady on your hips. That teasing smirk, the one that made your knees weak, stayed in place even as her eyes flicked up to meet yours.
You rolled your eyes, a breathy laugh slipping out, even as your fingers curled into the sheets. “Hah—mm. No. I like… ‘scrappy.’ Your version of it, I mean.”
Abby grinned. “I’ll take it.” Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours.
. ݁₊ . ݁ As much as Abby wanted to focus on you, your smile, the way you smelled when you hugged her. there was something else looming. The bug wasn’t highly contagious, but when you were a scientist, trying to find some kind of cure, exposure was inevitable. And for Jerry, it had finally caught up to him. Despite her pleas for him to be careful. All her years and love.
Abby felt her heart plummet.
It was a sensation she wasn’t prepared for. the kind that stole the air from her lungs, that made her chest feel like it was caving in. One moment, she was standing. The next, she was falling, even though her feet never left the ground. Memories rushed in like a flood she couldn’t hold back. The sound of his laugh warm, familiar, something she had taken for granted. The way his hand would ruffle her hair, even when she grumbled about it, pretending to be annoyed. The way he’d look at her, eyes full of certainty, and tell her she’d be okay, even when the world around them wasn’t.
She blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop the sting behind her eyes, the blur creeping into her vision. Her breath came faster, shorter, and suddenly, standing still wasn’t an option. She had to move.
Her feet carried her before she even decided where she was going, but she already knew. You. You were the only face she wanted to see right now. The only solid thing in a world that suddenly felt too vulnerable, too uncertain. You were okay. Alive. Real.
And you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t. She wouldn’t let you.
The sound of rapid knocking on your window near the dresser jolted you awake. Your heart jumped , but the second the haze of sleep lifted, you knew who it was. Groaning, you swung your legs over the bed, already preparing to scold her for coming unannounced. Someone could’ve seen her. or worse, thought she was breaking in. Sneaking her into town was only a good idea in the daylight, when there were too many people to notice someone who didn’t belong.
Still, when you reached the window and found her standing there, cheeks stained, breath trembling, all the irritation drained from you.
You didn’t ask any questions. You just pulled her inside, wrapping your arms around her. She melted into you, gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. You felt her shudder, her breaths uneven against your shoulder. You wanted to ask, but you already knew. The spike in deaths recently, it had to be that. Another loss. Another name added to the ever-growing list of people Abby had loved and lost. And you? You were still here. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding her tighter. There was something you weren’t telling her. A possibility. A thread of hope so thin it barely held its shape, but it was something.
Your father’s research had been extensive, more than most people knew. The world had given up on finding a solution, but he hadn’t. While officials praised his work publicly, behind closed doors, they questioned his methods, his choices—the ethical lines he had nearly crossed. You weren’t supposed to see most of it. But you had.
Late nights spent skimming through his notes, his private journals, his failed trials, looking for anything. And buried beneath the endless calculations, molecular breakdowns, and abandoned compounds, there was Potential. Not a cure. Not yet. But the closest thing to progress anyone had made in years. A formula that had almost worked before it collapsed under its own instability. Abby didn’t know. And you weren’t sure if you’d ever tell her. What good would it do? Hope was dangerous in a world like this. It could lift you up, make you believe, and then drop you from heights so cruelly high you’d never land on your feet again.
She had already lost so much. You’d seen the way she carried her grief. like a wound that refused to heal, an ache she never spoke about but always felt. You wanted to tell her, to give her something to hold on to, but what if you were wrong? What if it led to nothing?
You couldn’t do that to her. So you stayed quiet. Held her like you weren’t keeping something from her. Like you weren’t already pulling away, one unspoken truth at a time. And when she finally whispered, “I don’t want to lose you, too,” you just pressed your lips to her golden brown hair, forcing a smile she couldn’t see.
“Never,” you murmured. “I’m here. I’m right here,” you whispered, one hand cradling the back of her head, holding her as if you could carry her grief with her.
. ݁₊ . ݁ That was the first time of many she’d sneak in. It started small—meeting in hidden spots, then slipping past Whitehaven’s walls under cover of darkness. She learned more about your world—how effortless everything seemed, how trapped you felt in it. And in return, you got glimpses of hers. Stories of the Rookery, of scraped knees and hunger, of nights spent listening to her father’s voice, now just an echo. The seasons passed, watching the summer fun beat down, the fall leaves orange snd red, the flowers blooming, to the snow falling. You were right there, by her side through one of the in toughest times in her life.
“Shh, you’ll get us caught,” you giggled, pulling her hand as one of the maids nearly spotted you both sneaking out of the kitchen.
Abby only grinned, unfazed. “Please. I’ve been doing this for what—a year? We would’ve been caught by now.”
And later that night; Abby curled beside you, watching as you slept, her heart swelling with quiet adoration. She loved you. She loved this. even if it was little more than a secret. Privacy was good. Not everything needed to be known. People had a way of ruining things once curiosity got the better of them.
And Abby, unfortunately, wasn’t exempt from it.
She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed, stretching as she padded toward the bathroom. But instead of returning to you, she let herself wander. The house was too big, warm in a way the Rookery never was. The towering windows, the gilded edges of every frame, the polished floors that barely made a sound beneath her socked feet.
Her fingers brushed over a portrait on the wall you and your family, untouched by the world beyond the walls. The navy of your dress reminded her of the night she met you. So prim and proper, the way you crossed your legs, the soft, pardon? instead of a blunt what?. the smallest details about you, the ones she once teased, were the ones she had grown to love the most. A wallflower she’d met grow its vines over her own.
But as she moved past your father’s office, that warmth inside her chest twisted into something else entirely.
A stack of papers lay scattered across the polished desk, your families last name stamped in the corner. And there, written in stark black and red ink, were the words that stopped her cold:
“Hypothesis for a Potential Cure.”
Her stomach fell. A cure?
Her fingers twitched at her sides before she stepped forward, pushing the heavy oak door open just enough to let the golden glow of the fireplace illuminate the papers. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she reached out, flipping through the documents, her movements hesitant at first, then completely desperate. This had been here. All this time. This research, this possibility. Did you know?
Abby’s pulse filled her ears. She didn’t think, she just grabbed as many pages as she could and turned, her feet carrying her back to your room, to you. She shook you awake with little patience. You weren’t sure what she was rambling about.
“I mean this—this is something, right? I just—” Her words stumbled out in a rush as you blinked up at her, groggy and confused.
Then you saw the papers in her hands. Your stomach twisted into a million knots. “Abby, it’s..that’s not what you think.” Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t soothe anything.
“Wait. You knew?” Abby snapped her head toward you, her voice sharp, almost disbelieving. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Her breath hitched, her grip tightening on the papers as if she needed to steady herself.
“You… you held me that night,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And you knew.” She held the papers up, blue eyes burning into you. “About this?”
Now, The room felt smaller, suffocating even. You sat up, pulling the sheets around you, trying to keep your voice even. “Listen to me. it’s just a thesis. A theory. My father isn’t even close to a cure.”But Abby wasn’t listening. She couldn’t.
“A theory is better than nothing,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Do you know what we’d give for even a sliver of hope? My dad—he died for nothing while you’ve been sitting on this?”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm. “It’s not that simple, Abby. A cure isn’t just something you throw into the world. It could backfire, mutate, make things worse—”
Abby let out a small laugh. “Worse than what? Watching everyone rot outside your perfect fucking walls?”
The words hit like a slap. Your jaw clenched, fingers digging into the sheets as you forced yourself to breathe. “We have to be careful.” Abby was still standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, like she was forcing herself not to shake. The papers lay scattered on the floor between you, proof of what had been hidden, proof of everything that now stood between you. But you weren’t ready to let her go.
“Abby, please,” you stepped forward, reaching for her, but she flinched. just barely, but enough that you froze. Her hand raised up near her shoulder like she couldn’t bare you touching her.
“No.” Abby stepped back. “You have to be careful. Because you live up here. Because it’s not your people dying.” The silence that followed was deafening. Abby wanted you to fight her on this. She wanted you to say, fuck the risks, to agree that something anything. was worth trying. To prove you were different. But you didn’t. You stayed silent. And that silence was what destroyed her.
“You.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “You are my people, Abby.”
Abby sucked in a sharp breath. You watched her throat bob, her fingers twitch, like she wanted to believe you, like she wanted to hold onto it, onto you. Onto us. But the moment passed. She exhaled, slow and steady, pressing her lips together like she was biting back words she couldn’t afford to say. Then, finally, she shook her head.
“No, I’m not,” she whispered. “Not anymore. Not when you are making me choose between you and them,” she said, voice hoarse, like the fight had already drained her. “Because I can’t do that. I won’t.”
The night had started like any other. And ended in the worst way possible. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you were the one person she let herself trust. had known. Had held her. Had whispered reassurances while keeping something this big from her. Your voice barely registered as she grabbed her shoes, her movements sharp and hurried. She turned toward the door without another word, slipping into the dim hallway, the only light guiding her the pale silver glow of the moon.
You sat there, frozen, the strap of your nightgown slipping off your shoulder, sheets pooling around you, growing colder by the second. And then she was gone.
. ݁₊ . ݁ Weeks had passed since you last saw Abby, and the ache in your chest wouldn’t let you be. You had to see her again. You had to fix this. The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, as if the world itself was telling you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not when there was so much left unsaid.
The city’s glow felt miles away as you approached the edge of Whitehaven’s borders. The place where the city’s light couldn’t quite reach, the place where it all began, and now, where it would end. The gap between you two had stretched farther than you could have imagined, and with every step closer, you could feel that distance growing. She saw you coming, but Abby didn’t turn to face you. No acknowledgment. No greeting. Just the sound of the rain, the rhythm of her breaths as she stared out at the empty space before her.
“Abby,” you said, your voice shaking with desperation. “Please, you have to stop this.” You could feel your hands trembling, the rain mingling with the sweat on your palms. “This hope you’re clinging to…it’s dangerous. People are dying. My father’s work wasn’t some miracle cure. It was just a theory, one that never even had the chance to be tested.” You stepped forward, reaching out, but she didn’t budge. You gripped her arms, trying to make her see reason, trying to stop the madness before it consumed her. “You can’t give people false hope. Not after everything we’ve already lost.”
Her eyes remained forward, a steel edge to her gaze. It was like your words couldn’t reach her, like you weren’t even speaking the same language anymore. She didn’t even flinch, her jaw set tight with defiance. “I’m not giving them false hope,” she said, her voice strained but firm, as if she was holding on to every word just to stay grounded. “I’m giving them something to hold on to.” She motioned toward the far-off horizon, the rain blurring everything. “Hope is all we have left. You can’t take that away from them.”
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the weight of her words crashed over you. This wasn’t what you wanted. You just wanted her to understand. your voice cracking, pleading with her, “you don’t get it. I can’t be the one to bring that hope. Not when it’s not real.” You could feel your frustration spilling out, every ounce of anger and sorrow mixing. “You’re fighting a battle you can’t win. It’ll tear you apart.”
She shook her head, the rain soaking her hair, her face hardening in a way you hadn’t seen before. But beneath her anger, there was fear. fear of losing everything. Fear of facing the truth. “You think I don’t know that?” she spat, taking a breath as if the words themselves were choking her. “You think I haven’t been trying to make sense of all this?” She looked up, gesturing to the city behind her, where once there had been dreams. “You’ve got all this. All the answers. And I’ve got nothing. Nothing but a fight.” Her voice faltered, and her gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. “And you want me to just give that up?”
There was silence between you, thick and suffocating, as the rain continued to pour. You could feel the pressure of her words crushing you. “I’m not just doing this for me,” she whispered, barely audible over the rain. But you could hear the steel in her tone. “I’m fighting for the people I’ve lost. Your people. I’m fighting for the ones who died thinking they were forgotten.” Her voice cracked on the last words, raw with emotion.
Your heart was in pieces, but the cold reality of it all stung. You wanted to fight back, to tell her that there was nothing more to fight for, that this war was over, but all you could do was look at her. Really look at her.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” you whispered, the words tasting like butter of defeat. “But you’re not going to win this. Not like this.”
Her face humed with disappointment, the kind that came when something that once seemed so sure had already fallen apart.“Then I guess this is where you— we, say goodbye,” she said quietly, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her words were a finality, a door slamming shut with no chance of being opened again. You stood frozen as she turned away, her silhouette swallowed by the night, the rain still falling relentlessly between you. The space between you had never been wider. The ache in your chest felt like it would never end.
And just like that, she was gone. Again.
. ݁₊ . ݁ Over the course of those years, time seemed to move in an endless blur. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, until the seasons cycled in their usual pattern, but nothing felt the same. The vibrant world, once bursting with color and life, now seemed washed out, as if the sun itself had pulled away its warmth. It was as though some part of her, some crucial spark, had been drained, leaving behind a muted echo of what once was.
The holidays came and went, each one marked by the absence of someone she had once held close, the absence of something that had given her life meaning. Friends and family would smile, laugh, and carry on as if the world hadn’t shifted, but Abby couldn’t shake the hollowness that settled deep in her chest. It wasn’t just the space left by her father’s death—it was the space left by you, too. Your absence had carved a hole in her heart, one that no amount of distraction or pit fighting could fill.
The people she’d once called her own were still there, still around, but everything had changed. Manny, Nora, and Leah stayed by her side, watching with worried eyes as she slipped further away, the woman they knew turning into someone they didn’t quite recognize anymore. They tried to pull her back, to remind her of the life she had before, but she had already started losing herself in the fight, in the chaos.
The nights were the hardest. Alone, in the silence, memories of your time together would rise to the surface. Laughing over dinner, the quiet moments shared, the way her heart had raced when she was with you. Those memories were bittersweet now, tainted by the unresolved tension between them, the words left unsaid. Abby couldn’t bring herself to visit your home, to see the space where she’d once felt safe. She couldn’t bear the thought of the ghost of what they had, and yet, the thought of you lingered in the edges of her every waking moment. It wasn’t just the time that had passed; it was everything that had changed. What once felt like a solid, comforting bond had turned into something fragile, a thread she was afraid to pull on in case it unraveled everything she’d become since. The love she once felt for you wasn’t gone, but it had hollowed out, turned into a quiet, aching weight that never fully left.
For you She was missing. The curtain by the large window, the one that once overlooked her home. stayed drawn. Closed, like it could somehow keep her absence from creeping in. And for the most part, it did. Rumors of a potential cure began to swirl through the city, whispers slipping through cracks in the walls. You heard them in passing, read them in coded messages, felt them like a knife to the ribs. You never spoke about that night.
How could you?
And for that figure burnt into your memory, her father died, and there was a chance everything didn’t have to fall apart. The Rookery, once her anchor, now felt like a prison. The streets she had memorized since childhood. The ones he had walked beside her, teaching her, protecting her, felt foreign. Empty. The home they shared, the one filled with his voice and his warmth, was nothing more than walls and silence.
And you. The one person she might have turned to was nothing more than an abandoned, open string. A thread she couldn’t follow, not without unraveling completely. What happened was nothing more than an act of betrayal from the woman she loved—wanted to love.
So, she stopped trying.
With no direction, she let herself drift. And the drifting led her to the underground fights. The first time she went, it was just to blow off steam. But she found herself too immersed to stay away long. Pain made sense there. It had rules. A punch landed, and a bruise formed. A hit taken, a price paid. The fights weren’t about winning, not really. They were about feeling something: anger, exhaustion, clarity. Anything but the ache in her chest that refused to fade.
The view of Whitehaven above fueling each blow.
Manny, Nora—they tried. They watched from the sidelines and made excuses for her when she came home battered and bloody. They pulled her out of back rooms, patched her up, and told her she was better than this. But they didn’t understand.
She needed this.
She needed the weight of a fist against her ribs, the sting of split knuckles, the satisfaction of someone else’s blood on the floor. It was easier to be this. A fighter, a brute, a body in the ring. than the girl who had lost everything. More than she could bare.
. ݁₊ . ݁ And now, years later.
Her knuckles wrapped, a second skin of bandages soaked with the memory of harsh punches. The jet black hair, new and darker than before, fell messily around her face. Her back tattoo was hidden under the faded tank top, but she could feel it, the weight of the meaning of the ink on her skin. A portrait of what she’d lost. She carried it with her, always.
The pit always reeked of sweat, blood, and alcohol, or desperation. The heat pressed in from every side, a suffocating feeling. Bodies packed together, their faces lit by the lights hanging above, the heat causing a bead of sweat. It was the usual crowd, rowdy, ready for a show, but none of that mattered to Abby. She didn’t care about the noise, the smell, or the grimy underbelly of this place. She just needed the fight. To hit something, someone. Whatever idiot would be brave enough.
But she wasn’t thinking about any of that when she felt her eyes land on her.
You. Fuck
For a second, Abby froze. The noise around her blurred. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to be caught looking. Didn’t want to meet your gaze, but before she could stop them, they were snapping toward you. You were standing across the pit, just at the edge of the crowd. There was no mistaking the way her chest tightened when their gaze locked. She hadn’t expected to see you again, not here. Not like this.
What are you doing here, in the rookery?
Her jaw clenched. She almost turned away and walked out before you noticed her, but her feet stayed planted to the spot. Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this exposed. The past few months had been a blur of anger, distraction, and fights, anything to numb the hurt. But seeing you again, in a pit of all places… It felt like someone had just torn open a new wound.
Your lips moved, and for a second, Abby didn’t even hear the words. She was too busy staring, too busy wondering if this was real or if it was just some fucking dream
“New look …suits you.” You said, scanning over her. “Bit intense, though.”
Her lips twitched. Intense. Yeah, that was the word for it. She could feel the weight of her own body, every bruise, every broken piece of her, and it all felt like it was on display now.
“Yeah?” She shifted her weight, rolling a shoulder, trying to shrug off the growing pit in her stomach. “What can I say? You always said I had a thing for dramatic.”
The words crawled their way out. Like she wasn’t standing there in front of the person who had seen her at her weakest. This was fine; she doesn’t care. It doesn't matter anymore. But if she was being honest with herself… it still did. All this time later.
She crossed her arms over her chest, just to make sure her hands stayed put. Keep it together. For her. For everyone else. She couldn’t let you see how much this hurt, even after everything. Watching your eyes scan over her “bloodhound” tattoo on her forearm.
“Don’t like it?” she added, tilting her head, trying to keep the cool distance.
“Just…different is all” you said.
She rolled her eyes, a habit she knew you’d always found irritating. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To keep you at arm’s length
“Different’s good. Keeps things interesting.” Her eyes flicked to the crowd, trying to focus on anything other than you. She should walk away. Get out of here. But she found herself glued to the spot, stuck between wanting you to leave and wanting you to stay. Wanting things she couldn’t have.
"You’re staring."
“Well sorry, it’s just not everyday you see an angry oil slick walking around” You huffed at her.
She snorted, trying her best to keep her demeanor nonchalant. "Angry oil slick? Jesus, I’m gone, and that’s how you talk to me? Nice to see you again, too.” She rolled her shoulders, ignoring the pang in her chest. She could almost forget how much she missed you when you were standing right in front of her.
She hated this . The familiar sting. She hated it, and she loved it. She didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to let herself care. But the truth was, she still did. Even after all the fighting, all the distance, she was standing here, willing to be hurt again. Her gaze softened for a second. She wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between you. To make you understand. But the words got stuck, caught between her teeth like glass. The pit was suddenly too small. Too close. She needed to get away, needed to fight, but the weight of your presence was suffocating her. You were everything she was trying to forget, and everything she couldn’t let go of.
She glanced over at the entrance, where the next fight was about to start. The lights flickered above her, the sound of the crowd growing louder, but all Abby could think about was the tension between you, the hurt that never seemed to go away.
“Just leave,” she muttered, barely audible. She didn’t know if she was talking to you or to herself. “You’re not supposed to be here.”But you didn’t leave. You stayed, and she couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that flooded her chest. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to face what she’d been avoiding for so long. Maybe.
