#dad!joel miller

[talaok]

a smutty joel imagine with him saying, “you’re in trouble doll”

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel, your dad's best friend, has pissed you off once again for his constant fear of your father finding out about you, so you decide to make him jealous, only he doesn't take it as well as you expected... or maybe exactly as you had

warnings: jealousy, he grabs you by the neck at one point, possessive!Joel smut| a bit of thigh riding, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, she calls him daddy ONCE bc I need to cut back on the daddy kink it's becoming a problem, kind of exhibitionism, and unnecessary feelings cause i can never fucking write a story where they're just fucking for some reason

You were flirting good

The way you only did when you weren't really interested, when it was just a game, when you were bored, or perhaps... in the mood for taunting someone

Maybe someone who was across the backyard, his hazel eyes burning a hole into the back of your head as he gripped his beer hard enough to shatter it, his head nodding slowly at whatever your dad was saying, but his thoughts only to you, only to that little asshole who had his hand on your cheek- on his girl

"I'd forgotten how funny you are" you said, after falling into a more than exaggerated laughing fit at one of Kaleb's miserable jokes.

He grinned with that smile guys have when they think they have it in the bag, when they’re already picturing you in their bed

As if

“Tell you what, I'm even funnier in front of a drink,” he said, his eyes glinting with victory “you free tonight?”

But before you could respond, a very much non-friendly voice barked from beside you

"she's not"

Joel looked even hotter than usual with that t-shirt clinging to his toned biceps and pecs, and the way he was looking at Kaleb... he looked ready to kill, and fuck if that didn't make him even hotter

"Tommy needs your help on the grill, I'm takin' a break" he nodded toward his brother, giving the guy a chance to scramble before he had to punch him in the face

"now?" Kaled wined, his gaze trailing to you, as if counting on the understanding of another man of what he was interrupting

"Now."

There was no room for negotiating, and the guy finally got it, sighing loudly before nodding

"Fine, I'll catch you later then," he smiled, watching you reciprocate, before he started for the grill

You squinted your eyes against the sun as you looked up at Joel, making a show of rolling your eyes as he gave you that stern, angry look he was always so good at giving

"Cockbloker"

You didn't wait for whatever smart retort he was gonna send your way as you turned around and started making your way into the house,

only of course, he was right behind you, closing the glass door to the kitchen with a loud thud

"you're in trouble doll"

again, you could only roll your eyes as you opened the fridge to look for what you didn't even know

The party of people just outside the windows was loud, but his steps as he stalked to you were the only thing you could hear

"I'm talking to you"

You could hear the restraint in his voice, almost feel it oozing off of him, the way you were getting under his skin, the way he was controlling his own rage

And when you only sighed, still not acknowledging his presence... then his self-control slipped, and his hand had forced the fridge to fly shut, the bottles rattling inside.

maybe this will get your attention

And it did, you turned to him, a bored, stoic look on your face

"what do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw ticking 

"what?" you cocked a brow "I'm not allowed to talk to people anymore?"

The way he tilted his head, flames of anger lighting his eyes as he took a step towards you made you want to get down on your knees and suck him off right there and then... but then again, you were supposed to make him pay

"Don't give me that bullshit" he growled "That wasn't just talking, there's only one thing that guy was after and you know it"

You scoffed, taking a step closer to him in affront

"so?" you asked, raising your brows "What I was after the same thing Joel?" you argued "You know, since you're so scared of my dad finding out... since you're always saying I should find someone more age-appropriate, I figured... why not Kaleb?" 

Oh he was fuming

"At least he's not scared of my dad" you mocked "At least he wouldn't have to sneak out of my house after he's done fucking me-"

you didn't even see him move, the only thing you felt, was the back of your head hitting the fridge, and seconds after, his hand gripping your throat, and only then did you hear the gasp fleeing your throat

he had moved you to the other side of the fridge so that from outside, no one could see your dad's bestie choking his daughter without so much of a hair of second thought.

"If he even tries to come near you" his face was but an inch from yours "He won't have a dick to fuck you with sweetheart, got it?"

What did he think? That he was gonna scare you? please

You snorted, your mouth twitching in a smirk

"You don't own me Joel" you only purred "I can fuck who I want"

The snarl he let out was nothing but predatory

"You think that fucking guy's the right one for you?" he asked, his right leg in between yours, the top of his thigh dangerously close to your core 

"you think that little asshole's gonna make you come?" his breath was ghosting your mouth, but he ducked lower, murmuring against your ear now 

"You think Kaleb's gonna fuck you better than I do?"

Although shivers were running down your spine, you chuckled, as you murmured "Maybe"

He groaned, his thigh immediately going to your center, rubbing against your clit as his fingers tightened on your throat.

"say that again" he challenged, his voice rough and throaty

"what," you grinned, "you think you're some kind of sex god or something?"

The fact that he could hear all the little whimpers you were swallowing down your throat didn't help your case

"Have you forgotten already about all the times you were begging for my cock sweetheart?" he teased, his jeans damping with your slick as you parted your mouth in pleasure "All the nights you spent screaming my name, mh?" 

His warm words felt so good on your neck, and his leg... if he kept at it you might just fall apart like that

"you think another man can do that for you?" his eyes were boring into yours now, his hand forcing you to meet his gaze 

And when you didn't answer, the same smug grin on you, he understood what he needed to do

"You need a little reminder, 's that it?"

And just like that, you had exactly where you wanted him.

If he was aware that this was your plan all along, he didn't show it, probably because you had turned his brain into a jealous angry heap.

He watched the way you bit your bottom lip, the same way he's seen you do thousands of times before, need pooling in your iris and panties at the same time

"ah that's it, isn't it?" he growled, his right hand going to squeeze your ass "my dirty girl needs me to remind her who's the only man that can make her feel good huh?"

And fuck it, but you were already palming the bulge at the front of his pants

"whose cock she needs to be filled with" he smirked, watching your pretty eyes fall to his mouth

"then I guess I just have to, don't I?"

His lips were on yours faster than you could blink, his mouth ravenous and hungry as much as his tongue, which was exploring every inch of you as if he needed to have all of you, right there, right now.

You felt his hand leave your neck and seconds after your ear picked up his zipper getting undone and then he was picking you up and he was hastily freeing his cock from his boxers and-

It was all so fucking fast- he felt like a man possessed

For this much talk of you being the one to need a reminder, it looked like it was him the only one to need this

And maybe it was because seeing you talking to that guy made him see red, or maybe because it had been more than 24 hours since he had a taste of you and missed you more than anything, or maybe... maybe he was just starting to realize that it wasn't the 24 hours, and it wasn't Kaleb, but it was you, it had always been you, with that smart mouth and that smug attitude and your determination and kindness and beauty and fuck- this had never been just fuking- he could never just be having sex with you, he wanted to have you, all of you, not just like this, but in public, in front of everyone, in front of Kaleb and you pissed off dad- he wanted to- to bring you on a proper date and pay the bill and only then fuck you so good you forgot your name- he wanted, he wanted everything, he wanted you, completely.

"You know anyone could come in here at any moment right?" you asked breathlessly as you leaned away, your lips swollen already 

He had you propped against the part of the fridge facing the wall, so you were hidden from the outside, but anyone could have just taken a closer look, or come into the kitchen for a fresh beer and caught you just as he railed into you... and he couldn't have fucking cared less

"What, you scared?"

And the way you smiled- the way you smiled was enough to make a grown man drop to his knees in an instant

"fuck me, daddy"

God fucking damn him, but he might just be in love

"Jesus fucking Christ doll"

He didn't let you laugh at him before he had pounced into you with one hard and deep thrust, his mouth crushing into yours simultaneously to drown out that clamorous moan he already knew was coming from your throat

He didn't let you get used to him, he only started fucking up into you like he needed to split you in half, like he needed to get deeper into you that he'd ever been.

He was grunting with each push, and you could faintly hear the fridge beside you move in tandem with his movements, but you couldn't have cared less about worrying whether or not it could be seen from outside.

he hit a particularly deep spot inside of you and just as you were about to cry out like a mad woman, his hand was on your mouth, shutting you up for good

"you let another guy touch this fucking pussy and they're dead" his eyes were just as brutal as his thrusts, although a veil of harrowing honesty lay beneath them

He was being serious, he needed you to know that

 "got it?" he asked, your mind only half listening as your walls tightened around him "It's fucking mine" he purred, the hand he had on your waist tight enough to bruise "You're fucking mine," he said, "all of you" 

You swore you felt pain underneath the anger in his voice

"I don't care what you say, I'm the only one that can make you come, 'm the only one who can touch you or fuck you or- or fucking take you out to dinner- got it?"

If it were any other moment you would have teased him, but this... there was something too precious- too honest about this

"yes" you whimpered into his palm, 

And that sent him straight to fucking heaven, he couldn't help but relieve your lips of his hand and kiss you again, kiss you with every inch of life he had in him

"You're mine" he breathed, both of you breathing so heavily you were nearly hyperventilating

"I'm yours Joel" you promised, your core wisting and tuning as he drilled you closer and closer to the edge "I'm yours" you repeated, watching what it did to him, the relief plastered onto his face, the want only multiplying in his pace "only yours- all of me-"

"that's right" he breathed, his skin slapping with yours "My pussy, my body, my girl" he purred "You're mine, doll"

And just like that, he had pushed you over the edge, watching you fall apart closely before he couldn't help but follow suit, kissing you as he silenced both your moans, bottling them up inside of him, so he could never forget them, forget this.

You opened your eyes to find his already on you, so many unspoken words, feelings, hopes in them, and you couldn't help but smile, dropping your forehead to his as he settled you back onto the ground

"That was- wow" you sighed, still grinning like a kid "I should make you jealous more often"

"Please don't" he begged, his fingers drawing circles on your waist as you kissed him again, smiling softly onto his lips

You needed to talk, about what happened, about what this was, about everything... but as you both leaned away, a mutual understanding passed through you

Later

"You should get back out there" you murmured, although halfheartedly.

the prospect of moving away from his embrace felt like hell right now

"what about you?" he asked, his nose nuzzling against yours

"I gotta clean myself up" 

"I could help" 

You rolled your eyes playfully as a small laugh flowed through you

"Joel" you said, still smiling "go"

And so even if his whole mind, body, and soul were fighting against it, he did, kissing you one last time before he leaned away, fixed himself up, and looked at you one more time, before walking out of the kitchen and into the backyard

And as if on cue that fucking asshole had to come in and ruin his fucking vibe

"Hey, where's y/n? I've been looking for her" Kaleb asked, walking up to him.

Joel didn't even try to be nice, he didn't even bother with that "count to ten before answering" bullshit Sarah was always telling him about

"She's not interested, and if I see you even just looking her way ever again, I am going to kill you Kaleb, understand?"

To say the guy was taken aback was the understatement of the century

His eyes widened so much he didn't even look like himself

"w-what the fuck?" he spat "Where is she, I need to t-"

"she's in the bathroom" Joel cut him off, pure rage and annoyance in his voice, in his stare "cleaning my come off of herself"

Kaleb stumbled back, literally now

"w-wha-"

"I told you buddy" Joel said simply "she's not interested"

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[august126]

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college.

You're pretty sure your feelings aren't reciprocated... until one night that changes everything.

Warnings:Age Difference,Joel is 49 and Reader is 24,Oral Sex,Car Sex,semi-public sex (sort of),Flirting,Masturbation, and Dirty Talk

Words:12,334

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared.

___________________________________________________________

“Y’know, while ‘m happy that you’re livin’ with me again, I’d appreciate it f’ya started tryin’ to find a job that put that fancy degree t’use.” You peer over the top of the book you’d been reading at your dad, who’s taking up a spot at the end of your pool chair. His arms are crossed over his navy work shirt, drenched in sweat from working all day in the roiling heat customary of a Texas summer, and he’s watching you expectantly for an answer. 

You set your book on your chest and sigh. It’s not that you aren’t thankful or don’t appreciate your dad allowing you to move back in with him after graduating from college a year ago. You fully understand how fortunate you are not to have to worry about paying rent; you’re also eternally grateful to your dad for hooking you up with a decent-paying job as a secretary at the contracting business his best friend owns. However, you were getting very, very tired of having this conversation. 

“And you know that I am lookin’, but it’s silly for me t’apply for an entry-level position at a firm that’s gonna pay me less than what ‘m makin’ now.” Your dad rolls his eyes and grumbles something snippy under his breath, his go-to combo when he doesn’t like that you’re right. You pin him with a pointed stare. “Care to repeat that?”

“Said maybe I oughta tell Joel to dock your pay then,” your dad states, but any lingering irritation in his tone dissipates by the time he’s finished speaking. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his slight frown turns into a small, teasing smile. 

“Somebody say my name?” Your gaze shifts from your dad to the sliding glass door behind him… or, rather, the man who opened it. 

Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college. Currently, Joel Miller is the tanned, broad, tall man striding leisurely through your backyard, navigating around your pool, and stopping beside your father. 

He slaps a hand on your dad’s shoulder in greeting and shoots you a bright grin as he coos, “Hey, lady.” Although Joel’s addressed you with the pet name for years, it never fails to cause an eruption of butterflies in your belly and a crimson blush to paint your cheeks.

“Hey, Joel,” you respond, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re reining in your thundering heart and halting the pulse throbbing just south of your belly button. “Dad was jus’ sayin’ how he’s gonna ask ya to give me a pay cut.” Joel turns to your father, shaking his head.

“And risk losin’ my best employee? No can do, bud.” Even if he’s only joking, you preen at Joel’s praise. You cock an eyebrow at your dad, waiting for some sort of a comeback, but he only glares at you both before huffing. 

“I don’t like when the two of ya gang up on me.” You giggle, and Joel shoots you a lazy wink and a warm, victorious smile. “Anyway,” your dad turns his attention back to Joel, “you said reservation’s at 6:45?” 

“Uh-huh, so we oughta get our asses movin’,” Joel asserts, and your dad starts heading swiftly back toward your house. Joel’s eyes shift to you, still lounging on your purple pool chair, and he nudges your foot with the toe of his boot. “That means you too, lady.” 

“What’s the occasion?” 

“Sarah’s birthday,” Joel answers incredulously, and a lightbulb goes off in your head; that’s why you felt like you were forgettin’ something all day. “Please tell me ya didn’t forget my daughter’s birthday. Your friend’s birthday,” Joel teases, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

“ Of course I didn’t forget,” you lie, narrowing your eyes. Joel sees right through it.