“Abby,” you started, but your throat tight. “I didn’t come here to fight. I—“
“You came all the way here… just to check if I’m alright?” she interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of softness she wouldn’t allow herself to fully acknowledge. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t soften something deep inside. The fact that you still cared enough to show up. Damn you for that. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore.
“Yes. I came here to see you. And now you’re telling me to just…go? Normally people would be appreciative, but sorry for trying!”
“Appreciative?” Abby scoffed, taking a step back, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “When did I ask you to show up here?” Her fists clenched involuntarily, the anger boiling inside her. Frustration. Resentment. It was all-consuming, and she didn’t know who she was more angry at. You for showing up, or herself for still caring. “Jesus, I don’t need someone breathing down my damn neck,” she spat, her chest heaving with each sharp breath. “I’m fine.”
“Breathing down your neck? No one held you here to talk to me.” “And you don’t need to ask. That’s what you do when you care. Still.” You could feel the words sting, but the truth cut deeper. You were tired of standing by, waiting for her to come back to you.
“Well, I don’t need your care, not anymore,” she muttered, the words harsh, even to her own ears. She hated how much she still wanted it. How much she missed you. But she couldn’t admit that, not now. “You lost that privilege a long time ago,” she finished, her voice cracking as the weight of it hit her.
You were quiet for a long time, the silence between you two oppressive. But it didn’t stay silent for long. The air was thick with the unspoken truths, both of you standing there, unwilling to be the first to break.
“And trying?” Abby’s voice shook with the force of her emotions. “You’re trying now? What, all this time later? Too little, too late.” The words wrenched from her chest like a physical blow. She couldn’t even look at you. “Where were you, huh? When I needed you the most? When I couldn’t breathe without it feeling like sandpaper in my lungs?” She clenched her fists, biting down on the tears that threatened to spill. “Where. Were. You?”
The words hung in the air like a shroud, and it was your turn to feel the weight of them. Your stomach twisted with guilt and regret, but you couldn’t let her destroy you with them. You couldn’t. Not when it felt like she was shutting you out for good.
You couldn’t keep the frustration out of your voice. “Abby, you gave me no choice! You barely looked at me that night.” Your heart was pounding. “And you’re the one who turned your back on me. I deserved more than that. I understand you’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean push me to the fucking side.”A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “So, you don’t want to talk to me after all this time? Fine. Be like that, Abbigail.” You shook your head, staring at her with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You know what, you’re right. This, you, and your constant pushing me away isn’t my problem anymore. This was stupid to think that maybe, just maybe, you’d open your mouth and talk to me.”
You looked her up and down, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The girl you loved, the one you thought you knew… it wasn’t her anymore. “The girl I dated surely would have. But this, whoever this is?” You gestured to her. The next words ringing out into the space like a gunshot, a wake up call.
“This is definitely not her.”
The words hit Abby like a slap. She flinched, but her gaze never wavered. She wanted to respond. To tell you how much it hurt to hear you say that, to make you understand the kind of fight she was in. But the words caught in her throat. For a long moment, the tension between you could have shattered the walls around you. Abby’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight, her mind racing for the right thing to say. But before she could, she heard it.
A loud crack. The unmistakable sound of something, someone, slamming into the cage nearby, the crowd roaring in excitement. Her heart hammered in her chest. The fight was starting. And for the first time in long time, Abby wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight. or run.
. ݁₊ .To stay for you, or go for herself?
Taglist babies: @grey-jedi12
#abby anderson#x reader#abby tlou#abby x fem!reader#fem reader#abby x reader#lgbtq#abby the last of us#abby anderson tlou2#abby angst#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson x y/n#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson angst#abby anderson x reader#tlou fic#rhysoneshots#rhys series#abby x you#angst fanfic#Spotify
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𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭; 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻
⌞ Jackson, Wyoming isn't what you thought you’d call home, neither is the house that smells like pine and old cologne. After being discovered by a group of survivors, you're offered a home and sanctuary. The only catch, you won't be living alone.⌝
⌞tags: intro/backstory, character origins. plus-size!reader x jackson!joelmiller all the enemies to lovers. joel being a dick head ⌝
masterlist | nav.

Joel didn't like this. Housing a woman, having someone other than him in his home.
All due to the fact Tommy was insistent about letting you stay with him. Jackson was filling up quickly as the years passed on. Where once empty homes stood, they were now filled with blooming families and rowdy neighbors. To put it another way; Joel didn't have a choice.
Which led him here, sitting on his couch, watching as you and Tommy bring in the handful of items you owned. It wasn't much, two bags.
Joel hated stuff. He liked it neat.
You were going to be anything but neat.
He could already tell.
Tommy led the way upstairs, by way of greeting. Joel watches as you follow excitedly, your hands grabbing at the finished railing he put in last winter. It was a busy project he put himself up too.
“Dont mind the grumpy fucker sitting on the couch.” He uttered, leading you to the small hallway on the second floor. It was almost cozy, with the smell of pine lingering in the air. If the outdoors had a smell, Joel's house is what it smelled like. Rustic, dare you say, you enjoyed it.
It brought back memories of the city, the one you used to call home. Even through the outbreak, you made it yours.
Tommy placed your things in the untouched bedroom upstairs, placing them on the neatly made bed and sighing, wiping his forehead. He had been with you every step of the way, you appreciated the company and the reassurance, making home somewhere that isn't out in the confines of the city was odd for you.
Having a home was odd.
“Joel's bedroom is across the hall, he should stay outta your hair, hell’ I'll make him” Tommy gave a hearty laugh, turning to you; “If he gives you a hard time let me’know.” You nodded quickly, heading the disguised warning.
Tommy gave a once over of the room, “If you need anything else-"
"Let you know?"
He nods, "You got it,"
Tommy's boots retreated to the doorway, before your voice halted him,
Your worries needed to be spoken, “He’s not the get-angry and I'll kill you type is he?”
Tommy gripped the door handle and smiled, “He sure is.”
Great. Tommy put you with a psychopath.
When he noticed the disdain washing over your features, his smile creased, “But don't worry, I'll make sure his anger isn't directed toward you”
Tommy nodded his goodbye, shutting the door with a rusty click. His boots retreated downstairs, leaving you with your worries and the heavy silence of bags needing to be unpacked. You were excited, still.
Somehow.
Your torn bags had been unpacked hours ago, the two shirts you had now rested in one of the slightly broken drawers. Your journal clutched in your hands, the box of pads you managed to find stuffed away underneath your bed frame. Everything you owned now had a spot.
The room you had been given was, slightly deteriorating, the light blue walls reflected the snowy weather outside, the chipping paint only added to its character. It wasn't perfect, it didn't feel like home.
But with time, you hoped that would change.
A small platform had been carved out under the window, allowing pillows and blankets to rest there. Decidedly, you grabbed one of the threadbare blankets Tommy had gifted to you and your journal, joining the window.
The people of Jackson were out and about this afternoon, all the laughter from children playing in the streets echoed through the glass of your watching position. The old leather book clutched in your hands, filthy with dirt and dried blood was the single most important item in your life.
You had kept it for years, making sure you always had it when you moved zones. The half broken pencil tucked in the spine too, you fished it out with ease like you had done so many times before. With the outside world as background music, you started to write
A week had gone by in Jackson, its residents left you to get settled for the most part. A kind woman had baked a few muffins as a welcome gift, which you devoured happily. You had barely seen Joel, he had always been coming or going. Whatever he did, he was always doing it.
Not that you minded, having the entirety of the house to yourself wasn't terrible, you particularly liked the very end of the couch, where the blazing fireplace heat hit the skin of your thighs at just the right angle for maximum coziness. So far, Jackson amounted to a version of safety.
But you still couldn't sleep.
Which left you here, after a particular rough Friday night of tossing and turning, You had enough. The light of the hallway turned on as you groggily made your way downstairs, Comparable to that of a literal zombie.
You found yourself drifting toward the finished cabinets, opening every one, searching for a glass. Maybe a cup, anything you could drink out of. Finally, after rooting through the last one, a chipping mug had been tucked behind a couple of dusty plates.
Guess Joel didn't exactly have family dinners often. In the darkness of the early morning, you reached for the hardware of the sink faucet, your mouth begging for water. Fortunately, turning the handles had given you a stream of cool water.
The chipped mug caught the remnant as you lifted it to your mouth, enjoying how your lips had just resigned from the Sarah Desert and ventured into the Rain Forest region. The creaking of the second floor broke through your wave of bliss, pulling your attention to the man now making his way down the stairs.
“What are you doin’?” It wasn't a question, but a demand. Joel's voice was cold as he drug a hand through his uneven curls,
“Drinking water.” Your heart hammered, Only half of the man's features were visibly in the dim light. Still, you noticed, he did not display a nice face.
Joel ignored your response, as if he had not asked the question, instead he sidestepped you to pull open a wooden drawer just beside your hip. You moved instinctively, taking your mug with you.
“Your shirt doesn't fit.” He said, the back of his head facing you as he continued rummaging through what looked like a junk drawer. What did he expect? It's not like you had unlimited access to the highest fashion in the city, or here for that matter.
Your placed your empty mug on the table, focusing on the man. “Listen, asshole. I know you might not like this living situation, but you don't need to be a dick about it” Your surprised at the tone you took up with Joel, and so is he, judging by the way he slams the drawer and turns to you, abandoning his mission.
“Got quite a mouth on you for someone who's livin in my home.” His studded eyes were creased with age, it didn't stop the way he glared at you, the frown etched into his face seemed more prominent now.
“It's not like you're ever in ‘your home’ ” Your arms crossed, your spine had been riddled in defense mode, making your back rigid. Joel’s head tilted,
“Too busy avoiding you.” He shrugged, his tone sharp enough to cut ice.
“You don't even know me.” You quipped back, narrowing your eyes.
“And with damn near any luck, I won't have too.”
#the last of us#joel miller#pedro pascal#joel tlou#tlou fic#tlou#thelastofus#joel miller x reader#body positive#plus size!reader#roommates au#and they were roommates#sunsetwrites
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‘tis the season || one shot
joel miller x f!reader



nothing new. nothing exciting. just some pwp. major shout out to my very freaky girl @dinandwhiskey, this fic was born due to our 4am conversations about fucking Our Old Man on viagra. and to my fellow ocean unicorn @joeloverture, for the encouragement, always. and to @pedrospatch, for being my eyes, and my biggest cheerleader, you have my heart. anyway – merry christmas eve eve & happy holidays ya filthy animals. may 2025 be ever so kind to you <33
pairing: dbf!joel x reader summary: you’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together. or, joel fucks you after taking viagra. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ warnings: [no-outbreak au], implied age gap [no mention of ages but reader is in college], secret established long distance relationship [that’s a mouth full] [that’s what she said], drug use, joel miller on viagra is a beast, pet names [baby, darlin’, sweetheart, kiddo], sexualization of the terms kiddo & old man, [mocking] dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, brief mentions of smut that occurs off page [i.e: face-sitting, fingering, anal play, ass eating/rimming, a reach around handjob, f! & m! receiving oral], softdom!joel, unprotected piv, missionary, mating press, overstimulation [rip our girl she’s fighting for her life], dacryphilia, finger sucking, biting, smidge of a pain kink, creampie, squirting, joel fucks you while you’re on the phone with your father, mentions of christmas, (2) christmas puns [author apologizes in advance for said puns], probably [most likely] inaccurate and unrealistic descriptions to the effects of viagra [remember, this is fiction!!], omitting a few tags as to avoid spoilers!!, aaaaand lastly, they’re in love BYE! word count: 3.5k
masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs on when i post my writing!
“Just one more time, sweetheart.”
You don’t respond, tongue-tied. The agonizingly slow drag of his cock inside you is too much, your mind is a blur.
Joel’s been fucking you for hours. He’s made you come six times since you practically pranced through his front door. Twice on his face, once on his fingers, and three times on his cock. And now you’re overstimulated — cunt swollen and almost begging for relief — but Joel, driven by your high-pitched moans and strained whimpers, is unable to stop himself, working to make you come just one more fucking time.
It’s thanks to that stupid little blue pill his buddy slipped him that he’d been able to fuck you for this long.
In truth, he doesn’t need it. He never needs it. He fucks you perfectly fine without it. But you’re home for the holidays, and you haven’t seen him or come successfully on your own since the beginning of the fall term, and Joel wanted to take advantage of that.
Send you back fucked so full o’me you’ll feel me in here for weeks, he’d groaned.
Your drippy hole stretched out and clamped tight around the thick girth of him. It had been so long, your face contorted at the sharp sting, and a pained hiss escaped through his gritted teeth when he pushed the delicious fat tip of his cock past your puffy folds, splitting you in two.
The warm walls of your cunt pulse around his shaft, your clit throbs against the wet thatch of thick hairs stippled gray at his base. You’re too sensitive, too tender, cunt stinging with every long stroke, but not in the way it makes you want to use your safe word.
It’s just that Joel hasn’t let up. Two hours spent making you come and he hasn’t let up once. The only time he had given you some semblance of a break was when he got up, turned around, and sat on your face at your plea — your desire to show him how good he had made you feel all those times before.
His cock in your hand, weak fist tugging away at his length while you lathed away at the tight little hole in the crease between his ass cheeks. Even then, Joel couldn't help himself; shoved three thick fingers into your puffy pussy — timing the thrust of them to the desperate pumps of your joint fists — jacking his cock in unison while you writhed beneath him, pulling another climax from you.
Only when his sweaty thighs quivered around your body, chin tilted towards the ceiling and a stream of profanities poured from his lips, his body curling over yours as hot spurts of his cum painted your soft tummy when he felt your finger slipping past his puckered rim to the knuckle, had he given you a break.
“Attagirl, just like that. Pretty little pussy’s gonna cum all over me. C’mon, baby, give it to me,” Joel’s voice is thick with arousal as he rambles above you, his hips expertly rolling into yours, head of his cock nudging that place incompetent college boys have failed to reach.
“Joel—fuck—I don’t think I can—” You gasp frantically, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, arms wound tight around him.
He smirks with another deliberate roll of his hips. “Thought you said you could keep up. Isn’t that what you said? “Naw, I reckon you said, Try keeping up, old man, wasn’t that it?” He mocks, imitating your words from earlier. Fucking bastard.
A whimpering mess, your eyes pinch shut in response.
“I can’t—” you croak, fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Deft hands brush your hair back from your face. “You can. I know you can, baby.” His voice softer, barely audible through the wet smack of his balls, smeared in the evidence of your earlier release, firmly slapping against the curve of your ass. The sounds obscenely echoing through the quiet of his bedroom.
You whimper and try fruitlessly to nod. He knows you can, and he’s right. Your hips wouldn’t be grinding up off the mattress to meet his thrusts. You wouldn’t be feeling something roiling low in your belly.
“One more time, baby. Give me one more n’ I’ll let this sore little pussy rest,” he whispers, lips kissing away your salty tears.
You nod eagerly. His hand reaches up to the headboard, fingers curling around it and locking into place, his other removes one of yours from his shoulder, pins it to the pillow above your head. And with his hand clasping your damp palm, fingers squeezing then interlocking with yours, he fucks you harder.
The change in pace has tears spilling from your eyes and pooling into the shells of your ears. The wave swells, swells, swells —
Your phone screen lights up the dark room, buzzing on Joel’s nightstand.
You freeze, neck craning in the direction of the vibration, eyes squinting and damp lashes fluttering at the bright screen, Dad, it reads.
Shit.
You gaze back up at Joel, wide-eyed, panic surging in your chest. Joel growls. “Don’t answer.”
You don’t listen. You know your father, he’ll keep calling until you answer. Without saying another word, your hand comes up to the wooden surface in search of your phone. You take a few deep breaths, trying to quell the anxious heat swirling inside you, unplug your phone from the charger, slide a shaky thumb across the screen, and press the phone to the shell of your ear.
“Hey—” You clear your throat awkwardly, “Hey, Dad,” your voice breathy, tired.
You unstick your body from Joel’s, your free hand presses to his strong chest, a silent effort to halt his movements.
“Kid! I’m sorry to call you this late, but before you left for Eve’s, I forgot to let you know to be home in time for breakfast.”
Jesus. That could’ve been a text.
You sit up, scoot back into the pillows, while Joel sits back on his knees, wincing in unison as his cum-drenched cock slips out of your overflowing slit. Almost instantly, you feel a steady stream of his spend trickle out of your opening. He’d already managed to fill you to the brim three times tonight.
You fiddle with your bottom lip. “Breakfast? I thought we were just doing dinner.”
“Well, I thought since you’re only in town for a few days, we could go the whole nine yards. I missed our breakfasts together. I enjoy them, kid,” he says softly.
Your bleary eyes flick back to Joel. The smug grin that graces his lips and the gleam of something darker in his eyes don’t put you at ease. He’s up to something, as always.
You grumble, massaging your forehead. “Yeah, sure, Dad. I’ll be home by nine. Listen, I gotta—”
“Oh! Speakin’ of dinner, I was thinking of inviting Joel over,” your dad says, plainly.
Your heart stutters. “Joel? W-Why?”
The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, dark eyes glimmer with mischief. Two heavy hands find your waist, and he’s sliding you back down towards him. Slow and suspicious, one of his hands finds your knee, and presses it flush to the mattress. You both watch as his other hand cups the back of your other knee, pushing it back down to match the other, exposing you to the sex-tainted air. With his eyes transfixed on the slow trickle of his spend, his hand then wraps around the base of his cock, tip lining up with your aching hole.
There it is.
“Poor guy has been asking about you, kid.” And Joel glides the head of his cock up and down your puffy seam, collecting your mixed juices on his tip then taps the heavy weight of it on your perked clit twice in quick succession; Joel smirks at the wet smack. You jolt, thighs attempting to clamp shut, his firm grip on your knee tightens, keeping you open for him.
You pinch your eyes closed and curse under your breath.
“What was that, honey?”
Your eyes snap open, and you scramble to recover, “N-nothing, I just–” You clear your throat again. “Sorry. What were you saying, Dad?”
Joel chuckles lowly as he leans forward on top of you, pressing his broad frame in on you, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Chest to chest, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis, tacky skin against tacky skin, once again as before. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and with his mouth at your other ear, his tongue darts out to lick at the salty droplet there before suckling ever so slightly on your flesh, you bite back a moan.
Your dad, oblivious to your current state, continues, “Oh— Joel’s been asking after you. Think he’s getting sick of your old man if I’m honest. He keeps telling me he misses having you around, always goin’ on about how you’ve grown up right before his eyes…”
He can hear him. You know he can by the feel of the corner of his mouth curling up into a grin, teeth grazing your carotid now. He lifts his head, dark gaze meeting yours while his massive hands cup your tits, caressing, squeezing, kneading, while muttering, Goddamn have you grown up.
Your cunt flutters around nothing, and you sigh into the phone; your dad doesn’t hear it through his rambling. You don’t register what he’s chatting away about because then, Joel’s nose nuzzles into your neck, traces a line up, up, up until his tongue snakes out and meets the curve of your earlobe. Licks the meat of it into his mouth and takes it between his teeth, your whimper cuts off into a moan when the bite turns sharp.
His fingers fiddle with your nipples. “Naughty little thing,” Joel taunts, warmth of his breath fanning across the hinge of your jaw, “You liked that?”
You keen and nod, his hand dips south between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his length, notches the too-wide cockhead at your too-small hole. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to the scruff of his beard, muffling the whine he elicits from you.
Joel pushes inside, takes a moment, and just to mess with you — he fucks his tip in and out of your drooling hole in small pulses — once, twice, thrice — teasing you, making you moan. He tilts his head, nosing your cheek, breath hot and voice deep, “Listen,” he commands.
Absentmindedly, you tilt your phone away from your ear, away from your dad’s mumblings. You strain your ears to obey him. In and out, in and out. The squelch of your sticky wet reverberates against the four walls of his bedroom as the blunt head of his cock moves in and out.
In. And out.
“Fuck,” you mutter, eyes flitting down to watch his cock impale you.
Your dad’s voice cuts in through the fog, redrawing your attention.
“Sweetie? You okay? What’s wrong?”
Your eyes widen. Shit. “I’m–I’m–fine, I– I j-just stubbed my toe. Dad, I really can’t t–” You stammer, and Joel chuckles lowly.
Your stuttering emboldens him, taking it as an invitation to torture you further, and with his lips against your ear, a breathy moan escapes from his lips as Joel feeds you his cock, slowly working himself back into your spent cunt. So painfully slow that he ensures you feel every ridge and every vein, and in turn, he feels every inch of your warm, velvet walls sucking him in as he eases himself into you. Used cunt clamped tight around him as you welcome him back in — inch by torturous inch.
He stills once he reaches resistance, and you bite your bottom lip hard enough that you taste copper, suppressing the moan climbing up your chest as his tip knocks your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush to your ass — finally bottoming out inside you.
He ruts into you once, tip bumps your cervix again — goading you, and you gasp in return, fingernails indenting his shoulder, half–moon crescents marking his skin. Beads of sweat roll off his forehead and onto your face, mixing with the warm tears now cascading down your face, and your tongue darts out to taste it. The flavor of him — his sweat, his musk — only feeds the dizzying blur that is your mind. But through the foggy haze and the lewd, wet slap of flesh against flesh, you think you can hear your dad saying, You really need to quit the habit of walking around in the dark, kiddo.
And you think you’re nodding, an endless litany of, yes, yeah–yeah slipping past your lips, as you rush your way through the phone call with your father, uncaring. Only interested in the shifts of Joel’s hips, slowly fucking into you in measured thrusts.
Joel tuts. “Such a dirty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ off while speakin’ to her daddy.” And your grip in his hair tightens, walls tensing in response. “Attagirl, keep squeezin’ me like that. You gonna show me just how naughty you are for me, hm? Gonna let me have it with him on the phone? Gonna cream all over my cock, naughty girl?”
You nod your head numbly, mouth dry and unable to speak with the tip of his cock prodding at the soft spot inside you on every languid stroke, hips swaying back and forth.
The wave begins to crest, and despite your eager nodding at Joel only a second prior, there’s no way in hell you’re really going to come on your boyfriend’s cock — your dad’s best friend — while on the phone with your father.
Your voice claws its way up your throat, “D-dad, I’m — mmm — sorry I really have to g–” You think your thumb presses the red button, but your phone slips from your hand, dropping to the carpet with a muffled thump, and it’s too late to check if you’ve fully hung up on him, and frankly, you’re too consumed by your lover to care.
Grinning with pride, Joel pulls back, cock halfway out of your pussy and your hands grasp at his shoulders.
“Joel— f-fuck–please,” you beg, your resolve melting.
He clicks his tongue. “Na-uh, try again.”
“D-d-daddy–please,” you whine.
“D-d-daddy,” he mocks above you. “Say it, pretty girl.” He knows, but he wants to hear you say it.
“Harder. Please, daddy–I–I wanna come, please, I wanna come,” you mewl, voice all whiny and petulant.
He says nothing. Without pulling out of you, his long fingers wrap around to grip the backs of your knees, pinning your thighs to your chest, knees to your shoulders, feet dangling in the air beside his beautiful head, folding you in half. Then, he moves to plant his feet flat on the mattress, propping himself up, hands on your thighs to steady himself.
You’re already a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as he fucks in and out of your wasted cunt — it doesn’t take much longer for you to get there. The air fills with sounds of the headboard hammering against the wall and filthy, sloppy sounds of where you two are connected as he bashes into you with arrant primal vigor.
The new angle has him hitting a point inside you, deeper than you ever thought to exist. And still — the wave doesn’t break. With his eyes locked on yours, you know he can tell. He can always tell. He’s made you scream his name enough times since the beginning of your many clandestine meetings last summer to know when you’re teetering on the edge. In need of more.
And for a moment, you think you can see it in him. Hazel eyes practically glint against the pale moonlight that spills into his bedroom. Joel bares his teeth in a cocky grin, his hand releases one of your thighs to cup your face, thumb parting your plush lips when he says, give it to me, kiddo, soak your old man’s cock.
Oh fuck.
Your eyelids flutter shut, your head falling back onto the pillows, hands clutching and pulling at tufts of his grizzled curls. Lips closing around his thumb wedged in your mouth; licking, sucking, biting into his flesh, as the crest finally breaks and washes over you, taking you under the rogue waves.
But Joel still doesn’t let up. One more time, my ass.
He’s insatiable. And he shows you just how insatiable he is when his thumb slips from your spit-smeared lips and reaches between your bodies, the pads of his fingers expertly thrum at your sensitive clit.
Your face twinges up at the intense, almost painful pressure as he pinches your clit between his index and middle fingers, hard. The swing of his hips speeds up, cock relentlessly beating your sore cunt. The sight of his girth, disappearing and reappearing as he pounds your pussy at a punishing pace, and his fingers twisting your swollen clit has your belly pulling taut and snapping within the same beat. With a broken shout of his name, you gush around the root of his cock, dripping down his balls. It’s warm and sticky when it seeps down, past your tight ring of muscle, soaking his blue sheets and turning them the shade of charcoal gray.
Joel coaxes you through your seventh–eighth toe-curling orgasm of the night. An endless stream of sweet nothings spills from him — good girl, that’s it, kiddo. I know, I know, it’s so much, I know – fuck– such a good fuckin’ girl, as he fucks you through it.
Your sloppy cunt clenches around him, and with his cock choked tight, deep within your bruised walls, he follows soon after. Growls raggedly as he unravels, and his own orgasm rolls through him, decking the hall of your weeping cunt with warm, milky ropes of cum for the fourth time tonight.
Joel collapses onto your sticky chest, placing open-mouthed kisses to your dampened face — your cheek, your nose, your forehead, while he pumps you full of his seed, abiding by his promise. And when he’s done, his sweaty forehead drops to yours for a moment. The waves now a steady ripple through your body as you come down.
After a moment, he lifts his head, and in retaliation for giving you what was possibly the best fuck of your life while on the phone with your father and nearly exposing your tryst, you bring one of his hands to your face, hollow your cheeks, and suck his thumb while looking up at him with wide and falsely innocent eyes.
He licks his lips but manages to pry his post-coital eyes away. Instead, his cum-soaked cock slips out of your tired, leaking cunt. When he leans back, you swallow a moan, catching sight of the aftermath of your many arousals in his pubic hair. Graying curls swimming in a pool of your combined releases that drips down his thighs. A thin strand of your shared pearlescent spend shines in the soft moonlight, stretching from his balls to your folds, still connecting the two of you as he pulls away.
Joel misses it, something else pulls his attention. His gaze shifts to the clock beside your head. A hint of a smirk passes over his lips.
“You’re lucky it’s Christmas, darlin’,” voice low, dangerous.
Your head snaps in the same direction. It’s past midnight. You smirk in turn and pull the comforter up to hide it.
You feel him shift over you, elbow popping loudly as he reaches for what he’s looking for before he moves to sit up beside you, back against the headboard. His hand pulls the comforter back down from your face, and you roll over and sit up on your knees to face him.
His other palm opens, wordlessly presenting you with a single twig of some plant. One with moss green, teardrop–shaped leaves and plump, round berries, waxy and opaque in color.
Mistletoe.
You take the meat of your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a laugh that threatens to bubble through you. Because of fucking course he would.
Though, the soft laugh is short-lived. His broad hand waves the mistletoe over him, but not where it should be. Your gaze follows the movement of his hand, and your mouth falls agape. Your eyes snap back up to Joel’s, and his wicked smirk broadens.
Joel Miller — naked as the day he was born and splayed on top of his messy sheets — dangles the mistletoe over his length, still hard as a rock and stirring in his other hand.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Beneath the mistletoe rests a lump of bright red and velvety felt; a fluffy white cuff rounds the brim, and a matching fuzzy white bobble hangs at the end of it.
A Santa hat perched jauntily on his cock.
You shut your mouth and swallow thickly, already feeling that familiar ache at the apex of your thighs, and you clench around emptiness, a stream of his seed dribbling out of your overstuffed cunt and further soiling his bedding.
“But it ain’t a Merry one till you give Santa's big sack a few kisses.”
#non i hope this was freaky enough#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fic#joel miller one shot#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#dbf!joel#dbf!joel x reader#dbf!joel smut#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fic#tw daddy kink#noelle's workshop
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abby is beefy and chubby and i will die on this hill if you think otherwise ur wrong
#artists of tumblr#abby anderson fanart#tlou abby#abby fanart#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson tlou2#abby the last of us#abby tlou#abby x you#abby x reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson#abby x fem!reader#tlou fanart#tlou au#tlou 2#tlou fic#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou game#tlou#tlou part 2#tlou2#the last of us part two#the last of us fanart#the last of us game#the last of us#lottie’s art
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ma'am
Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sub!Joel, dom!f!reader, oral (male and female receiving), nipple play (SUCKING JOEL’S NIPPLES like he deserves), premature ejaculation, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, desperation kink, Joel whimpering, explicit sexual content, mutual devotion, protective partnership, reader is emotionally supportive but firm, Joel finds comfort in being cared for (he’s babygirl) and Joel being so far gone it’s frankly adorable.
11k. enjoy.
part two: after hours
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
Joel Miller had always been the guy people turned to when things needed fixing—whether it was a busted fence, a tough decision, or clearing out a horde of infected, he was the dependable one. The solid one. The man who got things done without flinching.
But with you, it was different.
You weren’t like anyone else in Jackson. You’d arrived last winter, stepping into the town’s bustling life like you’d always belonged, and somehow, you’d made it your own.
People respected you—trusted you—not because you demanded it, but because you commanded it. You were sharp, resourceful, and unshakably confident.
Joel couldn’t decide if you reminded him of a soldier or a queen, but either way, it made his chest tighten every time you spoke.
It started innocently enough.
“Joel, we need these supplies moved to the north gate before sundown,” you said one day, standing by the depot, that calm, no-nonsense tone that made Joel’s stomach flip.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied without thinking, the words slipping out as easily as breathing.
You’d looked up, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘yes ma’am’ type,” you teased lightly, your lips curving into that small, knowing smile.
Joel had flushed, shifting on his feet like a boy caught stealing. “Guess it’s just… habit.”
You didn’t push, just nodded and turned back, but Joel couldn’t get the moment out of his head.
Something about the way you spoke to him—firm but never condescending, confident but never overbearing—lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years.
Respect, maybe. Or something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.
The more months you worked together, the worse it got for him.
“Joel, grab the shotgun and cover me,” you ordered one day, crouched behind a rusted-out truck as infected skittered through the woods ahead. Your voice was steady, even in the heat of the moment, and Joel’s chest swelled as he followed your lead without question.
Another time, while patrolling the perimeter, you had said, “Check the west side at dusk. Let me know if anything’s out of place.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joel had answered automatically, his voice softer, almost reverent.
You didn’t always notice how easily he fell into step with you, how much he craved the way you trusted him to follow through.
But Joel noticed. Every damn time.
And it wasn’t just respect—though that was there too—it was something raw and magnetic. Something that made his chest tighten and his cock stir in ways that left him fumbling for composure.
It wasn’t just the way you spoke. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you moved through the world with confidence that was effortless, never forced.
You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone—you just were. You called the shots when they needed calling, and people listened, not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
Joel wanted to. And more than that, he liked it.
One night, it all came to a head.
Jackson was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns strung between buildings. Joel was walking back from the stables when he spotted you on the porch of the town hall, a map spread across the railing in front of you.
The way the light hit your face, catching on your jawline and softening your features, made his chest ache.
“Joel,” you called, your voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.
He froze for half a second before making his way over, his boots crunching softly on the gravel.
His pulse quickened as he got closer, his eyes darting over you—your loose hair falling over one shoulder, the curve of your wrist as you held the edge of the map, the faint furrow in your brow that he desperately wanted to smooth away.
“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
You glanced up, your eyes meeting his. “Come take a look at this,” you said, motioning him closer.
Joel stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he looked at the map.
The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, and Joel had to force himself to focus on what you were pointing at—a marked spot near the riverbank.
“Been seeing signs of movement out here the past couple nights,” you explained. “Could be nothing, but I want to clear it tomorrow. Need someone to back me up. You in?”
“Always,” Joel said immediately, his voice quieter than he intended but no less firm. His fingers brushed yours as he took the map, and he swore he felt a spark.
You smiled then—just a small curve of your lips—but it sent heat rushing through Joel’s chest. “Good. Be ready at dawn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joel murmured before he could stop himself.
Your brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”
Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks warming. “Can’t help it,” he muttered, his gaze sliding to the ground. “Suits you.”
Your smile widened just enough to make his heart stumble. “If you say so.”
With that, you folded the map, tucked it under your arm, and disappeared into the town hall, leaving Joel standing there like a damn fool, his chest tight and his jeans uncomfortably snug.
He swore under his breath, adjusting his stance in a futile attempt to ease the ache building low in his belly.
It wasn’t fair.
The way you got under his skin without even trying. The way you made him feel… lighter and heavier all at once.
Joel had spent his whole life being the one people leaned on, the one who carried the weight, and for once, he didn’t mind letting someone else take the reins.
Hell, he wanted to.
He wanted to follow you, to listen to you, to give you every ounce of control you asked for.
Joel stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door of the town hall long after you’d gone inside.
His pulse pounded in his ears, the ache in his jeans growing unbearable as his mind replayed the last few moments—the way your voice curled around his name, the subtle command in your tone when you told him to be ready, the approving smile that lingered on your lips when he’d answered.
It was ridiculous, he thought bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, and yet here he was, rock-hard in the middle of Jackson like some lovesick idiot.
His cock throbbed against the tight denim of his jeans, a constant, humiliating reminder of how badly he wanted you—how badly he needed you.
Joel swallowed hard, adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage, though the motion sent a shiver of frustration through him.
This was nothing new.
Every time he was around you, it was like his body betrayed him, reacting to the sound of your voice, the sway of your hips, the smallest flick of your wrist as you gestured for him to follow.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you.
The way you carried yourself, confident and composed, made his chest tighten in ways that were equal parts admiration and raw, aching need.
You were everything Joel wasn’t. Steady. Collected. In control. And fuck if he didn’t crave that about you.
More than anything, he craved the way you made him feel. Like he could just… let go.
The thought sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock, and Joel bit back a groan, his hand clenching at his side.
He’d spent years—decades—being the man people turned to, the one who handled the tough shit without complaint.
But with you? He didn’t want to be the guy in charge.
He wanted to be the one following orders, wanted to be the one looking up at you, waiting for your approval.
He wanted to make you proud.
To hear you say his name the way you had earlier, with that faint hint of amusement, like you saw something in him that no one else ever had.
Goddamn it, he was pathetic.
Joel shook his head, muttering a low curse under his breath as he turned away from the town hall.
The walk back to his house felt like a blur, his thoughts too tangled to focus on anything but you.
Every step sent a dull throb through his cock, and by the time he reached his front door, his hands were trembling, his jaw tight with restraint.
Inside, Joel leaned heavily against the door, the cool wood pressing into his back as he exhaled shakily. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, the pounding of his heart loud in the stillness of the house.
The faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots reminded him he wasn’t dreaming, though he almost wished he were—wished the memory of you wasn’t so vivid it set his whole body on fire.
His jacket slid from his shoulders and hung limply on the hook by the door, but the ritual did little to calm him.
His hand lingered against the fabric, fingers gripping tightly for a moment as though holding on to it might anchor him. But there was no escape—not from the way you lingered in his thoughts, the way your voice echoed in his ears like a melody he couldn’t shake.
C’mere, Joel. I need you to check this.
C’mere, Joel….
The words played on repeat, the confidence in your tone, the subtle curve of authority behind every syllable.
The way you’d glanced at him tonight, your eyes catching his for just a second longer than necessary—it was enough to drive him insane.
Joel groaned softly, the sound rough and guttural as he pressed the heel of his palm against the stiff, aching bulge in his jeans.
“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that might clear it. But it didn’t. It never did. He’d thought about you like this too many times to count.
Late at night, alone in the dark, his fist slick and tight around his cock, imagining you leaning over him, your voice a breathy, commanding whisper.
“Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”
It was the praise that undid him every time, the approval he ached for, that soft edge of control in your voice that made his chest tighten and his hips buck into his hand.
Joel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he pushed off the door, his steps hurried and uneven as he made his way toward the bedroom.
His body was hot, his skin flushed as he kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his breath coming fast and shallow.
He didn’t bother with the lights. There was no point when the image of you burned so brightly in his mind.
His hands fumbled with his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp hiss before he shoved his jeans down his thighs, kicking them aside.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
Joel wrapped his calloused fingers around himself, his rough palm dragging slowly along the length as his head tipped back against the door.
A soft, broken groan escaped his lips, and he tightened his grip, savoring the sharp sensation.
“Yes,” Joel whispered hoarsely, his hips jerking into his hand as the thought took hold.
The image was so vivid it made his knees weak.
“On your knees, Joel. Let me see how much you want it.”
He imagined you standing over him, your hands on your hips, your lips curved into that wicked, knowing smile.
You’d look down at him like you owned him, and Joel would crumble beneath that gaze, his body desperate to obey.
His hand moved faster, his strokes rougher as his chest heaved. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick and broken. “I’d do it. Anything you want, darlin’. Just… just fuckin’ tell me.”
And then, there was the fantasy he couldn’t shake. You’d guide him down—your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss as you tilted his face up toward yours.
“You want to make me feel good, baby? Show me.” You’d press his face between your thighs, your warmth surrounding him, and Joel would lose himself.
He could almost feel it—the softness of your skin, the slick heat of your cunt against his lips. His tongue would trace slow, deliberate circles around your clit, savoring the way your body trembled beneath his mouth.
You’d moan his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it would be the only thing he cared about.
Joel groaned loudly, his hips jerking off the door as his hand tightened, the slick sound filling the room. “Please,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “Please, darlin’. Let me be good for you. Let me—”
He imagined you grinding against his face, your thighs clenching around his head as you guided him, demanding more. “That’s it, Joel. Just like that. Don’t stop until I come, baby.”
The thought of your approval, of hearing you call him a good boy as he worked tirelessly to please you, made his cock throb painfully in his hand. “I’d do it,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’d fuckin’ worship you, darlin’. Just say the word.”
The tension snapped, his body locking up as his release hit. Hot, thick spurts spilled over his hand, his voice breaking into a low, guttural groan as his hips jerked helplessly.
Your name fell from his lips, raw and reverent, as the pleasure coursed through him, leaving him trembling and spent.
For a long moment, Joel stood there, his chest heaving, his hand still wrapped loosely around his softening cock.
The air was thick with the scent of his arousal, the evidence of his need dripping onto the floor, and yet all he could think about was you. Your voice, your smile, the way you made him feel like he could let go of everything and just… be.
Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he finally pushed off the door and reached for a towel.
He cleaned himself up quickly, his thoughts still tangled, his body still thrumming with the remnants of his release. But even as the tension faded, the ache lingered—the desperate, aching need for you.
For your voice. For your touch. For your approval.
And Joel knew he’d never stop wanting it. Never stop wanting you.
Because this wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Not until he had you.
Not until he could hear you say his name the way he’d always dreamed, soft and breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders as you told him exactly what to do.
· · ───
The sun was barely cresting the horizon as you and Joel set out toward the riverbank, the chilly morning air biting at your cheeks. Joel kept a steady pace beside you, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dense treeline with practiced precision.
Despite the tension that always came with patrols, there was a comfort in your presence—a grounding force that he couldn’t quite put into words.
The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, familiar and steady, and Joel found himself stealing glances at you more than he should.