“I bet. Now go get changed ‘fore ya make us late … unless you plan on wearin’ that to dinner.” The blush you just managed to school comes back in full force as he unabashedly rakes his eyes over your body, and only now do you realize how little the tiny black bikini you’re wearing covers. 

Joel’s pretty brown eyes, usually so teeming with emotion, are utterly unreadable as you stand from your chair and begin heading inside. As you pass him, you mumble, “Don’t see why you’re complainin’.”

“Didn’t think I was.” You stumble a bit, glancing over your shoulder to find Joel’s gaze slowly sweeping down your body. When his stare lands on your ass, practically bare save for the minuscule cover your bikini bottom provides, his attention snaps back to your face, an impish grin on his lips that makes your skin flush. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you reply cooly, flipping him off as you saunter inside; you can still feel Joel’s gaze on you as you ascend the stairs, and if that makes you sway your hips more than usual… well, who the fuck cares? 

Once you’ve entered your bedroom and stripped off your bathing suit to assemble an outfit for dinner, your mind drifts into a space you’ve grown all too familiar with over the last five years. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand how wrong your crush on Joel Miller was. Ignoring the fact that he’s been your dad’s best friend for years, he’s also over two decades your senior and has a daughter only a few years younger than you. It’s disgusting, really, that you have even the slightest hint of attraction toward the man. And yet…

You really can’t find it in yourself to care. You’re no longer a college student parading around under the guise of adulthood. No, you’re a woman now, a woman with autonomy who is perfectly capable of making her own choices. If one of those choices is fucking her dad’s best friend, well, then so be it.

Even as you tell yourself this for the thousandth time, the sentiment feels weak. Sure, the opportunity to fuck Joel Miller is perfectly viable, in theory. However, so many things would have to go right for a thing like that to happen, and you are a notoriously unlucky person; quite frankly, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve gotten lucky to the degree that you would need to for something like having sex with Joel to happen. 

For one, no one would ever be able to find out. Your dad, Sarah, any of your nosey neighbors. Not to mention that the logistical feat of such a thing would be tricky. Where would you guys meet up? Not your house, not his house, and anything public like a bar would be far too risky. No, it would have to be a one-off deal, and you’re not so sure you’d be able to stop at just a single taste of Joel.

And that’s all assumin’ he’d even want me, you think as you comb through your closet looking for a summer dress right for the occasion. Joel Miller had never, never shown a flicker of interest in you. That display by the pool, him ogling your ass in your skimpy bikini? That was just him keeping up the incessant string of banter that passed between the two of you. Sure, he was older than you, but that didn’t matter when it came to the way he treated you, as if you were his friend. 

Right, his friend. 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. This line of thinking was an absolute rabbit hole, forcing you down, down, down until there was a headache ebbing at your temples and your veins were licking with equal parts frustration and lust. 

Three quick knocks come on your door, and your head whips around at the sound, pulling you out of your Joel-induced stupor. “Hey, lady?”

Fuck. You stand in your closet, stunned into inaction like a deer in headlights as you realize the only thing separating you, butt-ass naked, and Joel is the mahogany of your closed bedroom door. 

“Just checkin’ to see ‘f you’re ready yet. Sarah jus’ texted, said her and what’s-his-face are waitin’ at the restaurant.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You off-handedly wonder why you haven’t just slipped a dress on over your head on the off chance Joel decides to swing open your door, and you realize with a sick sort of excitement that you wouldn’t entirely mind Joel walking into your room at this very moment. 

“Almost,” you call out, forcing your words to come out smooth as the image of Joel entering your room enters your mind unbidden; you imagine how his eyes would take in your naked form, how it’d take three short strides for him to reach you, how he might drop his head and lick one of your already hardened nipples into his warm, waiting mouth. You swallow thickly before calling out, “Just need another second s’all.” 

A dull throb begins at the apex of your thighs as you picture the man on the other side of the wall putting his rough, work-worn hands all over your soft, supple skin. You wonder what his calloused touch would feel like against your flesh, if his honeyed skin would grow rosy under the thorough ministrations of your wet tongue, if his eyes would grow dark and a deep groan would drip from his lips as you closed your mouth around his-

“Sweetheart? Y’alright in there?” You think you mumble an airy affirmation as you mindlessly trace your fingers along your collarbone, imagining that they’re longer, thicker, belonging to another individual entirely. Any semblance of rationality escapes you as your other hand creeps down the smooth skin of your belly, and you cup your sex with a groan you’re barely able to muffle. You’re so outside of yourself, caught up in the slow path your fingers are tracing along your body, that you don’t notice the doorknob begin to turn. 

Only when your door starts to lurch open do you fall back into your body from where you were floating a few seconds earlier. Your eyes blow wide, a strangled cry of surprise and horror falling from your mouth as you realize the precarious situation you’re about to be thrust into. “WAIT.”

The slow sway of your door opening halts immediately, and you let out a breath, spinning on your heel to face your closet. “I- ‘m jus’ comin’ in t’make sure you’re alright.” You hastily decide on a sage green strapless dress, something you can slip into quickly and inconspicuously, and rip the silk garment from its hanger. 

“Yeah, no, ‘m good, Joel. Great, I’m great, jus’… yeah, gimme a sec.” You throw the dress on, its hem falling to your mid-thigh as you grab a pair of strappy sandals from the bottom of your closet and slip one on, hopping into the other as you approach your door. 

“Y’sure, baby? Ya sound-” You slip your shoe on and grab the door handle in one movement, opening it fully to give you an unobstructed view of the man you’d just been on the verge of touching yourself to. Wouldn’t be the first time, you think to yourself unhelpfully. 

He��s looking down at you, concern and curiosity bubbling in his gaze, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “See? ‘m fine, all good. Jus’ needed a minute.” Joel’s eyes blaze a lackadaisical trail over your body, and you swear you can feel him cataloging each inch of bare skin you have on display. He reaches out, plucking one of the flimsy green spaghetti straps between his thick fingers before letting it go to snap back against your shoulder. You stifle a gasp, and he brushes the hair careening down your chest back over your shoulder. 

“This is pretty,” he says, voice low and velvety, and you can feel your pussy beginning to grow wet at his praise. He bends down until his mouth hovers just next to your ear, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him: musky cologne and citrusy body wash and something unidentifiable yet so undoubtedly Joel. “Did ya mean t’be wearin’ it backward?”

You look down at yourself, heat rising to your face when you realize that he’s right: you’ve managed to put your dress on the wrong way. You shove Joel’s shoulder, and he takes a step back, a smug grin painted on his lips that makes you roll your eyes. 

“You’re a dick, y’know that?” He chuckles at your dig, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

 “And you’re makin’ us late to this dinner. Now, can I trust ya to fix your dress yourself, or do ya need me to help?” He delivers it like a joke, and the logical part of your brain reminds you of that the moment your pulse begins to flutter. He’s just teasin’ you like he always does. 

However, the dark, hunger-tinged stare Joel is pinning you with doesn’t feel humorous. You swallow thickly, saliva pooling in your mouth and pinning your tongue to the roof. “I-” you stutter, words failing you as he continues dragging his eyes slowly over your flustered form. “You-”

“Spit it out, baby.” Baby. You turn the endearment over in your head a few times, testing the weight of it on your tongue. Finally, the corners of your lips pull up in a cheeky smile and your eyelids grow heavy as you gaze up into Joel’s face. 

“You askin’ to undress me, Miller?” And this doesn’t feel like your typical banter. No, this feels weighted, laced with something headier. Something full of innuendo and promises and an unquenchable appetite for… something. And then your dad’s voice is cutting harshly through the fog.

“Hey hon, I’ll be- oh, Joel, didn’t realize ya came up here.”

Joel doesn’t even spare your dad a glance, eyes still on you as he says, “Jus’ wanted to check and see if your slow-ass kid was ready t’go.” Your dad snorts, and you narrow your eyes at Joel before turning the withering look to your father. 

“Don’t laugh at that.” 

“Sorry, sweetie, but ya are kinda slow.” Joel’s smirk only grows, and you huff incredulously. Your dad, apparently oblivious to the bubble of tension he popped, continues. “Anywho, was jus’ sayin’ that I’m gonna head out to the car ‘cause we need t’get goin’, so quit your dilly dallyin’ and let’s get a move on.” He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You look at the ground as you mutter, “Yes, Dad, ‘m just about ready,” and your reply is met with a loud clap of your father's hands.

“Wonderful!” he exclaims, rubbing his palms together before bringing a heavy hand down on Joel’s shoulder. “C’mon, Joel, you can wait with me in the car. I need t’talk to ya ‘bout some work shit anyway.” Your dad begins to drag Joel down the stairs, but not before Joel can get the last word in between you. 

He cranes his head back, catching your glare as he descends the stairs. “Y’heard your daddy, no more dilly dallyin’,” he sing-songs, and you scoff. 

“Oh, fuck you, Miller.” “Language, ma’am,” you hear your dad chastise sternly, and you grumble a half-assed apology as you close your bedroom door behind you. It only takes you a minute to flip your dress so that you’re wearing it the correct way and throw on a pair of light pink, lace panties, bounding down the stairs and out the front door when you’re ready. Before you know it, you’re seated in the backseat of Joel’s old pickup truck as it cruises down the highway toward Austin’s metro area. 

You watch the residential neighborhoods littered with little kids running through sprinklers and elderly couples sitting in chairs on their front porches morph into the city, full of streets tightly lined with buildings and bar-hoppers entering their first destination of the night. The sun still hangs rather high in the sky, dappling the world in a warm amber glow as Joel pulls up outside a quaint Italian bistro nestled between an ice cream parlor full of bright-eyed children and a sushi restaurant rattling with the heavy bass of the music from within. 

“Cute lil’ place,” you say, surveying the old brick exterior of the building and the burgundy awning hanging over the open front door that bears the name of the restaurant, Palermio’s, in loopy, white script. “Sarah’s choice?”

Joel reaches his hand behind your dad’s headrest, using one hand to turn the wheel while he starts to squeeze his truck into the last snug parking spot outside of the bistro. “No, darlin’, I did.” You stare at his side profile as he maneuvers the truck, surprise lacing your features. It’s not until he’s parked the car and meets your eyes in the rearview mirror as he’s straightening out in his seat that you realize he’s bullshitting you. 

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you throw open your door and slide from the backseat, and he’s following you a second later.

“Y’know, you oughta be nicer t’me. I am your boss,” he says as you round his truck, his arm brushing yours, and you look up at him. “Could fire ya for bein’ disrespectful, ‘f I really wanted to.” You smirk at him and shrug. 

“Ya could, but then you’d be losin’ your best employee, right?” His chest bounces as he laughs, and you smile at the pleasant noise before getting distracted by how his relatively new-looking cream-colored t-shirt bearing the album cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors stretches tautly over the slopes of his wide shoulders. 

“Damn right, lady,” he agrees, his gaze crawling over your body as he drags his thumb over his mostly pepper, slightly salt mustache that decorates his upper lip. Your skin crawls pleasantly as you feel him examining you, and you’re just about to reach your father, who’s waiting for the two of you by the entrance to the restaurant, when you hear Joel quietly say, “Prettiest employee, too.”

Your head whips around, feet planting on the concrete as you wait for Joel to say something, anything else. Much to your chagrin, he struts right past you shamelessly, heading inside as your dad gives you a confused look. 

“You comin’, honey?” You shake your head, trying to dispel the medley of thoughts whirring around your brain. Did I hear him right? No, no, he didn’t mean that. Definitely not. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you say, stepping inside with a sheepish smile in your dad’s direction. “Thought I heard someone callin’ my name, ‘s my bad.” Your dad just nods his head in understanding before draping an arm over your shoulder and steering you toward the back of the restaurant, where you can see Joel already greeting the members of your party who have already arrived. 

As you draw closer, you watch him envelope his daughter in a firm hug, rocking back and forth for a few seconds as he whispers something in her ear. She giggles, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and when Sarah pulls back from his embrace, her deep brown eyes, which are almost identical to her father’s, catch a glimpse of you over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to react, she’s colliding with you so hard you grunt. 

“You came!” she squeals, jumping up and down as you wrap your arms around her and giggle. 

“Course I came, Sarah. Wouldn’t ‘ve missed your twenty-first birthday for the world, ‘re ya kiddin’?” She takes a step back, holding you by the shoulders before drawing you back in for another tight hug. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jus’ didn’t know ‘f you’d be able to make it, didn’t know ‘f you’d have other plans or somethin’.” She bites her lip when you pull away this time, trying to hide the way she’s beaming at you, and a big smile paints your face. 

“Nah, no plans more important than my best friend’s birthday.” She smiles and leads you back to the table, where your dad and Joel have already found their seats. You lean against her and whisper conspiratorially, “Did have to fight with my boss t’get some time off for the occasion, though. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, like ya wouldn’t believe.” Sarah giggles, leveling you with a knowing grin. 

“I’m sure I’ve got some idea,” she says as she takes her seat at the head of the table, and you slip around to take the only empty seat, which happens to be between Joel and Tommy, his younger brother that you’ve only seen a handful of times. You offer the younger Miller brother a polite smile, which he returns with a cheeky smirk before you turn back to the birthday girl. 

“You’ve ain’t ever been that excited t’see me,” Joel says accusingly at Sarah, jerking his head toward where Sarah had practically tackled you, and you stifle a laugh at the hint of playful jealousy in his tone. 

“‘s ‘cause I’m not a grumpy old man,” you snark, and Tommy guffaws beside you, reaching around your back to slap Joel’s shoulder lightheartedly. 

“She gotcha there, big brother,” he says, accent saturated with his heavy Texas twang. Joel grumbles something incoherent and Tommy shoots you an amused wink. You watch your dad snort with laughter in his seat across from you, and Sarah’s boyfriend, Luke, who’s seated on her other side opposite Joel tries not to look too entertained by your ribbing of his girlfriend’s father, wisely busying himself with the menu. 

A few minutes after ordering your drinks your waitress reappears carrying a large tray brimming with an assortment of alcoholic beverages. You take a sip of your Pinot Noir, hiding a small smile behind the fruity flavor as the waitress sets a large cocktail layered with green, white, and red liquid and adorned with a small Italian flag attached to a thin, black straw in front of a wide-eyed Sarah. You’re unable to mask your laughter, however, when Joel’s eyes find the massive drink and he nearly chokes on his sip of Peroni. 