You walked with such assuredness, each step purposeful, and the soft sway of your hips had him swallowing harder than necessary.
He tried to focus, but your commanding presence made it impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and grounded.
“See this?” you murmured, crouching near a patch of disturbed dirt. Your voice was low, clipped, yet patient as you gestured for him to come closer. “Looks like someone’s been through here recently. More than one.”
Joel crouched beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he examined the ground.
The way your hair caught the morning light, the subtle curve of your neck—it was too much. His chest tightened as he forced his gaze to the dirt and away from the way your lips parted slightly in concentration.
“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than intended. “Could be raiders.”
“Could be,” you agreed, straightening and adjusting the strap of your pack. “Let’s keep moving. Stay sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joel said before he could stop himself, the words slipping out instinctively.
You glanced at him, one brow arching, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.
You turned without a word, leading the way through the uneven terrain. Joel followed close behind, his pulse quickening with every step.
You always had this effect on him, like you were a magnet and he couldn’t help but be pulled in.
The ambush came fast.
Raiders poured from the treeline, their weapons raised, shouts breaking the morning quiet.
Joel moved on instinct, diving behind a fallen log and returning fire, but it was you who commanded the chaos with sharp, decisive orders.
“Joel! Left flank! Cover me!”
He obeyed without question, his rifle steady as he took down one of the raiders attempting to circle around.
Even in the heat of the moment, his eyes kept darting to you—how you moved like a ghost through the underbrush, your aim deadly, your composure unshaken.
But when one of them charged at your blind spot, Joel didn’t think. He moved.
The gunshot echoed like thunder as he dropped the man with a single shot.
You spun to face him, your eyes wide—not with fear but with something else. Relief? Gratitude? Whatever it was, it made his chest swell.
“Thanks,” you said, your tone steady despite the chaos. “But I told you—stay back.”
Joel gritted his teeth but nodded, ducking back behind cover as you finished off the last of the raiders.
When the dust settled, you stood amidst the wreckage, your rifle slung over your shoulder, your expression calm but sharp.
You scanned the area one last time before nodding.
“We’re clear,” you said, turning toward him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Joel replied, though his arm burned where a bullet had grazed him.
He shifted, trying to hide the blood seeping through his sleeve.
Your eyes narrowed. “You’re hit.”
“It’s nothin’,” he muttered, brushing it off.
“It’s not nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer. Your hand grabbed his arm, firm but not harsh. “We’re done here. You’re going back to Jackson. Now.”
Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I can keep goin’. I’m fine.”
You tilted your head, the corners of your lips pulling into a wry, almost dangerous smile.
“Joel,” you said, your voice low but laced with authority that sent a shiver down his spine. “Do I look like I’m asking?”
Joel swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time, almost reverent.
“Good.” Your fingers lingered on his arm for just a second longer than necessary, the heat of your touch branding him, before you turned toward the horses. “Let’s move.”
At the clinic, Joel sat on the cot, his shirt discarded, the gash on his arm raw and angry. He winced as the doctor worked, stitching the wound with quick precision.
But his eyes weren’t on the needle or the thread—they were on you, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.
“You’ll need to rest for at least a couple days,” the doctor said, tying off the final stitch. “No patrols, no heavy lifting.”
Joel opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp glance silenced him immediately.
“Got it,” you said curtly, nodding at the doctor. “Thank you.”
When the doctor left, you turned to Joel, your arms dropping to your sides as you stepped closer. “Let’s get you home.”
Back at his house, you guided him inside, your hand on his arm, your touch firm and steady.
Joel sank onto the couch with a groan, his body heavier than he wanted to admit. You moved with purpose, disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with a damp cloth and a glass of water.
“You don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a look that had him snapping his mouth shut.
“Let me,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.
You knelt beside him, pressing the cloth gently to his arm. Joel swallowed hard, his breath catching at the sight of you so close, your fingers brushing against his skin.
The faint scent of you—clean and sharp, with a hint of something sweet—filled his senses, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out.
When you finished, you sat back on your heels, your eyes meeting his. “Joel,” you said softly, “why do you push yourself so hard?”
Joel looked away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t wanna feel useless,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna… be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” you said firmly, leaning closer, your voice carrying a weight that made Joel’s chest ache. “You’re the furthest thing from it.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his breath catching at the intensity in your gaze. “I just…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I just wanna be good for you. Wanna make you proud.”
You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips.
“You already are, Joel,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his face. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, and Joel leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Joel’s breath was uneven, his good hand curling into a fist on his thigh as he struggled to find the words.
You sat beside him on the couch, quiet and steady, your eyes on his face, your expression calm yet unreadable. It only made him more frantic.
“I—I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” Joel stammered, his voice rough and breaking.
He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm trembling slightly as if he was trying to physically hold himself together.
“I need… I need you close. I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, but I—I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”
Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak. You just nodded slowly, your gaze unwavering, and it made him feel both exposed and comforted all at once. The tension in his chest was unbearable.
“I—dammit,” he muttered, his voice thick, his gaze darting everywhere but your face.
“I’m tryin’ to say it right, but I don’t—I can’t—I need you, alright? I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you—how you’re always so damn steady, and you—”
He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes finally locking on yours. They were glassy now, his vulnerability laid bare. “You make it easier, y’know? Just bein’ around you… I feel like I can breathe. Like maybe I ain’t so—so broken after all. And I… I need that. I need you.”
You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t pitying. It was understanding, warm, and Joel swore it made his chest ache even more.
“Baby,” you murmured softly, the endearment sending a shiver down his spine. “You like me…romantically?”
Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching as your words settled over him. His lips parted, but all he could do was nod, the movement small and jerky, like he was afraid to admit it outright.
“Want to be good for me?” you asked, your voice a low, soothing hum.
Joel’s nod came faster this time, his breathing growing heavier as he leaned into you, desperate for something he couldn’t quite name.
You leaned in slowly, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw.
Joel’s eyes fluttered shut as you pressed your lips to his, soft and lingering, and the low, guttural sound he made against your mouth was filled with need.
His hand reached out, gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you, and his lips parted under yours, seeking more.
But just as he leaned into the kiss, you pulled back, your face still close enough that your breath mingled with his.
“Get better for me first, yeah?” you murmured, your thumb trailing along his jaw.
Joel’s eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “No, please,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate.
“Please, I can’t—I’ve been waitin’ for so long. Please don’t make me wait anymore.”
You shushed him softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, and Joel practically melted under your touch, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back.
“You’ll wait,” you said firmly, though your tone was still warm. “Because you’re mine, and I’m not about to let you go. But first, I need you strong, Joel. Need you rested. Yeah?”
Joel let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he nodded, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Alright. But just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”
“Well…you know me, baby,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the crown of his head.
Joel’s breath hitched again, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as if to prove to himself that you were real. And as the weight of the moment settled between you, he felt something he hadn’t in years—peace.
· · ───
Joel had never been good at resting, but being sidelined for days was pure torture.
His arm still kinda ached where the stitches pulled at the edges of the wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety that came from not seeing you.
Three days felt like a lifetime, and every hour that passed without you made his chest feel tighter.
You’d been on patrol since the crack of dawn, and Joel had spent most of the day pacing around his house, every creak of the floorboards setting his nerves on edge.
He hadn’t wanted to push his luck with the doctor or you, so he’d stayed home, but the absence of your presence was like a physical ache.
He’d heard the patrol schedule—you were checking the area near the riverbank, where the raiders had been sighted.
The thought of you out there, alone or with someone who wasn’t him, made his stomach churn.
Joel knew you could handle yourself—he’d seen it firsthand—but the idea of you in danger without him there to back you up was unbearable.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Joel couldn’t take it anymore.
His boots thudded against the wooden floors as he grabbed his jacket and rifle, the pain in his arm be damned.
If he didn’t see you soon, he was going to lose his mind.
The gates of Jackson were quiet, the air cool and crisp as Joel made his way toward the watchtower. A few guards gave him curious glances, but no one stopped him. He wasn’t exactly known for staying out of trouble, injured or not.
“Have you seen her?” Joel asked one of the guards at the gate, his voice gruff.
“Think she’s still out near the west ridge,” the man replied, tilting his hat back. “They were due back an hour ago, though.”
Joel’s jaw tightened. An hour ago. His grip on his rifle tightened as he set off toward the west ridge, his boots crunching against the gravel.
The relief was like a flood when he spotted you in the distance, your silhouette unmistakable against the fading light.
You were walking back toward the gates, your pack slung over your shoulder, your rifle in hand. Joel’s breath hitched at the sight of you, his steps quickening as he closed the distance between you.
“Where the hell have you been?” Joel barked, his voice harsher than he intended as he reached you.
You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his tone. “Patrol. Where I said I’d be.”
“You were late,” Joel muttered, his gaze sweeping over you, searching for any sign of injury. “Anything happen out there?”
“Couple of runners,” you replied, brushing past him toward the gate. “Nothing bad.”
Joel followed you, his chest tight as he struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve sent word. Let someone know you were runnin’ behind.”
You turned to face him then, your eyes sharp. “Joel, I’m fine. I’m more worried about why you’re out here when you’re supposed to be resting.”
“I was worried about you,” Joel admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Didn’t like not knowin’ if you were okay.”
Your expression softened, and you let out a quiet sigh. “Joel, I told you I’d be back.”
“And what if somethin’ had happened?” Joel pressed, his voice growing rough. “What if—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he looked away.
You stepped closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. “Hey,” you said softly, your tone soothing. “I’m here. I’m okay. And you need to trust that I can take care of myself.”
Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the steadiness in your gaze. “I know you can,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry.”
You smiled faintly, squeezing his arm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Joel huffed a laugh, the sound low and rough. “Ain’t what I meant, but… yeah, take it how you want.”
“Come on,” you said, nudging him toward the gate. “Let’s get you home. You’re not supposed to be out here.”
Joel wanted to argue, but the warmth in your voice and the steady grip on his arm made it impossible.
He let you guide him back toward his house, the tension in his chest slowly unwinding with every step.
The walk back to Joel’s house was quiet at first, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm. But as you neared the porch, Joel’s tongue loosened, and the floodgates opened.
“What was it like out there today? Was it quiet before the runners? Were they close? You eat somethin’? Drink enough water?”
You chuckled softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Joel, I’m fine. I promise.”
“I know, I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps faltering slightly as you led him inside. “Just… can’t stop thinkin’ about it. About you. Out there without me.”
His voice was rough, his words tumbling out so quickly he barely had time to filter them. “I mean, I know you’re capable—hell, more than capable—but I wasn’t there, and… I hate not bein’ there.”
You stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face him. Joel’s eyes darted over you, like he was trying to memorize every detail, his breathing uneven, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare.
“You’re rambling, Joel,” you said softly, your voice calm and steady as you reached up to cup his cheek.
Joel froze, his breath hitching at your touch, his wide eyes locking onto yours. “I just…” he began, his voice faltering. “I just—”
“Hush,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I’m here. I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere for another 4 days.”
Joel exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch like a man starved. “I know,” he rasped. “I know, but I can’t stop—”
You silenced him with a kiss, your lips soft and warm against his, and Joel melted beneath it, his whole body going taut before he relaxed into the moment.
His hands found your hips, tentative at first, then firm, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.
When you pulled back, his lips chased yours for a heartbeat before he caught himself, his eyes fluttering open. He looked dazed, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you.
You smiled softly, the sound of his uneven breathing filling the space between you.
Joel’s lips parted as if to speak, but before he could, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. His groan was low and deep, the kind that seemed to come from the very center of him, vibrating through your chest.
His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, his need unmistakable.
When your lips parted and your tongue brushed against his, Joel whimpered—a sound so desperate, so raw, it sent a rush of heat straight through you.
You couldn’t help but laugh softly into the kiss, and Joel’s grip faltered for a second, his lips pulling into a shaky smile against yours.
“Why’re you laughin’?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath.
“You’re eager,” you teased, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. “It’s sweet.”
Joel groaned again, his cheeks flushing as his hands smoothed up your sides. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “You’re drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Been thinkin’ about this for too long.”
His gaze dropped, and his eyes darkened as they settled on the curve of your breasts, visible through the gap in your blouse.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare without permission. “You’re perfect.”
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you ran your fingers along his jaw. “Joel,” you said, your tone firmer now, and he immediately snapped his gaze back up to meet yours, his breath hitching. “What are you lookin’ at?”
His cheeks went even redder, but he didn’t look away.
Your lips quirked into a sly smile, and you reached up to unbutton the top of your blouse slowly, deliberately. Joel’s eyes tracked every movement, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his cock straining visibly against his jeans.
“You’ve healed up, huh?” you asked, your tone playful, and Joel nodded quickly, his hands shaking slightly.
“Barely feel it,” he murmured, his voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, darlin’. Please let me—”
You sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you pushed the blouse from your shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.
“Go ahead, Joel,” you said, your voice steady but laced with heat. “If you think you can handle it.”
Joel groaned, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashed into yours.
His kisses were messy, desperate, his lips sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed your body, shaky but reverent, sliding up your ribs and hovering just below your chest.
“Eager little thing,” you murmured against his mouth, and Joel whimpered at the words, his hips pressing against yours as his arousal became undeniable.
“Can’t help it,” he breathed, his voice shaky and desperate. “Been wantin’ to get my mouth on you for so long. Wanna lick every inch of you. Fuck, those pretty nipples—been dyin’ to suck on ‘em, darlin’. Let me taste you, please.”
The way his voice cracked, the way he clung to you—it was enough to make your resolve waver. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easily. Not yet.
“Bed,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to guide him toward the bedroom. Joel followed without hesitation, his hands still on you, his body trembling with barely-contained need.
“Sit down, baby,” you murmured, your voice firm but teasing as you pushed him gently onto the mattress.
Joel sat immediately, lips wet and swollen from your kisses, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you like you were a goddess he was desperate to worship.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking to your chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
You stepped between his legs, running your hands up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch.
“Is this what you’ve been dreamin’ about, Joel?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in close. “Me, standin’ over you like this, lettin’ you look your fill?”
Joel groaned, his head tipping back as his hips jerked involuntarily. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Every night, darlin’. I—fuck—I think about you all the time. Can’t stop.”
You smirked, running your hands higher until your fingers brushed against the hard, throbbing bulge straining beneath his jeans. Joel’s breath hitched, his hips lifting slightly as if to chase your touch.
“Bet you’ve been strokin’ that cock to the thought of me, haven’t you?” you purred, your nails scraping lightly along his thighs.
“Thinking about my tits, my mouth, wonderin’ what it’d feel like to have me all over you?”
Joel let out a broken whimper, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as he nodded. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Fuck, yes. I think about you all the time—Drives me crazy.”
You laughed softly, Joel’s eyes focused, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you, his gaze zeroing in on your breasts, the way your nipples pebbled in the cool air.
You reached up, cupping your breasts and squeezing them lightly, your thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Wanna taste them, baby? Wanna feel my tits in your mouth?”
Joel groaned loudly, his hands clenching into fists as his cock strained painfully against his jeans. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, let me—fuck, let me taste them."
You smirked, stepping closer and guiding his hands to your hips. “Go on then, baby,” you murmured, leaning in until your chest was level with his face. “Show me how much you want it.”
Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples with a desperate groan.
His lips were hot and eager, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
“Fuck, that’s it,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. “Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”
Joel whimpered against your skin, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently as he switched to your other nipple. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, his lips tugging and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.
“Finally” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less desperate.
You chuckled softly, grinding your hips against his lap, feeling the hard line of his cock pressing against your thigh. “You’re so needy,” you teased, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself, can you?”
Joel shook his head, his mouth still attached to your nipple as he let out a low, guttural moan. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he rocked against you, his cock throbbing beneath the rough denim of his jeans.
“Can’t help it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “You’re all I think about. All I want.”
You leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Then be a good boy for me, Joel,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “Keep sucking.”
Joel groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved back to your breast, sucking and licking with renewed fervor. His hips bucked against yours, his need spilling out in every touch, every sound.
“You like these, baby?” you murmured, cupping your breast and brushing your thumb over your wet, glistening nipples. “My sweet boy likes them, hm?”
Joel froze for a moment, his pupils dilating as the meaning of your words sank in. His hips bucked sharply, and he let out a strangled moan, his whole body trembling beneath you.
“Fuck, I-,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his head fell back against the headboard. “Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry—I can’t… I’m—fuck!”
You felt the unmistakable heat and dampness spreading as Joel’s hips jerked one last time, his moans spilling into the quiet room. His face flushed a deep red, his chest heaving as he realized what had just happened.
“Shit,” he muttered again, his voice thick with embarrassment as he covered his face with one hand. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I’m so sorry. This is so stupid—”
“Joel,” you interrupted, your voice firm but soothing as you brushed his hand away from his face. “Look at me.”
He did, his eyes wide and vulnerable, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. The sight of him—flushed, desperate, and utterly wrecked—only made you want him more.
“It’s okay,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m flattered, baby. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to come in your pants for me.”
Joel let out a choked sound, his hips twitching involuntarily beneath you.
“I… fuck, darlin’, you make me crazy,” he admitted hoarsely. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. I need you. Please… let me make it up to you.”
Your smile widened, and you leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Still wanna keep going, baby?” you whispered, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “After you’ve already made such a mess?”
Joel nodded frantically, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I don’t think I ever wanna stop, ma’am. Please… let me taste you. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”
You pulled back slightly, tilting your head as you studied him, your expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, you smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Undress me,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm.
Joel flushed, his hands moving to your waist again. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your pants, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for permission.
You nodded, leaning back onto the bed as you let him guide the fabric down your legs, his touch careful but firm.
By the time your pants were off, you were sprawled out on the bed, your back resting against the pillows.
Joel knelt between your legs, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes drinking in every detail like he was trying to commit it to memory.
"You're beautiful," he said again, his voice breaking slightly as his fingers slid along the waistband of your panties.
Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands clumsy but desperate as he unbuttoned your pants and slid them down your legs.
He paused when he saw your panties, a visible wet spot already soaking through the fabric. His breath hitched, and he let out a shaky, “Fuck… look at that. So wet for me, darlin’. Goddamn.”
His hands trembled as he paused, glancing up at you for reassurance.
You smirked, one eyebrow arching as you propped yourself up on your elbows.
"Go on, baby," you murmured, your voice soft and encouraging. "You've got me all to yourself. Do what you've been dreaming about."
Joel’s hands hovered over your hips for a moment before he finally let them settle there, his thumbs brushing against the edge of your panties.
Joel settled between your legs like he was kneeling before an altar, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling as he slid along the waistband of your panties.
His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and wide with need, and you gave him the softest smile, threading your fingers into his hair as you gently tugged him closer.
“yeah, baby” you murmured, your voice dripping with encouragement.
His breath hitched, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
He kissed you there, slow and reverent, his beard grazing your flesh and sending shivers through you. Each kiss was accompanied by a low, throaty groan, his lips moving steadily closer to the source of your heat.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he reached the edge of your panties. His nose pressed against the damp fabric, and he inhaled sharply, the sound guttural and desperate.
“Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’. Like heaven—sweet, wet heaven.”
His hands trembled as they gripped your thighs, holding you open as he buried his face against you, nuzzling and inhaling like he couldn’t get enough.
The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your calves, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his breath and the wet heat of his mouth against your panties.
“Been dreamin’ about this—about your sweet cunt for so fuckin’ long. Want it so bad, baby. Wanna taste you—wanna lick you, suck that pretty clit between my lips and drink you down till there’s nothin’ left.”
You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging gently, encouraging him.
“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice low and breathless. “You wanna eat me out, baby? Wanna show me how good that mouth of yours is? Then take them off.”
Joel knelt between your thighs, trembling as he slid your soaked panties down your legs.
He didn’t even try to hide the way his breath hitched when your cunt was fully exposed to him, glistening and perfect.