“Babygirl,” he sputters, still recovering from his small conniption, “that’s a lotta-”

“I’m twenty-one now, Dad, I can handle my alcohol,” Sarah assures him with an annoyed roll of her eyes and a look at you that says can you believe this guy? And it’s true, Sarah is more than capable of handling her drinks if the videos she’s shown you of her time at college are any indication. 

“I know, jus’... jus’ pace yourself, yeah?” She concedes with a small huff, and you wiggle your eyebrows at her tauntingly. 

“Yeah, Sarah, make sure ya pace yourself. Got a while ‘fore ya can hang with us big dogs. Right, Joel?” You elbow him in the side, and he looks at you disdainfully. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know that?” he murmurs under his breath. You shrug, snagging a piece of fresh, warm bread from the basket the waitress sat in the middle of the table and dipping it in the plate of olive oil and seasoning before stuffing it in your mouth. 

“Learned it fwom the besht,” you say merrily, grinning at him through your mouth full of food, and he sneers at you in disgust before turning his attention to your father and Tommy, who are in a heated debate over the Dallas Cowboys chances of success in the upcoming season.  

“I’m tellin’ ya, Tommy, this s’our year! We jus’ picked up that kid from- from… aw shit, where’s he from again?” Your dad rubs his temples, hoping to dislodge the information from some small, dusty compartment of his brain. 

“Notre Dame,” Joel chimes in as he reaches for his own piece of bread, and your dad snaps his fingers as his face lights up in remembrance.

“Notre Dame!” he bellows, and you shoot him a look that he promptly returns with an apologetic wince. “Notre Dame, yeah, s’right,” he says, quieter this time with a little smile, and you leave him and Tommy to continue their chat as you tune in to the conversation at the other end of the table. 

“Anyway, Dad, so Becca-”

“Which one s’that?” Sarah looks at Joel in disbelief. 

“Becca. Rebecca Landry. My best friend in high school, goes t’LSU with me, we lived together ‘fore I moved in with Luke…” Joel just stares at his daughter with vacant eyes, and you snort. “Dude, come on, ya literally grilled for her graduation party.” Joel shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer. You watch how his throat bobs as he swallows and quickly avert your eyes, hoping no one caught you gawking. 

“Sorry, hon, doesn’t ring a bell.” She huffs, and Joel smirks, clearly just giving her a hard time. 

“Whatever. Anyway, her boyfriend proposed to ‘er last week, and it was jus’ the cutest thing. Real private ‘cause y’know how she is. She told me they don’t have a date set yet, but they’re thinkin’ ‘bout next Spring. Said t’ask if she should add ya to the guest list.” Joel hums non-committally, clearly lacking an opinion on the matter, and you pinch his elbow. He jerks out of your grip, looking at you with annoyance, and you cock your head in Sarah’s direction. When he turns to see her expectant glance, he huffs, head leaning back as he stares at the ceiling. 

“Tell ‘er I’ll be there,” Joel capitulates, and Sarah beams in excitement before giving you a grateful grin. 

“Awesome! She’ll be so excited, she loves ya.” Joel crosses his arms over his broad chest, shaking his head slightly as he leans back in his chair and spreads his thighs farther. You have to try desperately to keep your breath from hitching at the action. 

“Speakin’ o’ weddings and proposals n’ all that,” your dad says, giving Luke a friendly clap on the back. “When’s it your turn, buckaroo? ‘s been, what, three years of datin’? Gotta be soon, hm?” 

Luke looks like he wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle and sink into the floor at the line of questioning, something your dad remains completely oblivious to. Feeling bad, you throw the guy a lifeline. 

“Leave ‘im alone, Dad. Jesus, you ain’t even that interested in my love life,” you huff, sipping your wine. Luke seems to remember how to breathe, a look of thanks on his face as your dad scrunches his nose up.

“‘s cause I’m not. Don’t wanna know about some boy who’s wastin’ your time ‘cause he ain’t good ‘nough for ya.”

“Your daddy’s right, hon, ya deserve more than what some boy can give ya ,” you hear from your right side, and then a thick arm drapes loosely over your shoulders. You turn to look at Tommy, who’s closer to you than the last time you paid him any attention. 

“Knock it off, Tommy,” you hear Joel grumble, and you watch Tommy’s eyes dart over your shoulder and narrow minutely. An expression of innocence plasters over his face to quickly replace the mischievous smirk previously there.  

“Knock what off, big brother?” Your gaze shifts to Joel, and you nearly wilt at the stormy look he’s shooting his brother. His eyes are simultaneously full of emotion and totally unreadable, jaw ticking in… wait, is he jealous?

“Quit.” You bristle at Joel’s harsh tone, not realizing until it’s too late that when you shrink back at his timbre, you lean further into Tommy. You can feel the egotism rolling off of the younger Miller brother, and the tension building in Joel’s figure seems to grow until he’s at serious risk of snapping. You’re sure that the only way this ends is with Tommy making another haughty comment that results in Joel leaping over your lap and strangling the man…

“Alright, who ordered the lasagna?” Your waitress’ voice dissipates the thunderous air instantaneously, and everyone’s attention snaps to her. The wide, practiced smile she’s wearing falters for just a second, and she shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, ‘m I interrupting somethin’?” The tight pinch of Joel’s face evaporates before your eye, and you watch, stunned, as he turns toward your waitress. 

“Nah, darlin’, you’re alright. Reckon that’ll be mine,” he says, cool as clam. By the time all the food is dished out and you’re digging into your respective dinners, the near fight is long forgotten. Unfortunately, you’re not able to shake the bitter feeling of envy that twisted in your stomach at hearing Joel call the waitress “darlin’”. 

Before long, all six of your plates have been cleaned, and each of you sits back in your chairs, thoroughly stuffed full of rich Italian food. Your dad belches, drawing a laugh from the other men at the table while your and Sarah’s faces pinch in distaste, and the casual conversation continues as the street outside grows raucous with the Austin nightlife. 

Your dad, ever the chatterbox, is going on about some upcoming project at his contracting firm when you feel it: the firm weight of an arm draped over the backrest of your seat. You pay it no mind at first, chalking it up to Tommy’s touchy but harmless hands. 

That is until you feel soft, gentle shapes being drawn into the bare skin of your bicep on Tommy’s side. Your brain doesn’t comprehend the logistics of this immediately, and your head snaps in Tommy’s direction to find the younger man’s attention focused raptly on your father with his hands in his lap. 

Your back straightens, and goosebumps prickle across your skin when it finally clicks whose hands are on you; you slowly, inconspicuously face your father again, pretending like you’re listening so as not to spark anyone at the table’s awareness, all while peeking at Joel out of the corner of your eye. 

At first glance, it appears that he, like everyone else at the table, is completely engaged with the words tumbling from your dad’s mouth. But you know Joel too well. You pick up on the slight quirk of his lips, the way his thick thighs spread almost obnoxiously wide so his knee grazes yours, and how he’s drumming the thick fingers of his other hand rhythmically against the table. Joel felt how your body reacted to his touch.

And he liked it. 

That piece of information is what has the low burn in your belly from earlier in your bedroom reigniting, blazing up your skin and making your neck and chest flush a deep red. Joel must be able to sense your blundering state because he removes his hand from you altogether, causing your heart to drop. Your whole body begins to slump in disappointment just as you feel Joel replace his touch on the bare skin of your thigh, exposed when you sat down and the already short dress you’d thrown on in a panic earlier rode higher up your legs. 

He squeezes you there, thumb passing back and forth lightly, and your thighs spread of their own volition to allow him more room. You can see his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he’s able to play it off easily as a reaction to your dad’s story. You do the same with the small smile that stretches your lips as his hand begins to creep higher up your leg. 

And it’s risky, what you’re doing. Allowing your dad’s best friend, the father of the girl you’ve lived next to almost your entire life, your boss, to inch his big, calloused hand closer and closer to where you want him most right here at this very public dinner. 

And yet, you simply do not care. 

Well, you don’t care until you feel the pad of his thumb brush your sex over your panties, and you jerk at the sensation, thighs closing to stop the movement of his hands. The action draws your dad’s attention to you, and his brow furrows as he scans your face. 

“You okay, hon? You’re not lookin’ too hot.” Your pulse thunders in your ears as you fumble for an excuse. 

“No, yeah, ‘m fine. Jus’... yeah, not – uh, not feelin’ too hot.” Everyone at the table looks at you with concern. Even Joel, though his eyes possess an air of arrogance at your state. The bastard. 

“Babe, you can go home ‘f ya need to,” Sarah says, and your eyes go wide as you shake your head. 

“No! No, ’m fine, really. I wanna stay for you, ‘s your birthday ‘n all.”

She waves her hand as though she’s physically batting away your excuse. “Party’s basically over anyway. Luke and I were gonna meet some friends at a bar a few blocks over anyway, so y’all are good t’go whenever.” 

“Well, I’m ready t'head home now,” your dad says, beginning to rise from his chair. “Rangers game ’s on at 9, and 'f we hurry, I won’t miss more than the first inning.” Joel, reading your dad’s eagerness to get home as his cue to be ready to leave as well, stands, and you catch the way he subtly adjusts himself on the way up. You resign yourself to the fact that the fleeting, secret moment between you is slipping through your fingers, and, albeit reluctantly, you follow his lead.

Tommy’s still seated, sipping casually from his beer, when he informs your dad, “Nah, man, it’s Friday night in downtown Austin. Reckon y’all won’t get home ‘til the third inning, at least.” Your father curses, running a hand over his semi-bald head in genuine worry, and you almost have to laugh at the concern twisting his features into a grimace. The urge to laugh quickly fades as you watch Tommy shrug his shoulders and carelessly say, “There’s a place 'bout five minutes away, lil’ sports bar my buddies and I go to t’watch the game sometimes. Can get kinda rowdy, but you’re welcome to tag along, ‘f ya want.” 

Your jaw almost falls off at Tommy, who’s completely oblivious to the bone he’s just thrown you. When you turn just enough to allow you a view of Joel out of the corner of your eye, you immediately notice his almost imperceptibly stiffer posture. You watch your dad’s face light up with excitement, a hell yeah on the tip of his tongue.

And then, suddenly, his expression drops and he’s looking at you guiltily. “Aww shit, Tommy, that sounds great, but ‘f this one,” he says, jabbing a thumb in your direction, “ain’t feelin’ well, I oughta get ‘er home.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You go to object, to insist, practically beg your dad to take Tommy up on his offer so that it’s just you and Joel on the ride home, but Joel beats you to it. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, man, I’ll take ‘er.” For the second time in mere minutes, you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to gawk at one of the Miller brothers. 

“You sure, Joel? Don’t wanna inconvenience ya or nothin’.” You watch Joel shrug, and then he turns to you, pinning you with an unreadable stare. 

“Y’alright with that, lady?” You stare at him, speechless. Are you alright with spending the entire ride home, perhaps even longer if your dad stays to watch the whole game and Sarah is bar-hopping, alone with Joel Miller right after his hand was brushing against your wet, wanting pussy?

Yeah, you were pretty fucking alright with that.  

Your silence must draw on for an uncomfortably long time because Joel raises his eyebrows at you, prompting an answer. “Yes!” you say, just a touch too loud, and you take a deep breath before turning back to your dad. “Yeah, sounds good – cool, ‘s cool with me.” 

Your dad gives you one more half-hearted once-over, verifying that you don’t need his escort home, but he’s in a losing battle with himself; the moment that Joel offered his services, your dad was sold. The coy little, “Well, ‘f you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” he extends to Joel is like a tepid stamp of finality as his mind is already half-full with Rangers jargon. 

Joel gives your dad a nod before jerking his head toward the door. “C’mon, darlin’, let’s get ya home.” And you try, you really do try not to walk with your chest puffed out the entire way to Joel’s truck. You try to keep up the facade of illness that was brought on by your lustful tizzy. 

But Joel called you darlin’, and fuck if it didn’t sound better falling from his lips when it was directed at you and not some waitress. 

***

Tommy, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, was right; traffic absolutely crawled in the downtown Austin area at this time on a Friday night. You’d peeled away from the restaurant almost thirty minutes ago, when the sun was beginning its descent. 

Now, the analog numbers on Joel’s dash blink 8:57 p.m. , the summer sky having just shifted from muddy brown to steel grey and will soon start to give way to the dark of night and the whisperings of stars, and you’ve just managed to make it out of the city. 

Thirty minutes, nearly two thousand seconds, and each one totally void of speech. Joel stared straight out the front windshield, hands carefully gripping the steering wheel as you leaned your cheek against the cool glass of the passenger window and watched the metro landscape give way to soil and farmland, groups of clubgoers replaced by black and brown spotted cows. 

It’s not until the current CD in Joel’s radio reaches its end and the gears click, switching to the familiar crooning voice of Bob Dylan, that your soft singing breaks the silence. 

“What was that?” Joel asks, and you turn your gaze to watch him, focus still intent on the road in front of him. 

“Nothin’, just singin’.” He looks at you then, just a quick glance in your direction, but it makes your blood sing. 

“Y’like Bob Dylan? “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, hm?” You shrug noncommittally, and his responding smirk makes you sit up in your seat. 

“What’re ya laughin’ at?” Joel just shakes his head, and you lean over and swat his bicep playfully. “What?” 

“Nothin’, baby.” The word sounds perfect in his low, gruff timbre, and you grin stupidly. When he sees your expression, he reaches over and wraps his big palm around your knee, giving it a shake. “Got good taste s’all. Didn’t expect it from ya.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to pretend like the large spread of his hand over your bare skin doesn’t make your core throb. 

“Don’t act so surprised, Miller. You should know better than anyone how much I like old shit.” He clucks his tongue, sliding his hand farther up your leg and squeezing your thigh in warning. 

“Careful,” he advises teasingly, but you’re not feeling particularly cautious tonight. 

“Says you.”

“Says me?” 

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind the action as all the warmth in your body is currently shooting to a spot in your tummy. “Yeah, Joel, says you. I wasn’t the one with my hands between your legs in the middle of dinner tonight.” You watch Joel’s posture straighten and you try to hide your grin at his reaction.