His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths as he just stared for a moment, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.
“You just gonna look, Joel?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently. “Or are you gonna be a good boy and show me what you can do?”
That broke him. His head dipped instantly, his breath ghosting hot over your slick folds as he whispered, “Yes… yes, ma’am.” His voice was low, reverent, almost a prayer.
The first touch of his tongue was hesitant but deliberate, a slow drag from your entrance to your clit, as if he wanted to savor you.
He groaned into you, the sound muffled but deep, and then he leaned in further, pressing his mouth to your cunt like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice soft but thick with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so eager for it. Just like that.”
Joel didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.
He was too focused, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he worked his tongue through every inch of your folds.
His breath hitched as he tasted you, his lips sealing over your clit for a moment to suck softly before his tongue returned to explore your entrance.
“Oh, baby,” you breathed, your hips arching slightly into his mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that. Look at you, so hungry for me. You love this, don’t you? Love worshipping my pussy.”
His only response was a desperate, muffled groan and moaning as he shifted his grip, spreading your thighs wider.
His nose pressed against your clit, and he rubbed it there as his tongue delved inside you, slow and deliberate, tasting you from the inside out.
His breathing was ragged now, warm puffs of air against your heat between each swipe of his tongue.
“Fuck yes,” he whispered hoarsely against you, his voice barely audible over the sound of his mouth working your cunt. “Fuck… taste so good. Yes. Yes, ma’am…”
You tugged his hair lightly, guiding him just where you wanted, and he followed without hesitation, his moans vibrating through your core.
His nose nudged your clit again, his tongue lapping at your entrance with long, languid strokes, and your moans filled the room, soft and breathy.
“That’s it,” you encouraged, your voice breaking slightly as he found just the right rhythm. “Such a good boy. Keep going, baby. Make me come.”
Joel groaned deeply, the sound muffled as he pressed his face impossibly closer to your core, his lips locking around your clit.
Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of you.
His hands gripped your thighs tightly, anchoring himself to you as his nose pressed against your folds, adding pressure in all the right places.
“Good boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you combed your fingers through his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed him. “Keep going, baby. Suck my clit just like that.”
Joel whimpered against you, the sound low and wrecked, and he obeyed without hesitation, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub between pulls.
He groaned again, his hips shifting slightly as if he couldn’t help but grind against the mattress, completely undone by the act of pleasuring you.
Your breath hitched, your body trembling as the tension in your core tightened to an unbearable degree.
“Fuck, Joel—don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”
He moaned louder at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he doubled down, his lips creating just the right amount of pressure while his tongue worked you mercilessly.
His nose nudged against your clit in rhythm with his sucking, the sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“Please,” he murmured against you between strokes, his voice trembling with need. “Wanna make you come, ma’am. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, waves of pleasure crashing through you so hard you couldn’t even form words.
Joel groaned against you, his tongue and lips relentless as he rode out your release, his moans vibrating through every sensitive nerve ending.
When you finally came down, your thighs trembling and your breath shaky, Joel slowly pulled back, his lips glistening and swollen, his face flushed and eyes glazed with pure adoration.
He looked like a man on his knees at the altar of a goddess.
“perfect,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, his gaze fixed on your blissed-out expression.
“Did I do good?” he asked quietly, his voice raw and hoarse.
You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Better than good, baby,” you murmured. “Fuck.”
Joel’s eyes darted to yours, wide and full of something raw and pleading.
He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke, his voice trembling with need. “Please… can I keep goin’? Just a little more. I don’t wanna stop. Wanna taste you again, ma’am.”
His mouth found your clit in a featherlight kiss, his tongue flicking out experimentally, careful and reverent as though seeking permission.
His hands slid up your thighs, holding them open like you might change your mind.
“Joel,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hand threading into his hair and tugging just enough to stop him. “No, baby. I wanna feel you now.”
Joel froze, his breath hitching, and he whined softly against your skin, the sound almost pitiful. “But—” he started, his lips pressing to your clit again in a desperate, fleeting kiss. “I can make you come again. Please, I—”
“Joel.” Your voice was sharper this time, not cruel but commanding. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips glistening and his pupils blown wide. “You’ve been so good, baby, but I want you now. Don’t make me ask twice.”
The words sent a visible shudder through him. He hesitated for half a second before pulling back reluctantly, his lips parted as if to protest but no words came out. His hands lingered on your thighs, squeezing gently as he swallowed hard.
“Yes, ma’am,” he finally said, his voice low and hoarse, the respect and submission in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you.
He sat back on his heels, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your next command.
You leaned up slightly, cupping his cheek with one hand, your thumb brushing over his flushed skin. His lips were parted, breathless, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
“You’ve done so well, baby,” you murmured softly, letting your other hand trail down his chest. “But I need to see all of you. Let’s get this off.”
Joel’s breath hitched, his wide eyes locking onto yours as you reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Yes,” he whispered, the words shaky and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this moment.
One by one, you undid the buttons, the fabric parting to reveal the broad expanse of his chest.
You slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed as you sat back to admire him.
Your gaze swept over the planes of his body—the strong curve of his shoulders, the scars that marred his skin, the soft dusting of hair on his chest.
“Fuck, Joel,” you murmured, your voice full of heat and awe. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”
His cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Don’t know about that,” he mumbled, his voice low and unsure.
You leaned forward, your hands sliding over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his scars.
“Oh, I do,” you purred, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re fucking perfect, Joel. Every inch of you.”
Your fingers grazed his nipples, and Joel froze, his breath catching audibly. The faintest shiver ran through his body, and he let out a soft, shaky, “Ma’am…”
You smirked, leaning in closer. “Sensitive, huh?” you murmured, circling the hardened peaks with your thumbs.
Joel let out a broken gasp, his hips jerking into the air as his hands gripped the sheets beneath him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and desperate. “Didn’t… didn’t know I -.”
“You didn’t?” you teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to one nipple before flicking your tongue over it. Joel’s reaction was instant—a guttural moan that sent a wave of heat straight through you.
“Sweetheart I-” he gasped again, his hands trembling as they hovered near your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I—fuck, I—”
“Hush, baby,” you whispered, shifting to his other nipple and sucking it into your mouth.
Joel cried out, his head falling back against the pillows as his chest arched into your touch.
His hips bucked again, and you could feel how hard he was, straining against the confines of his jeans.
“Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know… didn’t know I could feel this good. Please, don’t stop.”
You hummed against his skin, your tongue teasing over the sensitive bud before you nipped at it gently. Joel’s whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.
“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you murmured, sitting back to admire the way his chest heaved, his eyes wide and glassy. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.”
Joel shook his head frantically, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No,” he breathed. “Never. Fuck, it’s—ma’am, it’s so good.”
You let your hands drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his ribs and the soft curve of his stomach. Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a shaky moan as your fingers teased the waistband of his jeans.
“You want more, baby?” you asked softly, your voice teasing and full of promise.
Joel nodded frantically, his voice barely above a whisper as he rasped, “Please… please, ma’am. Anything you want.”
You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, slowly pulling them down along with his underwear, your eyes drinking in the sight of him as he was finally exposed.
Joel’s cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the head an angry, swollen red and glistening with his earlier release.
Pearly streaks of cum had smeared down his shaft, pooling at the base and even dripping onto his balls. You let out a low hum of approval, your lips curling into a wicked smile.
“Such a mess,” you tutted, your voice thick with teasing affection. “You’ve really made quite the mess, baby.”
Joel’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he avoided your gaze, his embarrassment clear. But his hips jerked slightly, almost involuntarily, at the heat in your voice.
“Aw, don’t get shy on me now,” you teased, your fingers curling gently around his cock, feeling the slickness of him against your palm.
“This is nothing to be embarrassed about. It just shows how much you need me.”
Joel whimpered, his voice breaking as he finally met your eyes. “I… I can’t help it,” he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling. “You make me—fuck—you make me crazy.”
Your thumb stroked up the length of his shaft, smearing the sticky remnants of his cum before circling the sensitive head.
“I know, baby,” you cooed, your voice softening just a touch. “And I love how desperate you get for me. Let me clean you up first, okay? Can’t leave my good boy all messy like this.”
Joel nodded frantically, his lips parting as a shaky moan escaped him. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice thick with submission.
You leaned down, your tongue darting out to trace along the underside of his cock, starting at the base where his cum had pooled and slowly working your way up.
The taste of him was intoxicating, salty and musky, and you let out a quiet, pleased hum as you licked him clean. Joel’s entire body trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he struggled to stay still.
“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ma’am… oh, fuck…”
You didn’t stop, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, collecting every drop of his release before moving lower.
Your lips closed around one of his balls, sucking gently as your hand continued to stroke him, coaxing soft whimpers and gasps from his lips.
His thighs trembled, his breath hitching as you moved to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.
“You taste so good, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry as you pulled back slightly to admire your work. “Such a pretty cock, too. Look at you, all clean and perfect for me now.”
Joel moaned loudly, his head tipping back as his hands clenched the sheets even tighter. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I don’t deserve this.”
You grinned, your fingers brushing along the length of his cock, your touch light and teasing.
“You deserve every bit of this,” you said firmly, your voice dipping into a commanding tone. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you? Letting me take care of you like this.”
Joel’s hips jerked against your hand, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he nodded frantically.
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Yes, ma’am. Please… please don’t stop.”
You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive slit.
“You want more, baby?” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction. “Want me to make you feel even better?”
Joel’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto yours as he nodded, his desperation palpable. “Please,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. Just… please let me feel you.”
You smiled, soft and knowing, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Anything, huh?” you teased, your voice low and dripping with promise. “Then show me, Joel. Show me how much you want this.”
Joel’s hands trembled as he gripped your hips, helping you straddle him. His cock pressed against your slick heat, and he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through both of you.
His eyes flicked between your face and where your bodies were about to join, his chest heaving with anticipation.
“Don’t make me wait,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, ma’am. Let me feel you.”
You reached down, guiding him to your entrance, your breath hitching as you slowly sank down onto him.
The stretch was delicious, the thickness of him filling you completely, and you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.
“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing on his chest. “You feel so good, baby. So big—.”
Joel’s head fell back against the pillows, his lips parted as a choked moan escaped him.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect. Feels like heaven, darlin’. I—fuck—I can’t believe this.”
You rocked your hips slowly, letting yourself adjust to the feel of him before setting a steady rhythm.
Joel’s hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he bucked up to meet you, his movements desperate and hungry.
“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you leaned over him, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s it, Joel. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”
Joel whimpered beneath you, his hips stuttering as he clung to you.
“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “The way you—fuck—the way you handle everything. The way you handle me.”
You tilted your head, studying him with soft affection as your hips moved steadily against his.
“Finally can let go, hm?” you murmured, your tone soothing yet commanding. “Yeah? Let me take care of you, Joel. You don’t have to worry so much.”
Joel’s eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as his hands slid up to cup your waist, holding you like you were his lifeline.
“Fuck,” he moaned, his hips bucking harder into you. “I—I worry about you, darlin’. But… but it’s an honor to. Always an honor.”
Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply, swallowing the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.
His thrusts grew erratic beneath you, his chest heaving as he neared the edge.
Joel’s hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid to let go.
His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his hips moved with a frantic rhythm beneath you, desperate and unrelenting. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body moving in perfect sync with his.
“You’re so fucking good, Joel,” you murmured against his lips, your voice heavy with affection and desire. “So perfect, baby. Keep going—don’t stop.”
His head tipped back, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat, a choked moan escaping his lips.
“I—I can’t—fuck, darlin’,” he gasped, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You feel so goddamn good. Can’t… can’t hold on much longer.”
You cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek.
“You don’t have to hold on,” you whispered, your voice a soothing command. “Let go for me, Joel. Let me feel you.”
Joel’s eyes widened, his pupils blown, and his hips snapped up into you with desperate force.
“You’re—God, you’re everything,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hands slid up your sides, trembling as they roamed over your body. “Everything, darlin'. Don’t wanna stop… don’t wanna lose this.”
“You’re not gonna lose anything,” you reassured him, your own voice breathy and uneven as you rocked against him harder, the friction pushing you closer to your own edge. “I’m here, Joel. Always. Now, give it to me, baby.”
Joel’s body tensed, his back arching off the bed as a guttural moan tore from his throat.
“Fuck!” he cried, his hands gripping your hips as his release hit him, his cock pulsing inside you with a heat that sent you spiraling.
The intensity of his climax triggered your own, your body tightening around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.
Your cries mingled with his, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, raw and unrestrained.
Joel’s hips stuttered beneath you, his movements slowing as he rode out the last shuddering waves of his orgasm. His hands loosened their grip on your hips, sliding up to cradle your back as he pulled you down against his chest, holding you close.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds in the room your labored breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. Joel’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“You’re… you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with awe. “I don’t deserve you, darlin’. Don’t deserve any of this.”
You lifted your head, brushing your lips against his with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. “You deserve it all, Joel,” you murmured, your voice steady but warm. “Every damn bit. You’re good to me—you’re good for me.”
Joel’s eyes searched yours, shining with an emotion he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to hide. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your forehead in a lingering, reverent kiss.
"Now rest up. We’ve got work to do.”
· · ───
From then on, you and Joel became Jackson’s most formidable pair. Whether it was managing patrols, handling disputes, or protecting the town, people knew better than to question the two of you. Joel was your rock, steadfast and loyal, while you were the sharp, commanding presence that kept everything moving forward.
He was at your side for every decision, every challenge, always watching your back—and stealing those quiet moments when it was just the two of you. Joel wore his pride in you like a badge, unspoken but deeply felt, in the way his gaze lingered and his touch steadied you.
And every night, as the world outside grew dark, you both found solace in each other—a partnership built on trust, strength, and the kind of love that didn’t need words to be understood.
Joel always said it best in his own way: “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’. Always.”
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
I am not beta reading all of that so if y'all find any errors tell me or ignore them like I did the past 22 years. Hope this was fun for you - please comment your opinions (plsplspls). I kinda feel like this is too long idk-
love youuuuuu
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#mssalo#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fic#mssalowork#pedro pascal#joel miller x f!reader#tlou fanfiction#tlou smut#joel miller x y/n#pedro pascal x reader#the last of us smut#tlou joel#joel miller one shot#joel miller imagine#joel the last of us#joel tlou#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fic#sub!joel#sub Joel Miller#Dom fem reader#sub!joelmiller
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TONGUES AND TEETH



₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ ゚. °🍂 ೃ࿔*
jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader
masterlist | ko-fi
summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.
cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you
tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other
a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe
not officially writing for him !! just had this idea
another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u
title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)
✧˚ ༘ ⋆。˚🦴⋆。°✩
Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.
Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.
So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.
But he’s restless.
Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.
At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.
It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.
He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.
He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.
It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.
He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.
So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.
You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.
They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.
“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.
But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.
You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.
In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.
“I said stay back!”
He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.
He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.
You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.
“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”
Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.
“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”
“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“
There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.
“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”
He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”
He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.
—
A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.
“There’s a girl here for you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”
“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”
He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.
He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.
You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.
Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.
He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.
“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”
Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”
“Hello!”
Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.
“I told you I’d handle it—“
“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”
You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.
She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”
You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.
“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”
Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”
You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.
He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.
—
He fails spectacularly.
This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.
Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.
Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.
“There have to be other places.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”
“And when exactly did I do that?”
“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”
You huff a quiet “None taken.”
He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”
“Yes and no.”
“I don’t—“
“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”
Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.
“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”
Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.
Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”
The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.
To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.
Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.
You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.
It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.
When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.
“No.”
The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“
“No.”
“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”
“No needles. No numbing.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”
Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”
You’re shaking, he notes.
Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.
Fear.
The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”
You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.
He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.
He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.
“Good luck breaking it.”
You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.
He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.
The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.
He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.
The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.
They stick in his head anyway.
You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.
He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.
Besides. This is all awkward enough.
The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.
He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)
He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.
You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.
He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."
"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"
"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"
"...I have less dirty ones."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."
He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.
He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.
"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."
When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.
He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.
Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.
So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--
Fuck.
He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.
Woman, his brain corrects.
The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.
The living room is still and silent.
"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."
"I lied about what I had."
He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.
He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.
He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.
"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."
He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.
"Are you going to tell them?"
He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."
He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.
He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.
Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.
Joel just huffs.
"No weapons on the table."
He blinks, and it's gone.
He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.
"What are you making?"
"Tea."
He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.
But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--
It's tolerable. You're tolerable.
So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.
To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.
"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"
You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."
"Maybe I poisoned both."
You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.
"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."
"You also watched me make both beverages."
"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."
"What use would I even have for you dead?"
You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."
“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”
“And you’re not?”
Touché.
Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.
If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.
It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.
There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.
He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.
Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.
—
Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.
That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.
It’s boring, and having you around is strange.
It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.
He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.
He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.
He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.
He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.
Which is insane, because it’s been four days.
The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.
On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.
“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”
“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”
Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”
“You knew—“
“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”
He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”
“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”
“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”
“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”
“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”
Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.
“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”
“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”
“Look, I appreciate the thought—“
Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“
“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”
Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”
—
He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.
He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.
It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—
“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”
“I don’t remember.”
He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.
You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.
There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.
He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”
You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“
That things aren’t the same anymore.
He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.
“Alright, come on.”
You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.
The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.
You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.
“One last step.”
He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.
Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.
He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.
His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.
He doesn’t let his eyes linger.
“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“
“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”
You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.
You’re asleep.
He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.
The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.
For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.
—
You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.
He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.
“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”
“You changed my clothes.”
“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”
“…No.”
“Good. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t just—“
“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”
You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”
“Get better, then.”
You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.
It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.
“Did you make us breakfast?”
He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.
“Jesus— yes. Here.”
He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?
He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.
“You got any allergies?”
“None that matter.”
He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”
“You’re so bossy.”
“And you’re annoying. Eat.”
You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.
“Joel?” You whisper.
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
You obey easily.
—
Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.
He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.
He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.
“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”
He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.
You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.
He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.
It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.
He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”
It’s almost endearing.
Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.
One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.
Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”
“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”
You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.
Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.
“No, Tommy.”
“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“
“We are not having this conversation right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because—“
You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.
“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”
He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”
“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”
“I shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”
You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.
You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.
“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“
“Fuck off.”
He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.
So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—
There.
Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.
He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.
“Sit.”
He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.
You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.
“I can do it.”
“I know you can.”
“Why’re you doing it?”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”
Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.
If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.
—
He notices things after that.
You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.
It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.
He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—
A thud. A panicked gasp.
He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.
“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”
Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.
“You died.”
“I didn’t. I’m right here.”
You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.
He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”
He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.
“See? I’m still here.”
Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.
He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.
“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”
You look down. “You noticed?”
“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”
You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you.”
He tilts his head. “How come?”
You’re silent for a little while again.
“I feel… okay with you.”
“And that’s scary?”
“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”
He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”
He taps a finger on his knee.
“It’s not all bad. To care.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”
He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”
“Tolerate?”
“Mhm.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”
Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”
“Yes.”
“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”
He reaches under the table and pulls you out.
You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.
You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.
“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”
You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.
He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.
“Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.
He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—
You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.
“I suppose that answers my question.”
He chuckles. “You think?”
“I hope so.”
His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.
“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”
“I forgot how tired old men get.”
“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”
He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.
You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.
“Am I just a pillow to you?”
“Yes. Come be a pillow.”
He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.
“You comfortable there?”
“Mhm.”
He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.
Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.
“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”
It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.
☆⋆。𖦹°‧★
#girlblogging#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel miller tlou#joel miller the last of us#joel x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel x you#joel x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fanfic#the last of us hbo#the last of us#tlou hbo#tlou#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic
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well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…
pair: joel miller x fem!reader
wc: 8.6k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.
nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!
dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!
joel found a lodge house…
You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.
He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.
Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.
You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.
And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.
It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.
What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.
But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.
So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.
You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.
You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.
Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.
You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.
In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.
You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.