Bingo. 

You bite your lip and watch his eyes dart in your direction. Even in the ever-darkening dusk, you can see the hint of hunger in his pupils. “Didn’t see you complainin’.” You adjust in your seat, and Joel’s hand slips higher, his pinky just barely dipping beneath the hem of your dress.

“‘s ‘cause I liked it,” you say matter-of-factly, and you watch him exhale heavily. His head swings lazily to look at you, eyes dropping to where his palm rests on your slightly spread thighs before traveling up to meet your stare. 

“Yeah? Liked me touchin’ your pussy with all those people ‘round? Any of ‘em coulda caught us, pretty girl. Coulda caught me feelin’ how fuckin’ wet you were, soakin’ through your panties.” And you’re almost sure Joel’s trying to make a point in there somewhere. That what you two did was risky in and of itself, not to mention the fact that he was touching you like that in public. 

And yet all you can focus on is that name. Pretty girl. You think it’s your favorite thing he’s ever called you.

When you don’t answer right away, Joel looks back to the road. You watch him check the rearview mirror, and then he’s making a left down a long road and parking the car on a small dirt pull-off a few hundred feet in.

You look around, surveying your surroundings; tall prairie grass decorates your side of the road while a large cornfield stretches over the side closest to Joel, and the only thing lighting the earth for a few miles in any direction is the soft glow of the moon overhead. When you focus your attention on Joel again, half of his face is shadowed while the gleam of lunar opalescence illuminates the other half. 

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, and you can’t help but stare. You reach toward Joel, cautiously at first, but emboldened when he squeezes your leg. You cup his jaw and rub your thumb over his stubbled jaw; his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and you shuffle closer, Joel’s hand falling away from you as you sit up on your knees and reach across the center console to cup the dark side of his face with your other hand. 

His palm finds a new position on your hip, and when his eyes open again, revealing his dark, chocolatey irises to you, your body leans closer toward his of its own volition. As if something inside of him, perhaps the very marrow of his bones, is magnetized to yours. 

“Joel,” you say, soft voice cutting through the silence in the cab of the truck. 

“Hmm?”

“Is this… is this bad? What we’re doing?’ His eyes dart around your face, taking in your heated gaze with a warmth of his own. He sighs as his other hand traces up the side of your body before slipping around your shoulders and resting on the nape of your neck.

“I wouldn’t say it’s good.” You nod, scratching your nails lightly through the salt-and-pepper beard he’s let grow. 

“Should we stop?” It comes out as a whisper, laced with apprehension, tediousness, and want. So, so much want. 

“Probably.” And he’s right. Whatever this thing between you and Joel is, it’s not feasible. Sure, it would be great. Amazing, even… until it’s not. Until the appetite for each other dies out and what’s left is a hollow skeleton of awkward encounters and forced conversation to keep up appearances.

Either that or the hunger becomes all-consuming, to the point where you can’t eat, can’t breathe, can’t sleep without thoughts of Joel dominating your mind. 

And maybe that’s worse, you think. Finding out what Joel tastes like, what it feels like when he sinks into your wet heat, just for it to one day be stolen from you. 

Because there isn’t an angle to approach this from that doesn’t end in the same unfortunate reality; Joel can’t be yours. He will never be yours. 

And, so, yeah. You probably should stop. But as you go to pull away, to take your hands off of Joel and sit back in your seat while Joel returns the truck to the main road before depositing you safely at home like the good friend he is, Joel’s grip on the nape of your neck tightens. And then he’s tugging your mouth to meet his and your hands, still cupping his cheek, are pulling his face in to meet you halfway.

When Joel’s lips slot against yours, you’re surprised by how soft he is. Joel Miller, perpetually gruff and probably born with callouses etched into his hands, is so inconceivably gentle at the first contact of his mouth against yours. You sigh, breathing him in as he threads his fingers into your hair, and a moment of tranquility washes over you. This truck is the only place that has ever or will ever exist, and you and Joel are the only two people in the world.

You slide one of your hands from his jaw to his neck, stroking the solid strength of his throat, and a rough noise vibrates from him. You repeat the motion experimentally, and he groans into you, tongue darting out to politely ask for entrance into your mouth. 

You accept with an enthusiastic moan, and that’s when the seemingly endless reservoir of Joel’s reserve drains dry. He licks into you, tongue caressing yours when you part your lips for him, and the hand in your hair tightens, keeping you held steadily against him. He feasts on you, stealing the air you breathe as he kisses you ferociously. 

Joel sucks on your tongue when you go to mewl, and the sound is replaced by a wanton whine. You roll your hips over nothing, and Joel clocks the movement immediately. You feel his reluctance as he drags his mouth from yours, and you sit and wait, carefully assessing every minute change in his expression as you try to regain your composure. 

You’re sure you’re supposed to be embarrassed right now, ashamed that you couldn’t keep your neediness in check. However, you can only think about two things: how fucking horny you are at the moment, and how that was probably the only time you’ll ever kiss Joel because this entire thing is about to come crashing down in short-lived, fiery oblivion.

But Joel does something. Something that really shocks you, leaves you vulnerable to attack and exposed right down to the root of you. He looks you up and down, from the slightly frumpled state of your green dress to the no-doubt wild gleam in your eyes, and smirks before saying, “You need t’be filled up, don’t ya, baby?”

You smile and nod, licking your lips as you appraise the man sitting in front of you. He’s so intoxicatingly broad, the sleeves of his shirt stretching tightly over his biceps while the legs of his jeans pull taut along his thighs. You shift in your seat again, causing Joel to pull you closer, and though you’re uncomfortably sprawled across the center console, you’ve never felt more right than you do right now. 

Your lips are brushing Joel’s, so close you can feel the warm puffs of breath leaving his nostrils, and any slight surge forward by either of you would connect your mouths again. Instead, you stay like that, so close but still too far for your liking. 

“Tell me what it is you want, sweetheart.” You angle your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth before drifting your lips back to hover over his. 

“Want your cock, Joel.” Your bluntness must take him by surprise because his head falls back against his seat and he groans. You take the opportunity to drop your lips to his neck, kissing it lightly before licking up the column of his throat and biting delicately at the junction where his neck meets his jaw. 

“Yeah?” He takes one of your hands and drags it down his front, letting you feel the muted strength of his abdomen tailored from years of manual labor and the soft swell of his belly before landing on the thick bulge in his pants. You pull away from where you were beginning to leave a small bruise on his neck to look at where your hand cups his clothed erection, and you practically drool at the sight. “You want this, hmm?”

“Yes,” you confirm airily before your eyes snap up to meet his, heavy-lidded and clouded with lust. “Please, Joel, I- I need it.” He nods, the hand that guided yours leaving you to your own devices and drifting back up to rub his thumb over your lips. You take the opportunity to massage him through his pants, and he sighs, smirking at you. 

“Tell me where ya need it, honey,” he lilts, and you grip his bicep as you squeeze his cock lightly. “Need it here?” He nudges his thumb gently between your parted lips, and even as you shake your head, your mouth opens to him, allowing him to push his finger inside. You swirl your tongue over the salty pad of his thumb, switching to mellow kitten licks before taking it deeper. 