All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.
After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.
It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.
It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.
A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.
You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.
Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.
It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.
You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.
The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.
You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.
Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.
There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.
You learned how to be ruthless because of it.
How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.
The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.
And then you found yourself with Joel.
You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.
A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.
But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.
He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.
As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.
You didn’t know what to do with that.
It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.
Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.
He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.
It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.
The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.
You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.
Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.
The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.
The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.
Joel. Of course.
He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.
“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.
You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.
“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”
Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”
Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.
“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.
Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.
You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.
Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”
With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.
You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”
Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.
You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.
You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.
You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.
Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.
You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.
Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.
But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.
You’re on your feet in an instant.
“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”
“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”
“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”
He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.
His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.
Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”
"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.
“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”
"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.
"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."
Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.
You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.
The smell of blood hits you immediately.
The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.
Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.
Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.
“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”
He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.
It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.
“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.
A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.
“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.
You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.
You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.
You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.
You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”
Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”
“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”
He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.
You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.
“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.
Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.
You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.
For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.
Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.
You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.
Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.
But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.
You’re staring, and you know it.
The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.
You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.
Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”
You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.
“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.
Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”
The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.
His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.
He’s too damn proud for that.
You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.
“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.
You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”
“Who taught you?”
The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.
You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”
You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.
Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.
You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.
“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”
Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.
“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.
You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”
You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.
“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.
You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”
“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”
You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”
Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.
“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”
Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.
You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.
“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”
Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.
“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”
“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”
He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”
“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.
The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.
You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.
Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.
“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”
Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.
“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”
“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”
You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”
“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”
That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.
Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”
It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.
You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.
It never was.
“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”
Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.
“I want you to prove it.”
The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.
You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.
But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.
It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.
He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.
His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.
You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.
The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.
Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.
You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.
“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”
You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.
You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.
This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.
Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.
He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.
The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.
Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.
“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.
You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.
“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”
He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”
You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.
His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.
“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.
Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”
You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.
You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.
“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”
Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.
“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”
“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”
Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”
You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”
His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.
“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.
“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”
Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.
“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”
You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”
“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”
You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.
“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”
Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.
The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.
Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.
“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”
Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.
But you don’t hesitate.
You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.
“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”
"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”
Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.
He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”
His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.
“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.
You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.
You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.
Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.
As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.
“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.
Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.
The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.
“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.
Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.
“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.
"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.
He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”
You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”
Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.
“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”
Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”
Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.
Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.
“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.
He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”
The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.
“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”
“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”
“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”
Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.
The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.
Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.
Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”
“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”
He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.
Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.
The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.
Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.
His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.
The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.
“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”
As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.
Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.
The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."
You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.
Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.
"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."
"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.
Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.
Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.
“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”
His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.
Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.
You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"
He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."
With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.
You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.
Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.
His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.
He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.
For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.
Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.
Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.
“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.
“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”
Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.
“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.
The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.
Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.
A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.
“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”
You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.
All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.
“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.
Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.
tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO
#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#ᯓ★ 𝐧𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!#natalia cant write anything under 1.000 words#pls be sweet to me#i'm so nervous to post this lmao#love you!#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#tlou x reader#tlou x you#tlou fic#tlou smut#the last of us x reader#the last of us x you#the last of us smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal smut
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Jingled Balls
What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?
Alternatively, you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.
Tags - dbf!joel, smut, age gap, unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, JOEL JORKS IT IN THE SHOWER, sexual tension, blow jobs, rough/angry sex, first aid, Joel is all grumpy and the target of all sorts of misadventures including but not limited to cat claws in Joel's balls and his butt cheeks, cats pushing shit off of Joel's counter, destroying Joel's house, etc. Some mentions of blood and injury but it’s not bad, I promise. 6.8k words. A/N - this fic is based on a true story of real crimes that have been committed by my dear Gizmo. Names have been changed out of respect for the victims. @endlessthxxghts thank you for editing babyyy i'd be lost without ya
My submission for @beefrobeefcal’s festive failure! I hope everyone has a safe holiday!!
December 20
Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each.
You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops.
And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home.
Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up.
You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.
“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.
Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.”
“Indeed,” you agree.
Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”
Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier.
You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone.
“Gizmo!”
“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.”
“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.
“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”
“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.”
Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry.
“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”
“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”
“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”
“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful.
Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat.
“What the f-”
Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.
Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you.
It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering.
“Ooh, is that pizza?”
“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”
“Cheese. Please and thank you.”
You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap.
“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do.
You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.
Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”
“Mm?”
“That sound, it’s–”
Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”
“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.”
“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”
“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.”
Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation.
You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.”
“Thanks. Decorated it myself.”
“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.”
“You don’t?”
“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.”
Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him.
Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”
“A little. But I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.”
“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo.
“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.”
“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.”
“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.
“Uh-huh.”
You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.”
December 21
A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is.
You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it.
Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood.
You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless.
Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag.
His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up.
Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades.
With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner.
Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain.
Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom.
“JOEL?!”
Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you.
“What did you fucking do to my cat?”
“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ ass cheek!”
Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass.
Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper.
“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”
Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make.
Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week.
December 22
Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.
He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house.
He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter.
“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.”
Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up. Overgrown fuckin’ rodent.”
Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.
“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger.
Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, shithead,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “The sandwich is for her. Not. You.”
Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer filthy goddamn mitts outta there.”
December 23
It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr.
Gizmo.
“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest.
Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep.
But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room.
He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches.
Skrrrch.
Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Jus’ watch what happens.”
Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.
“God bless it.”
Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber.
Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated.
December 24
Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.”
Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table.
“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded.
“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, he’s been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears.
“Well, you should, ‘cause he’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.
You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”
“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.”
You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay.
In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully.
You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”
“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.”
“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress.
“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”
“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name.
“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”
You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. You scoff and roll your eyes. “Right from her plate.”
The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you.
“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it.
You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs.
You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him.
Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”
“Yeah,” you agree, smiling.
“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out.
“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.”
“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”
“Mhm,” you nod, smirking.
Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you.
When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning.
Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower.
He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass.
His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it’s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.
“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–”
You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”
Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”
“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice.
“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!”
Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.”
Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.
“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”
“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out.
You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him.
Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”
“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says.
“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”
“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths.
You open the towel and asses the injuries.
It’s not bad.
Really.
It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up.
You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.
Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch.
“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.
“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”
“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.”
“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.”
You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip.
“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”
Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing.
Gizmo hops on the bed then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep.
“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes.
You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”
Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”
Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip.
It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo.
“Woah, woah, woah-”
“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”
“Yeah, but-”
“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.”
You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”
You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair.
“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.”
His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles.
Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock.
Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before.
You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft.
“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps.
“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick.
“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow.
In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit.
“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs.
With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more.
“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant.
“Let go, darlin’.”
You’re about to come when -
CRASH
It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat.
“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock.
Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses.
“It was an accident!”
Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.
He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable.
“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace.
“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fuckin’ understand me?”
“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair.
Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly.
He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.
Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.
Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.
Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting.
Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs.
“He’s really sorry,” you giggle.
“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.”
IF YOU ENJOYED!!! Please leave me a comment or say something nice in your reblog, or send me an ask ♡ i love when you make this blog feel like a community ily. ty so much <3 <3 <3
#joel miller x reader#Joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller#Joel miller/reader#dbf!joel#Dbf!joel miller#tlou smut#tlou fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#Pedro pascal characters
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For Cryin’ Out Loud



pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x fem!reader
how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters
word count: 7.9k
description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.
warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!
author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3
For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep.
The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you.
It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar.
The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos.
When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot.
In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you.
He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often.
“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance.
You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification.
You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”
He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”
You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again.
“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”
He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”
“I can’t, Joel.”
“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”
“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”
“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”
The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”
"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."
"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.
“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”
You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”
“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”
"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel.
“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”
"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”
He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome.
But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.
"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.
You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.
"I don't know." You manage to say.
Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not.
Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic.
He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.
"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.
You nod, "I don't know if I want that."
You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed.
Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked.
“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”
You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.
"I want to sleep with you."
Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do.
He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.
You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.
Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you.
You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”
-
Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in.
The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year.
A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left.
Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him.
“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”
He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”
You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing.
“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."
Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection.
"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."
You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you.
“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”
He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.
But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you.
You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.
"Do you sleep on your side or back?"
Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night.
"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."
You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"
Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.
"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."
You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.
"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"
Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.
Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.
He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.
"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.
You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.
"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."
Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.
"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”
He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.
You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.
"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."
Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.
"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."
You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now.
"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."
Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed.
"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."
He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.
"Go on..."
Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.
"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."
Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"
Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.
"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified.
You mentally slap yourself in the face.
"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."
Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.
"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."
"Yeah, exactly..."
He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.
You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.
Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something. He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.
"So… ten years and no sex?”
You could seriously, not help yourself.
"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.
"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”
He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”
You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town.
“You just give off the energy…”
“What?”
You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”
“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.”
You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms.
But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.
“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.
Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.
You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle.
You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter.
It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.
-
When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy.
You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across.
His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-
His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles.
“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.
“I didn’t have a nightmare.”
His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”
The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.
“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”
Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.
"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.
"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..."
You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him.
Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you.
"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."
You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.
Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him.
He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.
"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you.
“You’re a brat.”
You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly.
"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"
"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"
"So, you don't believe me?"
"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."
"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.
"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."
"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful.
“‘Course I do.”
You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him.
“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him.
But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.
“I am always nice to you.”
You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”
He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.”
Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”
“Because I am!”
And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it.
“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him.
Why does he already miss your hands?
He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”
“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”
“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over.
“Whatever, Joel.”
As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.
Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live.
He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them.
You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen.
“You got pat-”
“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move.
“Who are you-”
“Jesse.”
He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer.
“Hey, can you-”
You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time.
“Can I what?”
He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”
You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor.
You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond.
“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking.
He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”
“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”
You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard.
The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning.
“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”
You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.
He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word.
-
All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here.
You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him.
You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt.
You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals.
You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom.
You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off.
You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water.
When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”
He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud.
He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”
You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?
“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”
He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”
You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest.
But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?
He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore.
Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point?
His body was on fire, thinking about you.
You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you.
You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud.
“For cryin’ out loud, woman!”
You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy.
“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.
He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?”
You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing.
He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”
Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates.
“Joel-“
“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”
You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”
As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.
His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake.
But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences.
“Joel, you said we can’t-”
“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”
You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you.
But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him.
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.
“Darlin’-”
“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”
It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies.
You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first.
His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own.
“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”
Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful.
“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”
He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back.
He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time.
You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way.
He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans.
“Joel… I-“
He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body.
“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”
That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance.
“Please, Joel.”
He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then.
You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan.
“You are divine, baby.”
The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter.
He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”
“Y-yes, Joel.”
“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”
Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core.
“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”
He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”
“God, yes.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself.
His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming.
You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you.
“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”
You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress.
“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.
When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.
“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”
You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”
“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”
He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance.
“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”
He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”
You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his.
But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight.
“Ready?”
Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone.
“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”
He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”
When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming.
He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes.
You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half.
He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him.
“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”
You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.
“‘M all yours, Joel.”
He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”
You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.
“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”
“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”
His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile.
Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.
He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring.
“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself.
“I’m more than okay.”
He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.
Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.
Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.
So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking.
Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to.
You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.
“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose.
He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”
tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld
#joel miller tlou#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fic#joel miller x afab!reader#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal#tlou au#tlou fic#tlou smut#joel miller fanfiction#fic: for cryin’ out loud#the last of us smut#gracieheartspedro
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𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖊𝖇
[7: ex’s and oh…]
tlou m.list | series m.list
spiderman!ellie x reader
synopsis: could ellie be anymore confusing?? is she even worth the headache? i mean you do have better options…. particularly a blonde who invited you to a ball….. or maybe a particular masked vigilante….?
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
“I thought you were over Abby,” Gwen arched her brow as she held up another dress against her and looked in the full length mirror opposite where you sat.
“I-I am.. I think but.. I don’t know, Gwen, I can’t keep waiting around for Ellie to wake up,” you grumbled and shook your head at the dress Gwen was holding, “No, that colours hideous.”
“Yeah.. kinda reminds me of the dress I wore in sixth grade, remember that? I threw up all over it.. ugh, now I’m nauseous,” you giggled as you made your way over to help her look through dresses, “Hey, are you not gonna get a new dress?”
You held up a dress to Gwen, “Nah, Markus is making me one, he said something about me being free advertising, wearing one of his dresses around all those snobs will do his work some justice by bringing attention to it,” you hung the dress back up.
“Ugh, lucky…” Gwen whined and flopped back onto the couch, “Not only are you getting a dress customed made for you, you have one of the hottest girls taking you to the ball? Your life is like a fucking drama, like Gossip Girl or something.”
“Lucky isn’t what i’d call it.”
ELLIE’S POV:
Ellie bit the cap of her pen, trying desperately to pay attention to what the professor was saying but her mind was still reeling from what Jesse had told her a few days prior.
After arriving at Jesse’s apartment, he pulled up a video of another Spider-Man..? They looked very identical to Ellie but.. their suit was all black and looked almost liquid, not to mention this ‘Spidey’ looked bigger.. more threatening than her. News sources around the city were saying that Spidey had wen ‘Back to Black’ which she did appreciate the pun but it didn’t make sense at all because she had never owned a black suit previously and on top of that, this Spidey seemed to be better than her.. they were stronger, faster but at the same time.. they were rougher and seemed almost animalistic in their movements.. not to mention, they looked a little too familiar for Ellie’s taste.
“Ellie? Hellooooo?”
Ellie nearly jumped out of her skin, “Y-yeah? What’s up?”
“I said class was dismissed,” the profesor chuckled and roughly pat her on the back, causing Ellie to let out a little ‘oof.’
“Yeah, sorry.. I was distracted..”
“My dear girl, you should go back home, I’ll even extend the deadline on the final essay for you, just.. just don’t tell anyone okay? It’s really not a secret anymore but you’re by far my favourite in this class, hell, maybe even the whole school,” he chuckled and waved his hand as he made his easy down the stairs, “I’ll see you tomorrow for coffee.”
“Bye professor,” Ellie smiled softly, momentarily distracted from the dire situation at hand.
Gotta find them before things get outta hand.
YOUR POV:
Abby: Did you get your dress?
You: ya
Abby: I’ll pick you up at 8 tmrw
You: k
Abby: don’t sound so enthusiastic
You: k
You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone down next to you, you so did not want to go to this stupid ball. You grumbled and sat up, knowing that you should probably get something to eat, so you tossed on your favourite Spider-Man hoodie and some warm jeans and sneakers to head downstairs. You had made a little extra this month, so you decided to treat yourself to your favourite food.
You plugged your ears with your airpods and stepped into the chilly street.
“Shoulda worn a warmer jacket,” you muttered and made your way through the somewhat empty streets, shoving your hands deep into your pockets and humming softly along to the song blasting through your headphones.
The crisp night air soothed your reeling mind, almost cleansing it of Ellie and Abby.
To get to the restaurant, you had to pass through a couple alleys… you knew you shouldn’t, you could get robbed… or worse but part of you knew that wouldn’t happen because you had your guardian angel on your side.. right?
You weaved your way through garbage bags, potholes, and dumpsters. There were a few bums here and there but most were either drunk out of their minds or poor down on their luck business men.
The echoes from your hums bounced off the walls and back to you as you walked.
Fuck, this is reckless… maybe I shouldn’t be doing this..
You shove your hands deeper into your pockets and chew on your inner cheek… this was reckless but you needed to know if he would come.
Lost in thought, you didn’t even see the approaching shadow behind you until you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. Jumping with a yelp, you spun around with a smile on your face.
“I thought you’d never sho—,” your smile is quickly wiped off your face when you come face to face with a tall gangly man, his eyes red from too much alcohol, his breath sour with beer and cigarettes, and face bloated from too many drunken nights.
“Well, here I am,” he smiles crookedly and brings a knobby hand up to his chin, rubbing at the stubble there, his beady eyes roaming over your finger, clearly sizing you up.
You feign a polite chuckle, “Sorry, I-I thought you were someone else..”
“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, sweetheart.”
Ew.
“Yeah, no thanks,” you scoff and turn around to head back down the alley.
“Come on! I’m a great actor,” his hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you closer.
“Hey look, I’m not fucking interested,” you say through gritted teeth.
His smile never wavers, “Why the fuck are you acting like such a bitch?” He pulls you even closer, you can feel his vile breath against your neck and a slimy hand snaking itself around your waist.
“Get off!” you yell and stomp your foot down onto his foot before pulling your knee back up and slamming it into his balls.
The man keels over, “You fucking bitch!”
You roll your eyes, raising your leg to kick him again but quickly withdraw your leg when the man pulls out a gun. Before the man could pull the trigger he’s pushed against the wall by an… invisible force…..or..? Is that webs..? You take a step closer, your eyes peering into the darkness, making out two figures, one on top and pummeling it’s arm into the pulp on the ground, the sound of grunts and please to ‘stop’ echoeing throughthe once hum filled alleyway.
Suddenly the cries stop and you feel another hand on your shoulder, you screamed and spun around.
“Woah, woah, calm down! It’s just me, you can put that er.. uh, pepper spray away?” Spidey chuckled and nodded at your glitter bottle of pepper spray that definitely would not have worked.
“H-Holy shit!” you yell exasperatedly, a breathy chuckle leaving your lips.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he yelled, you totally weren’t expecting that..
“W-What are you—?”
“You could’ve been seriously hurt!” Spidey yells and puts his hands on his head, “God, are you that reckless?”
“I-I was going t-to get d-d-dinner,” you cry.
Spidey puts his hands down, letting out a sigh, “Then come on.. let’s get your dinner.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
[A/N: so sorry for the delay, a sequence of events happened that prevented me from having access to this account and giving me time to write, next chapter will be longer :p]
taglist: @elliecoochieeater @wavesgocrash @g3latin @elliesflowersblog @usuck @elliessweetheart @miss-chananandler-bong @lvlymicha @prettywhnyoucry @g0d-wont-let-me-die @errorlovernotfound99 @thatgiraffefromtlou @ilovewomenfr @abbyswh0r3
#ellie the last of us#ellie willams x reader#ellie williams#ellie x fem reader#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie fanfic#ellie tlou#ellie williams x reader#ellie x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams smut#ellie angst#tlou x you#tlou x y/n#tlou x reader#tlou fluff#tlou smut#tlou2#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic
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beefy chubby abby i love you
#lottie draws#artists on tumblr#abby anderson fanart#tlou abby#abby fanart#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson tlou2#abby the last of us#abby tlou#abby x you#abby x reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson#abby x fem!reader#tlou fanart#tlou au#tlou 2#tlou fic#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou game#tlou#tlou part 2#tlou2#the last of us part 2#the last of us fanart#the last of us game#the last of us
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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.
#joel miller#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#joel miller x reader#ellie tlou#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller one shot#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal one shot#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel and ellie#joel tlou#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller au#joel miller tlou#the last of us hbo#tlou joel#tlou hbo#tommy miller#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction#tlou#tlou2#the last of us#ellie williams#tlou 2
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𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙞-𝙨𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ; ˚˖`💌:
⌞ Jackson, Wyoming isn't what you thought you’d call home, neither is the house that smells like pine and old cologne. After being discovered by a group of survivors, you're offered a home and sanctuary. The only catch, you won't be living alone.⌝
grab your coziest blanket fuckers!
⌞ tags; roommate!joelmiller jackson!joelmiller x survivor!reader plus-size!reader no ellie au (ily bella ramsay i promise ) age gap + reader is 19 joel is in his fifties eventual smut + more tags soon⌝

chapter 1; home invasion⌝
#fanfic#masterlist#tlou fic#joel miller#joel tlou#the last of us#theenemiesarelovering#tlou masterlist
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that’s the way road dogs do it || one
joel miller x f!reader



a/n: this one is a little wild; part two is already shaping up to be even more wild. many smooches to my beloveds: @pedrospatch for all the reassurance and support and for beta’ing this bad boy for me, and to @dinandwhiskey for screaming with me about this idea many many moons ago <33
pairing: ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel x f!reader summary: on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past. warnings: [no-outbreak au], big girthy age gap [reader is in her 20’s, joel is 50’s], alcohol consumption, allusions to cheating [not by joel or reader], no sarah or ellie but joel has a son, joel has tattoos and is a biker, pet names [darlin’, baby, kiddo], sexualization of the term kiddo [from the deepest darkest pits of my soul…idfc], a little bit of humiliation, panty sniffing, a teensy bit of fingering, a little manhandling, pervy!joel [he’s also a little fucked up and really unhinged but so am i so whateva], pussy pronouns, dirty talk [umm it gets weird lol], daddy kink, degradation, semi-public sex, rough unprotected p in v sex, mirror sex, hair pulling, dubcon [joel takes pictures of her that she doesn’t verbally consent to], smidgen of angst [ofc bc it’s me], creampie, body marking/writing [use of a pen], soft!joel, reader wears a skirt, has hair, wears makeup, and has two tattoos that are described within the story word count: 8.6k
masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!
Bad Habits is the bar where you spend every Friday night after work with your friends. It’s always too loud and too bright for your liking. But they serve good booze for a reasonable price and it’s on the way back from your office. Your Friday night usual; stopping at the bar with some friends from work before you bore yourself to sleep by looking over briefings and finalizing notes you need to send over to your boss in time for Monday’s nine am meeting.
You excuse yourself from the booth and head for the bar, plopping yourself on the velvet cushion of a creaky bar stool as you set your purse on the sticky bartop, ordering yourself another drink. Your phone chimes, and you sigh as you pull it out of your purse along with a pen and notepad, knowing it’s an email with a list of requests from your boss. He did tell you he’d send it to you before the end of the night.
It’s when one of your hands is pressed to your temple, the other scribbling down your boss’ requests on paper when you hear it — a low, gravelly Southern drawl, a voice laced with honey — that you thought you’d never hear again.
“This seat taken?”
Your pen freezes for a moment; you could pick that voice out of a suspect line-up. It never left you. But you willingly ignore him and decide you’re going to have a little fun of your own with him, so you continue finalizing your thoughts on paper as he situates himself beside you and orders a glass of whiskey while he’s at it.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ sittin’ in a place like this all by herself?”
“I’m not alone. My friends are over there,” you throw your thumb, pen in hand, over your shoulder, jutting to your booth. “Just needed another drink,” you say, your eyes never leaving the notepad.
“Why won’t you let me see your face, darlin?” he asks, head tilting to the side, assessing you.
You snort. “Why. So you can decide whether or not my face is pretty enough to fuck — Mr. Miller?” Your voice drops an octave at the end of the sentence.
You finally turn your head so you’re face to face with the man beside you, the father of your ex-boyfriend.
Surprise flashes across his face; his mouth hangs agape briefly before he shuts it tightly. You watch as the Adam’s apple bops slowly in his throat. For once, the father of your shit-eating, cheating ex-boyfriend doesn’t have a comeback. He clears his throat as he attempts to recover.
“Didn’t realize it was you, darlin’,” he says gruffly, a hand coming up to scratch his beard.
You chuckle to yourself a little. “Of course you didn’t. The last time we saw each other was what? A year ago? Maybe more?” you quip.
“You look different,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes glossing over your figure so quick you almost miss it.
You raise an eyebrow at him; the corner of your mouth kicks up as you tilt the rim of your glass to your lips, hiding your smirk behind a sip.
“Good. I mean — you look good,” he tips his glass on its heel, eyeing it as he toys with it.
You tilt your head in a shrug, “I needed a change.”
After Joel Miller’s son cheated on you and broke your heart, after you let the hurt linger for a few weeks and told your sob story to your friends who happily listened, you took their advice.
You need something new, something fresh, babe.
It really does help.
You’ll feel like a whole new person.
Trust me, it’ll be good for you.
You dyed your hair a few times, until you found a shade that felt more you. You got yourself a whole new wardrobe, something a little less fucking prudish and a little more slutty, and despite the cliché of it all, their suggestions did help to leave that shy, agreeable girl in the dust. The breakup was the last push you needed to leave it all behind.
And now here you are, a little over a year later, sitting beside your ex’s father, whom you once hated to admit to yourself — no, you never really admitted it to yourself, but you found him attractive. Fuck. Who were you kidding? You didn’t just find Joel Miller, the father of your ex-boyfriend, attractive; you found yourself wanting to open your legs for him more than you did for his son, whom you had been dating for eight months.
His eyes fall to your chest, trailing down the low cut of your top, and fixating on the peaks of your nipples beneath the tight fabric, and your heart stutters. “Quite the change,” a hint of a glint swimming in his hazel eyes.
You can’t say the same for him.
You take him in now; he looks almost exactly the same, apart from a few more wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Still, he’s somehow more handsome.
His tousled salt-and-pepper hair still sits messily on his head, though his beard is lined with more silver than you remember.
Fuck.
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes trail down his body, thick shoulders and thick arms deliciously clad in his black leather jacket, and beneath that, his white t-shirt pulls taut across his broad chest.
And oh.
Joel’s head turns, peering over his shoulder at the sound of glass breaking. Your eyes flick back up and catch a curl of black ink on the tanned skin beneath his collar. That’s new.
When he turns back, he raises the glass to his lips with a scoff, clouding the inside of it, and the dim light from above the bar catches on the square face of a gold band on his marked pinkie finger. That’s also new. Your eyes don’t miss that his fourth finger still remains devoid of a wedding ring.
“I have your son to thank for that." You drop your phone, pen, and notepad into your purse, giving him your full attention.
A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. Flicks his tongue across his bottom lip before he bites it. Is it a show of anger? Disappointment? You’re not quite sure.
But there is one thing that you are sure of: Joel Miller liked having you around. You knew it. You were aware that his eyes lingered whenever he saw you. You caught it from the very first time. When you showed up at his house, in jeans that clung to you like skin, how you bent at the waist to fish your keys out of his sofa cushion, and in your periphery, caught the subtle tilt of his head to get a better look at how the denim hugged your ass just right, feeling his eyes boring into you, your skin sizzling with heat.
If you’re being honest, you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty or shameful for how Joel looked at you. You basked in how he made you feel; you certainly weren’t getting that kind of attention from his son. He had his eyes (and his dick) on someone else.
You liked how that very last night you spent at Joel Miller’s house — a fortnight before you broke up with his son — you padded down the hallway to the bathroom in an old skirt that you had outgrown (wearing it only because it was the last of clean bottoms before laundry day), and you overheard Joel Miller in his bedroom, fucking his fist and coming with a gruff groan of your name on his lips.
You just weren’t sure if he knew that you knew.
His body twists, props a leg up on the footrest of your bar stool. “What happened between you two? He never talked about it,” he inquires.
You scoff. “He gets that from you, you know, not talking about things. Think he knows it too.”
Confusion floods his features.
Your eyes drop to the inside of your glass. “Your divorce. Jason complained all the time about how neither of you talked about it.”
“There was nothin’ to talk about. She left,” he quips.
“She cheated on you,” you retort.
“How did–”
“He knew, and he watched when you didn’t fight it. Think that’s why he did the same to me.”
“That kid. Always fucking trouble,” he huffs, then takes a short sip.
“Hey, you raised him,” you joke.
“I didn’t raise him to be a piece of shit,” he bites, shakes his head instantly, eyes meeting yours, and there’s something behind them that you can’t quite place yet.
“I’m not saying it’s your fault, I just—" You sigh exasperatedly, “I think seeing how you didn’t fight for your marriage, for your wife, messed with him. And as much as I hate him for getting his dick wet in another girl, I think... well, now I know why he did it." Right shoulder tips in a slight shrug.
Joel’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothin'—I didn’t expect I’d ever hear you say that.”
You look at him pointedly.
“Gettin’ his dick wet,” he repeats. “I’m not used to hearing you say things like that s’all,” he says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head a little.
You sigh. “Told you, heartbreak is a hell of a thing.”
“You didn’t deserve that darlin’, M’sorry,” he soothes. He leans towards you, a heavy hand dropping to your bare thigh, fingers wrapping tightly around it. It takes everything in you not to squeeze your thighs shut at his touch.
You avert your eyes, scanning the crowd in the bar, your eyes eventually landing on your friends all crammed in the booth before looking back at Joel. “Everything happens for a reason, I guess.”
His head dips, eyebrows go up in surprise, his expression a slight mixture of shock and guilt. “You really believe that?”
You flash him a soft smile. You’re not sure that you do, but selfishly, it’s easier than the truth, and whatever it was, you’re not concerned about it anymore. “It’s fine, Mr. Miller, honestly," you clarify.
His calloused thumb rubs small circles on your thigh; heat radiates there. “How many times, I gotta tell you, it’s Joel,” he insists.
Your eyes roll, “alright. Joel, it’s fine. I’m much happier now.”
“Oh yeah?" His hand releases your thigh; your body feels like it’ll wilt without the heat of his touch. His arms cross over as he leans forward on the bartop. The cuff of his left sleeve raises, revealing ink curling around his wrist. Did he complete his sleeve? You swallow thickly, your eyes lingering.
"Got yourself a new boyfriend?’” He asks.
You finally peel your eyes away, arching your brow. “What makes you say that?”
His boot brushes against your bare ankle as he turns towards you; electricity sparks up your leg and up the base of your spine, awakening a long-dormant need. “Nothin’, just reckon that a pretty thing like yourself has a new stupid college fella.”
You chuckle. “I don’t date, it's not worth my time anymore.” You take a swig of your drink, swallow the tang down, and it mixes with the lick of heat, slowly spreading its way into your veins. You’re trying to tame the surge of energy zipping through your body, but it’s so damn hot beneath the lights lining the bar. And the chatter buzzing around the room, coupled with the weight of Joel’s gaze, isn’t fucking helping. It’s overwhelming, the nerves and arousal taking over, lacing with the alcohol in your system.
“That so?” His voice is a low rumble, dangerous. The corners of his lips twitch; your eyes dart down to them.
You set your glass down on the dark wood with a clink, and your fingers begin tracing the rim of the glass. “And you?” Your body is warm and humming, something churning deep in your core.
His hazel eyes slowly rake down your body, a hint of hunger in them as they pause at the hem of your skirt, barely covering the place where you need him most; your skin is on fire under the heat of his gaze, and for a moment you have to resist the urge not to pounce on him right there in a bar full of people.
His voice cuts through your reverie as he answers. “Not in the cards for me, darlin’,” his eyes crease before he tips the glass to his lips.
“Guess we got one thing in common,” you sigh and mirror him.
His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip, and your chest blooms. Black takes up the hazel hues in his eyes, full of lust, and you think back to all the times you’ve had his attention; only now it’s worse because you can act on it. And maybe it’s the liquid courage in your blood. Maybe it’s some stroke of desire for revenge. Maybe it’s just that — desire. Maybe it’s because you know him. Know by all those times you racked up in your brain of longing stares and fleeting tugs of every nerve of your body.
So you think, with the very obvious throbbing in your core, with desire turning molten and pooling between your thighs that you can no longer ignore, that now is your chance; you’ve got nothing holding either of you back this time.
“You want to get out of here?” Your eyes fall down his body and bite your lip as you take in his broad form again.
He chuckles darkly. “Can’t leave my crew, sweetheart,” he juts his chin towards an area behind you. Your body twists, and laughter threatens to bubble in your chest when you spot them. Three men, all silver-haired and scruffy beards that cover surly faces, all clad in tethered leather jackets, sit in a corner towards the back of the bar.
You turn back to Joel with a hint of smirk on your lips. “Aren’t you getting a little old to still be biking around? Shouldn't fossils be encased or padded up or something? You know as they age they don't hold up very well,” you tease.
He bares his teeth with a crooked grin; the corners of his eyes crease. “Careful, kiddo,” voice a low warning, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind it.
You knock back the rest of your drink swiftly, ignoring how it burns the back of your throat. “Well, that’s too bad,” you start. Driven by the alcohol coursing through your burning veins and the painful ache at the apex of your thighs, your left hand grabs his, rested beneath the bar, and guides it under your skirt and towards your dripping sex. He stiffens, inhaling sharply through his nose as he feels the way the wet fabric clings to the lips of your pussy. You bring your lips to the shell of his ear and drop your voice to make it more deep and velvety — more enticing. “She’s already wet.”
You drop his hand and hop off the barstool and onto wobbly legs, your right hand looping your crossbody over your shoulder, and before your leg even brushes past his, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist, dwarfing it in his grasp.
Without another word, he tugs you behind him, past your table of friends, all too loud and too drunk celebrating the end of another work week to notice the two of you sauntering by. He drags you down the dimly lit hall, and you’re biting your bottom lip, containing the smile that threatens to spread across your face as he shoves you into the bathroom.
Within seconds, he’s on you, pressing into you so your back slams into the tethered wooden door. Your hands find his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands streaked with gray.
And with his mouth flush with yours, the taste of whiskey and cheap cigars is warm on your tastebuds, and you cannot get enough of it. You've dreamt of what he'd taste like for so long, and it's everything you've ever wanted. His tongue is heavy and hot as he pushes it into your mouth, swirling it around and cutting across your gums, leaving no inch of your mouth uncharted. It’s all rushed and sloppy and hungry, and very quickly does it become clear to you that he’s wanted this — wanted you, just as much as you had from the very beginning.
Somewhere in the heady haze, you manage to remove your left hand from his dark curls, drifting it south behind your back to slide the greasy lock shut behind you, sealing your fate.
The sound of the lock clicking in place has Joel maneuvering you towards the sink, your heels scraping against the tile as the both of you drift backwards, tongues still intertwined.
Your hands fumble with his belt, and at the same time, your mouth skates down his neck, tongue darting out and lapping at the inked skin there. You hum at the taste of warm, salty sweat. As you try to drag the leather out from his silver buckle, you move to drop to your knees. You don’t even get halfway before he’s reaching for your wrists, pulling you back up to stand. “‘S much as I’d like that kiddo, I've been waitin’ too long to get inside this cunt,” he says bluntly, and then he’s taking a step forward, trapping you against the cold ceramic. “If m’gonna come, s'gonna be inside o' her.”
Your stomach flips at his words, and you can’t deny that the use of that word again makes you want to drop to your knees for him twofold. Instead, Joel drops to one of his, grunting as his denim-clad knee hits the cold tile, and it’s what he does next that manages to shatter all essence of confidence you had tonight.
Joel flicks up your skirt with one large hand while the other grips the back of one of your thighs, and one of your hands finds one of his shoulders, fingers already clinging onto him for dear life as you try to anchor yourself. You’re throbbing for him as his hand drifts north to cup your sex through your damp panties; he tears his gaze away to peer up at you. “How many dicks has this pussy taken since my son?”
His words strike you hard, and your blood runs as cold as ice. Your breath kicks out of your lungs. That was the last thing you expected him to say. Despite the fact Joel’s eyes often lingered and his breath often wavered in your presence, he always managed to compose himself. You never imagined he'd act on those impulses.
“I–I don’t–” you blink a few times, your brain malfunctioning, trying to find the words.
“How many,” he taunts, his fingers prod at your lace-covered slit, his thumb applying pressure to your clit through your underwear.
“I– I don’t know. I can’t remember,” you whisper.
Joel sniggers. “I figured. She’s just a little pocket pussy for us, ain’t she?” A shiver runs up your spine, and he watches you, hazel eyes glimmering in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom, gauging your reaction for a tell, a tick, something, that’ll give him a reason to stop. When you don’t, his head dips down between your thighs, and his strong nose presses up against the damp stain on the front of your skimpy black thong, which was doing a rather poor job of covering your cunt. His eyes close slowly, and he inhales. Long and hard, so hard you can feel his nostrils contracting against you as he breathes in your scent. And it’s not your fault a measly whimper spills from your lips when he does so.
“This all for me now?” He coaxes, his fingers strumming up and down your slit through the lace. Words fail you as you look down and find his eyes already on yours. You nod once for him.
“Words, darlin’,” his voice dark, thick fingers shifting your panties aside, exposing you to the cold air and spreading your soft folds apart, toying with your wetness.
Oh fuck, sneaks past your lips in a whisper, and one of your arms snaps out behind you, hand wrapping around the edge of the sink.
He tilts his head up, and your eyes fixate on his middle finger that reads, clutch, as the tip pokes into your aching hole. "S’this what you wanted? You oughta ask for it, pretty girl.”
“I want you. Fuck– I want you to fuck me, Joel.” You choke out.
“Attagirl,” he starts, knees cracking as he stands. “Bend over ‘n let me see her up close this time,” he says with a smirk.
You obey, and turn to drop your purse beside the sink before placing your hands on the wet countertop. But your eyes don’t find your own reflection in the mirror. Instead, they fall on Joel’s movements behind you and gulp down the near-pathetic excitement and nerves sizzling over you. Joel’s too entranced by the sight before him to pick up how your breath hitches in your throat when his calloused hands push your skirt over the curve of your ass and up to your waist. His sly smirk kicks into a low chuckle as he catches sight of your tattoo on your left ass cheek that reads, daddy’s girl.
You go perfectly still, and a firm hand between your shoulders pushes you forward, your upper body now parallel to the dark countertop. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, but you can still hear the low whistle he sings from behind you. And then–
“Jesus,” he breathes as he pauses and marvels at you, his gaze shifting up and down your form, goosebumps erupting across your skin as the knuckle of his index finger traces down the small of your back, cold metal from the ring on his pinkie grazes the meat of your ass by happenstance. “Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”
And it’s almost like he can’t believe he’s here — with you, thirty years his junior, and his son’s ex-girlfriend, in a bar bathroom, about to ruin not only you but every other woman for himself for the rest of his life.
The liquid courage must’ve kicked into overdrive because you don’t know what compels you to do it, but before you can stop yourself, you call out his name–
“Joel.”
His dark eyes flit upwards to meet yours in the mirror.
“You gonna stand there and stare all night, or you gonna fill her up?” But the tone of your voice doesn’t make it sound at all like a question, and you don’t mean it to be.
That seems to pull him back. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ Christ, I didn’t think you’d be this filthy.”
His reaction manages to bring back your confidence, and your lips curl in turn.
Joel doesn’t waste anymore time. You feel the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and hear the metallic clang of his belt and the buzz of his zipper as he frees himself from the confines of his jeans. When he hooks a thick finger underneath your panties, tugging them to the side and over one cheek, you can’t help but clench, and Joel definitely doesn’t miss it.
He tuts. “Needy little thing too,” he grips his length, thick and heavy in his hand, and lines up the blunt cockhead with your throbbing hole; it winks at him. “Tiny hole’s begging for me to fuck her, ain’t she? Look at her flirtin’ with me,” Joel gloats.
And the sane part of you wants to cringe at that, but your cunt betrays you and clenches around terrible emptiness again. Joel doesn’t wait for you to respond; his eyes flicker back down to your hole, pushing the wide head of his cock inside, and that spark from earlier ignites.
“Oh, Christ,” he exhales, his jaw falling loose and eyes going hooded as he enters your warm, wet cunt. You gasp as your own eyes fall shut at the stretch, your face twisting upwards at the sharp sting. You didn’t get to look at it before, but you can feel him. He’s big. Bigger than anything you’ve ever had, and for a second you’re not quite sure he’ll be able to fit. But Joel being Joel means he’s a stubborn bastard. He makes it fit. He pushes himself in, in, in, and you whine, and he groans as your pussy wraps perfectly around every inch of his thick length, sinking in like a dream.
He bottoms out inside your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix, and you’re gripping the edge of the sink so tight that if it weren’t for Joel fucking you, you’d be worried if your knuckles would break the skin. “Fuck, that’s good,” he breathes, ragged and hard.
And it is. He feels so good. Stretching your cunt out and carving a place for himself after all this time. All the wanting and pining. Shared glances and stolen moments that you believed to be over the moment you broke up with that bastard of a son have finally led you here with him.
“Daddy,” pours from your lips involuntarily. Your eyes snap wide open, and you freeze. Joel draws his hips back, cock pulling out from your gaping hole and catching onto it’s head, and before you can scramble your brain for a pathetic excuse of an apology, his lips curl into a snarl, and he slams his hips forward, cock ramming into you full throttle. The force of his thrust so hard, your body jolts forward, and your pelvis collides with the sink.
He doesn’t give you time to recover; Joel sets a fast, unforgiving pace, and with every strong, expert roll of his hips, the edges of your vision begin to blur. And it doesn’t matter how fast he bucks into you; the size of his cock never fails to fill you up to the hilt on every long, punishing stroke. He’s fucking loving it. And so are you. Letting him use you and yanking you back onto his cock by the thin material of your thong, hips snapping back into his like a rubber band. The air quickly fills with delicious wet sounds of your skin slapping against his, your moans and his, and the sharp clink, clink, clink, of metal rattling against you as the movement of your bodies colliding increases.
“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he says, voice rough with arousal. “Been dreamin’ of this pussy since the first time I laid eyes on ya,” he pants, eyes never leaving where the two of you are connected.
Desperate whimpers and breathy moans spill from your lips, his left hand bruising on your hip. “Caught a glimpse of that pretty young pussy under your skirt. Couldn’t get it out of my damn head. I thought about you n’ fucked my fist every night to that image of you in your slutty little skirt. Too fuckin’ short to cover anything.” Your cunt drools with slick with every word that spills from him; you can feel it on the tops of your inner thighs. The wet suction of your cunt around his cock getting louder and louder and louder. It’s borderline pornographic.
His voice cuts through the lewd sounds. “Some nights I heard those sweet sounds you made–fucked my fist then too. Were you fakin’ it, baby? Huh. Were you fakin’ it with him? My son ever fuck you this good?” He rambles, grip smarting your flesh.
Your stomach jolts. Scratch that. That’s the last thing you expected him to say. If your ex-boyfriend’s father fucking you wasn’t going to send you spiraling, then him bringing up his own son while he fucks you dumb certainly will.
Your mind is abuzz; your brain has gone completely blank. There’s no way you could form a proper word in response, even if you tried. There isn’t a single thought inside your head. It’s too much. Too many things are happening at once. For one, he’s never been this talkative; you were lucky if you got two sentences out of him a year ago. And now he’s asking you if his son fucks as good as he does.
You don’t answer. You can’t. And he’s not expecting you to. All you can do is whimper and moan while he fucks you with abandon, the way you should have been fucked all those times by his son.
“You don’t gotta answer. I know he didn’t. That boy didn’t know what was good for him if it hit him til he was blue in the face.” And you moan in agreement, still not able to think of a response while his tip jabs at your most sensitive spot.
“S’okay, you were made to take my cock,” he grits, his ringed finger digging into your skin by the unrelenting grip on your waist. “Made to take mine, not his. Tell me, my cock bigger than his?”
“Daddy–” you gasp, your cunt flutters around him, and Joel laughs a little at you, a low mocking sound that fuels the fire roiling low in your belly.
“Course it is,” he murmurs. “You were made for me. So fuckin’ pretty n’ perfect n’ – fuck – so goddamn tight. Tighter than a fleshlight, baby.” He hisses in between sharp thrusts.
“N-” you choke on your words, fresh tears pricking your eyes by the force of him fucking you so hard.
He clicks his tongue. “You don’t like that, baby? You tellin’ me if I say it again, she won’t fuckin’ squeeze the hell outta me?”
Your cunt answers for you, giving him exactly what he wants and fluttering around him in response.
“S’okay, you can like it. You oughta. This sloppy cunt’s gonna be my new cocksleeve. Gonna blow my load in ya, pump you so full o’me.”
You squeeze painfully tight around him again and bite your bottom lip to muffle the obscene, broken moan that escapes you. You can’t help but picture what Joel looks like thrusting himself into the toy. Was he using it that night? When you heard him coming with a groan of your name, was he pretending to paint your cunt instead of the inside of faux flesh? Or did he pull out and imagine covering your face in his cum? Your back arches as you push yourself up by the heels of your palms on the ceramic, your head topples back onto your neck, eyes rolling back into your skull, the walls of your cunt tensing at the thought.
His fingers unhook themselves from your panties and his hand finds the back of your skull, and with a firm grip, he angles your head, so you are face to face with your own depraved reflection. “Look how fuckin’ sexy you look takin’ me,” he growls.
And you do; your vision refocuses on the wrecked girl in the mirror: hair wild yet pulled back by Joel’s tight fist, lipstick stained around your swollen lips, mascara smudged by wet tears at the corners of your eyes, temples glistening with beads of sweat as you’re split wide open, perfectly filled to the brim by your ex-boyfriend’s father’s cock.
Joel’s fist tightens on your makeshift ponytail, pulling you back into him, and with your back now pressed flush to his chest, he brings his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, eyes watching each other in the mirror. “You’ve got a velvet cunt, kiddo, s’damn shame my son didn’t know what to do with it.”
You squeak, your body jostling and rolling with pleasure on every shift forward, the edge of the countertop bruising your hip bones. You’re blissfully unaware of the spit drooling from your lips and dripping all over the sink faucet until Joel points it out.
“Look at you, wanted it so bad you’re fuckin’ droolin’ f’me, naughty girl,” he pants, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. “Wanted me to use you like this, huh?”
“Mmm,” you mewl in response, everything beneath your navel tenses while his cock grazes the opening of your cervix on each harsh thrust.
He tuts. “Aww, poor baby, you were all talk before. But you can’t talk back now, huh? You all cock dumb, s’that it? Daddy, fuckin’ ya stupid?”
"So – good – Daddy,” you force a choked moan. Your cunt clamps down around him, and it burns, flames running wild, scratching away at your nerves as the fat head of his cock brushes against your g-spot again. As if he can feel it too, the snap of his hips grows more desperate. Faster. Harder. Deeper.
“Keep doin’ that, doin’ so good for me, kiddo. Just a little more, give it to me, come on daddy’s cock, c’mon,” he rasps. Your stomach twists and your chest tightens, his cock hitting you so deep each time his hips swing, and the weight of his balls slapping wetly against your clit has you hurtling full speed towards your release.
“Daddy – oh f– fuck,” your voice all broken and hoarse. Your entire body goes painfully tight, thighs quivering, and something deep within you snaps. Your eyes screw shut as the energy thrums through your blood. Your mind is a dizzying blur, white light streaking behind your eyelids, and there’s a low ringing in your ears as your orgasm fully engulfs you.
"Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, kiddo, there you go, let her soak me,” Joel praises as he fucks you through your high, cunt throbbing while your hips move lazily back and forth on him.
As your orgasm settles, your body goes limp, and your head begins to dip, but Joel tightens his grip on you, shifting your body like a ragdoll until you’re on your tiptoes, the perfect angle for him as he fucks relentlessly into you.
And with the blissed-out daze of the afterglow and the roaring music from the otherside of the bathroom door getting louder, you can just barely make out Joel’s low rambles of obscenities — almost like he’s mumbling to himself — and the quick, wet, smack, smack, smack of his hips against the plush of your ass as he pummels your cunt, desperate for release — as if his life depends on coming inside you.
He grunts and through bleary eyes, you watch him through the mirror. He looks wrecked as he chases after his high. He must feel your eyes on him because then his eyes lock with yours in the mirror, and your cunt squeezes him unconsciously. That sends him overboard. His movements become sloppy, and you feel him twitch inside you. His jaw slackens, his eyes pinching shut while his head lulls back, and a breathless chant of, oh shit, fuck that’s it, fuck, escapes him as he comes undone.
His hands clamp, hips finally stuttering, a deep groan slipping past his lips, and then you feel the heat spreading inside you as thick spurts of his seed spill deep inside your cunt. His body falls forward over yours, his sweaty forehead falls into your shoulders, and you let him stay there as his cock continues to pulse, hips lazily rutting into you and pumping you full of his load. Your spent cunt spasms around his throbbing cock, and your wet and his, gathers at the base of his girth and trickles down his balls.
His hips finally come to a stop, but he doesn’t pull out. Instead, his hand drops from your hair and begins rummaging through your purse. It only takes him a few seconds to find what he’s looking for. Your pen. You watch through watery lashes as he pops the cap with his thumb and brings the tip to the small of your back; your body flinches at the feeling of the cold tip.
As the ball of the pen drags and tugs across at your skin, for a brief moment you try to surmise what he’s writing, but it takes him too long, and the intensity of your orgasm finally catches up with you. You drop your head on your hand and wait for him to finish whatever the hell he’s drawing on your skin.
You feel his body shift behind you again, but it’s not until you hear the familiar sound of a low click that has you snapping your head up to the mirror.
Joel Miller has his phone in his hands.
And he’s not just doing anything with it. He’s not scrolling through it. He’s not opening up the contacts app. He’s not typing on it.
You catch a bright white flash in the mirror. He’s taking pictures of you. But not just of you. He’s taking pictures of your wasted cunt still plugged full of his cock.
And for some reason — you don’t move. You don’t stop him. You don’t turn around and snatch the phone from his grasp and call him a dirty old dog. You stay perfectly still, and you let him do what he wants. Letting him take a series of pictures.
But it’s the last few that have his lips curling into a smirk, and he begins mumbling under his breath, gawking at the mess he made of you.
With his phone poised in his right hand, his left drops to your left ass cheek, his fingers splay across your flesh, pulling your cheek back, and the shutter sound goes off. "Fuck, she’s so pretty like this.”
Heat blooms in your chest. No one’s ever made you feel like this. But there’s no room for shame when he makes you feel this warm and beautiful... and so fucking sexy.
And then it hits you.
No one’s ever made you feel like this. There’s a sudden pang in your heart, tears stinging in your eyes. You’ve always known it. But you never admitted it because it never mattered. How could it? When you’ve never had someone who made you feel worth their time. How could you know what you were missing out on if you’ve never had it to begin with?
Your head tips back between your shoulders, forcing the tears back into your skull, and to keep them at bay, you redirect your attention on Joel; watch him as he presses his hips flush to your ass so he’s filled you to the hilt. With your body still trembling, you wince and close your eyes in overstimulation. Your body sags forward on the cold surface, melting into submission.
You hear a series of shutters coupled with Joel’s mutters of, Jesus, look at her, the prettiest little pussy, look at this messy little hole swallowin’ up my cock, while you feel his hand moving along the small of your back, no doubt getting different angles of the place where the two of you become one.
It feels like hours have passed by when Joel seems to have gotten his fill. One of his hands finds your hip again; you shiver and gasp in unison as he slowly slips himself out with a wet squelch. He pumped you so full of his release that you already feel it beginning to trickle out. You didn’t think there’d be that much of it for a man his age.
When his cockhead fully slides out from your hole, you have to fight the urge to whine at the loss of it — of him. But it’s what he does next that stops you from reveling in that; his hand quickly reaches down between your bodies, and two thick fingers catch the cum dripping out of you and push it back inside. You whimper tiredly.
You stay bent over the sink, and suddenly, for a very brief moment, you feel the heavy weight of his cock slap wetly against your left ass cheek, and for the last time, the camera shutters.
He quickly pockets his phone, and then he’s pulling your panties over the ache between your thighs, and his hands tentatively pull the skirt back down over your ass, smoothing out the rumpled fabric. You can hear the low rustling behind you — the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle, tucking himself back into his pants.
And then Joel Miller surprises you again. He leans forward over you and places a chaste kiss to your clothed shoulder before his hands are on you, gently tugging your body upright and turning you around to face him as he murmurs a low, Let me look at ya.
His eyes scan over your face, grinning immensely, like he can’t help being proud of himself for ruining you. And you smile bashfully in tandem as you bring a weak hand up to your face. Joel shoos your hand away and rubs his thumb under your eyes, gently wiping away your tears and smeared mascara, then doing the same to the smudged lipstick at the corners of your mouth.
He’s always been rather soft with you, but it’s a stark contrast in comparison to his earlier behavior; it almost gives you whiplash thinking about it. How he fucked you so full you could feel him in your chest, the stream of profanities he cursed under his breath, moaning the dirtiest things — comparing himself to his son while inside you, taking filthy pictures as evidence of what the two of you have done together, then cleaning you up like it’s second nature to him. All of it was filthy. He’s filthy. But there was always a softness to him, and there’s no doubt about it in this moment.
You take the opportunity to mirror him and caress away the lipstick that stained his lips from your kiss, you smile and he sighs at the contact. His thumb swiftly pads over your bottom lip, his gaze lands on your lips, a sort of hesitance, perhaps deciding if he wants to kiss you again. Then, his thumb catches on your plush bottom lip. Joel’s lips twitch, his eyes go dark as he drags the flesh of your bottom lip down, eyeing something he knows he almost missed. He scoffs slightly and shakes his head in near-disbelief. You smirk knowing exactly what he’s reacting to.
His entire face blossoms with cherry red as he does another once over on the black ink inside your mouth.
“Angel, my ass,” he mutters under his breath before wetting his lips. Already hungry for more.
He tilts your chin upwards and leans forward to kiss you. It’s softer, slower this time, but of course, he still nips gently at your bottom lip, and at the same time, he slips his free hand down between the two of you once more. It moves beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers shoving your panties to the side, the pulp of his middle finger pushing through your puffy folds and into your dripping hole, until the black ink that reads, brake, is entirely sheathed inside your worn cunt, making sure his come stays where it belongs. You whimper against his lips, bucking into his hand.
“Keep that in there, f’me,” he mutters, his hot breath fanning over your lips. “Want you thinkin’ o’me when it drips outta ya tonight.”
You whine faintly when Joel removes his hand. He brings it up to his face, and his tongue darts out to glide across the tip of his digit, licking his finger clean of your wet and his, all while keeping his eyes on yours the whole time.
There’s a long beat of silence between you, and then he drops his hand, pulling away. Your heart falls, already missing the warmth emanating from his touch.
“We oughta get back before people start looking for us,” he murmurs as he steps back. You smile softly and nod. You’re not sure you’ll see him again. And you don’t have the heart to ask him, nor do you have the strength to handle it if he rejects your offer. You have nothing else to give.
You love how he made you feel, but your chest twinges — one that twists deep. And no matter how much you try to quell that deep-seated fear, it never truly leaves you. A little voice in the back of your mind that repeats on a loop like a broken record, telling you: He’ll break your heart. They all do. But he can’t hurt you if you don’t let him. You resist the urge to turn and run. And instead, you turn to glance back in the mirror, sure to tame your disheveled appearance, giving Joel a chance to leave before you, slipping back into someone from your past.
He makes his way to the door, sliding the lock open; his hand curls around the handle but pauses before pulling it open. He turns to face you. “You okay?” he asks.
It shocks you. It’s more than his son ever did. Certainly means more to you after he’d ask, Was it good, after coming in you before you even got started. Everything Joel did tonight is more than his son ever did; asking you questions all night and listening attentively while you answered them — whether it was with the hope of fucking you or not — doesn't matter. You fought tooth and nail for a sliver of his son’s attention, but with Joel, he just fucking gave it to you.
You do your best to ignore that gnawing feeling of fear, clawing its way up your chest by the only way you know how; you press your lips to Joel’s, pushing your tongue into his awaiting mouth, and licking along the rim of his teeth. A strong hand curls around your jaw, fighting for dominance over the kiss, but you don’t let him for long, though. Reluctantly, you pry yourself off him, but not before Joel’s teeth softly graze your earlobe, nipping the flesh there.
You flash him a quick smile, looping the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “Perfect.”
He smiles softly at that, eyes dancing across your face. “Yeah,” he whispers and moves to the side, letting you step out first and following you out.
You head straight to the booth where your group of four awaits you, but not before peering over your shoulder and seeing Joel stalk towards his crew. You smile to yourself and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear as you approach your friends. As you shimmy in beside one of them, they ask where you were, and their brows pinch when you mumble, I was feeling a little dizzy. Which isn’t a total lie, but no one presses you for more, and you’re glad they don’t.
It’s not until your friends start collecting their belongings and announce they want to check out the new bar a few blocks down the street when you feel the weight of tonight’s actions sinking into you. You’re about ready to call it a night; your eyes are heavy, your brain is still fuzzy, and your body still has not recovered from Joel railing you.
You mull over sitting in the booth until the car you plan to order shows up to take you home. But the thought of waiting around in Joel’s presence makes your chest tighten. You don’t want to find out if he’ll be like the rest of them. Something to scratch an itch, and then wiping you from memory. That urge to flee loops back, and your legs force you to stand.
Collectively, you amble through the bar, still bubbling with energy, and as you make your way to the exit, you can feel the heat of a stare on you. You don’t need to turn to know who it is; his broad form ghosts along the edges of your periphery.
You walk against that pull you feel towards him, ache festering, skin burning, and bones grating with every heavy step, your eyes locked on the door like a missile to a target, not letting your eyes wander over to his booth, trying to keep what’s left of your dignity. Resisting. Resisting. Resisting.
Lucas steps out first, holding the door open for another group of younger twenty-somethings as they saunter into the bar. While you hang back, you quickly mumble over your shoulder to Nell that you’re thinking of heading home. Worry cuts across her face, and she extends an offer, At least let me drive you home, hun.
Your answer is cut off by the chime of your phone in your purse. You still and fumble for it and see a message from Mr. Miller. You had forgotten you never deleted his number.
Holding your phone close to your chest, cautiously away from your friend’s curious eyes, you click on the notification.
He’d sent you two of the pictures he happily took at the top of the hour with a message that reads, Look damn sexy on my cock, kiddo.
Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and pride swells in your chest as you glance at the first picture: Joel plugging your used cunt full of his length, his graying pubic hairs drenched and the base of his shaft gleaming with a white ring of creamy release. Your eyes flit upwards, and you finally get a chance to read the dark permanent lines he’d written on your skin.
Joel had crossed out the latter half of your tattoo on your ass cheek. It now reads, daddy’s fleshlight, in sloppy penmanship. With his grip porcelain white, the cross on his thumb makes an appearance as his digit digs into your hip at the corner of your tattoo. Your eyes drift further north, and above the globe of your ass, the small of your back reads, mine.
Your thumb swipes across the screen to the second picture. With his cock poised in his hand, he had pressed the swollen mushroom head, only a hairsbreadth beneath the ink on the plush flesh of your ass — black ink shiny with a pearly film, he had smeared it in your mixed juices. Your cunt clenches at the images — at his absence, missing the warm, thick stretch of him. And suddenly, you feel his cum beginning to dribble out of you and pool into the gusset of your already ruined thong.
When you don’t answer. The message bubble appears.
A beat, then two, and then—
There’s a place for you here.
You swallow down the twinge, the ache, press your thighs shut around emptiness, and feel another slight trickle escape your lower lips when your pussy releases more of his cum. You lock your phone and look back up at Nell in front of you. You feign nonchalance and wave her off, telling her you can’t go home just yet. Tell her that you received a few more requests from your boss and you, Don’t wanna take work home.
She asks how you’ll get home, you lie, and swiftly mention that you just saw Mr. Miller across the bar and that he’ll drive you home. Another tiny white lie. Your place is a solid halfway point from the bar to his house. And when she asks if you’re sure you’ll be okay alone, her hand gently squeezing your arm, brows furrowed with worry, bless her heart, your gaze follows that pull like a magnet and lands on Joel.
He’s already watching you.
Your eyes lock with his, one hand resting to the side while the other tips the glass he’d been nursing towards you, winking as he takes a short sip of amber liquid.
And there’s no pang in your chest. No urge to flee. Just the warmth of his gaze that in any second now will radiate through his touch, turning your bones to ash.
You flash Nell a smile. Yeah…You’ll be fine.
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