“No?” he asks, quirking a brow at you. He presses his thumb down against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide so he can see down your throat. “Gotta tell me where then, baby.” You close your mouth again, sucking on his thumb briefly before pulling off of him with a lewd pop. 

Your eyes never leave his, and you watch them turn impossibly darker when you tell him earnestly, “My pussy. Want you to stretch my cunt with your fat cock.” He huffs lightly at the vulgarity of your words, and you squeeze him through his pants again. 

“You’re a dirty fuckin’ girl, y’know that?” He looks almost in awe, and you smirk at him, beginning to crawl across the center console to straddle him. When he stops you with a hand to your sternum, you look at him in confusion. “We can’t tonight, darlin’. Wanna take my time with you when I fuck ya, gotta make sure I get ya ready.” 

You’re so utterly disappointed you ache with it, pouting at him as you draw in close. “But I’m ready now, Joel. So fuckin’ wet for you, have been since the restaurant.”

He gives you a chaste kiss before pulling back and jerking his head toward your seat. “Show me.” You smirk as you slink back into your seat. You rest with your back against the car door, your right leg dangling off the seat while you tuck your left leg up and spread your knees farther apart, causing the hem of your dress to ride up your thighs until it’s brushing your tummy. You can tell by the wrecked look in Joel’s eyes that from this angle, he has a perfect view of the damp spot decorating the slip of pink lace that is your underwear. 

“Fuck, baby, ya weren’t lyin’,” he mutters, fingers smoothing his mustache. “Pretty lil’ panties are soaked. That all for me?” You bite your lip and nod, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy as you ghost your fingertips over the soft skin of your thighs. He makes a noise of appreciation as he watches your movements hungrily, fist clenching as your digits move closer to your aching core.

“Mhm, f’course it is,” you assure, letting out a breathless, needy gasp when your fingers brush your clit over your underwear. You’re sure you must look fucked out, and you’d be embarrassed by that fact if it weren’t for the heady look Joel’s pinning you with right now. You whine as Joel brings his hand down to palm the thick, rigid outline of his cock bulging against his jeans, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. You roll your hips and whine at the stimulation, doing it again without breaking eye contact with Joel. 

He squeezes himself and groans as you rut slowly against yourself, dipping a finger down to tease at your soaking entrance over your damp panties, and he smirks. “You gonna show me how ya fuck yourself, baby? Show me how ya like it, hm?” 

And you would. You really, really would. Except Joel Miller is sitting in front of you with nothing but a few measly scraps of fabric preventing you from his hard length, and you think that it would be such a waste to not take advantage of that fact. 

Besides, you’ve already made yourself come more times than you can count with Joel Miller’s name on your tongue.

“No, baby,” you shake your head, and his brows pinch in confusion. You lick your lips, hand halting its ministrations as you sit up on your haunches and stare at Joel. “Want ya to fill me up.” 

He huffs exasperatedly at that, and his tone is laced with annoyance when he says, “Jus’ told ya, ‘m not fuckin’ ya t’night-” 

“Joel.” Your interruption shuts him up and he watches you lean in. You brush your lips over his, along his jaw and up his cheek before halting by his ear. “I want you,” you say, dragging a hand down his chest to rest over his in his lap, “to put your cock in my mouth and fill me up.” 

You apply pressure down over his hand, making him squeeze himself and the sound he makes is something close to a growl. He angles his head so that your lips meet for a heated kiss and he licks into your mouth immediately, tongue dancing with yours.

“Yeah?” Joel breathes into your mouth, and the hand not palming his dick threads into the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs, pulling your head back so that you look down your nose at him with wide eyes and heavy lids. “Ya wanna suck me off?” You smile almost shyly and nod, and he tuts at you, bending to kiss the hollow of your throat before licking a stripe up your neck. 

“Don’t go quiet on me now, darlin’. You had so much t’say earlier, know this pretty mouth s’good for more than just takin’ my dick.” You whine, pressing your thighs together as best you can and rubbing, trying to give yourself some, any friction. 

“Wanna taste you, Joel,” you murmur, already delirious and you haven’t even gotten your mouth on him. “Want it so bad, please.” 

He rakes his eyes over you, takes in the needy glide of your thighs against each other and the ragged pants making your chest heave. He must take pity on your haggard form because he grins affectionately and releases his hand from your hair. 

“Since ya asked so nicely,” he says, palm gliding around to sit on your shoulder. He strokes the column of your throat a few times, watching you with a hooded gaze before nodding toward his crotch. “Go on, baby. Show me how much ya want it.”

You don’t need to be told any more than that before you’re hastily undoing his belt, ripping it from his pants and tossing it into the backseat while simultaneously popping the button on his jeans. Where your movements are hurried and ravenous, Joel’s are soft and sweet; he strokes your back lightly, broad, calloused palm feeling heavenly as it tracks over your bare skin. 

You lower the zipper on his jeans and he lifts his hips, allowing you to drag the coarse fabric down his thighs. It takes you a second after you’ve maneuvered his pants out of your way to realize you’re face to face with the stiff outline of Joel’s cock, straining against the black fabric of his boxers. Your mouth goes chalky when you see the small dot of moisture near his fat tip, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to the spot. 

Your groan is in unison with his, and Joel must be growing impatient because his hand snakes up to gently cradle your neck. “Don’t be a tease, pretty girl,” he scolds tenderly, and the endearment causes you to look up at him through your lashes. What you find in his eyes is something lusty, full of desire and want and… pure, unadulterated awe. It makes your pussy flutter around nothing. 

“Wasn’t bein’ a tease,” you say, bending back down to mouth at his cock over his boxers, and he moans when you lave at his swollen tip through his underwear. 

“Nah, jus’ so needy ya can’t even wait ‘til I get my cock out t’put your mouth on it, hm?” You lick up his dick and feel it twitch, his thigh tensing underneath the hand you have braced there. You smirk, looking up at him as you dip your pointer fingers under the band of his underwear, hooking your digits and arching your eyebrow.

He acquiesces with a lazy smile, lifting his hips, and you slowly drag the tight fabric of his boxers down to where his pants pool around his knees. However, you don’t immediately look at Joel’s length after fully freeing it from the confines of his clothes. You’re not sure why a cool feeling of nervous anticipation washes over you, but you find yourself stalling, rubbing your thumb over the inside of his knee and kissing his thigh gently. 

Joel, the attentive man he is, picks up on your nerves immediately. He massages the area where your spine meets your skull, and you practically melt at the feeling. “Y’okay?” he says softly, and you nod, turning your head to rest on his thigh. Your eyes avoid his dick, jumping up to land on his face. His expression is so kind, so compassionate and observant, that it makes you ache. 

“‘m fine. More than fine, ‘m good. Great.” He nods, stroking your cheek before he frowns. 

“Y’know, ‘f ya aren’t feelin’ it anymore, we can stop. We don’t have’ta-”

“S’not that,” you mutter, and he stops talking, waiting for you to go on. You inhale deeply, looking for the courage to speak your thoughts into the charged atmosphere of the truck. “I jus’... don’t want ya to regret this.” He flashes you a perplexed look before tipping his head back and laughing. Your cheeks blaze with heat, embarrassment creeping in to tamper the fire of want, and you bury your face into Joel’s thigh to hide. 

“Baby,” he says, and when you don’t respond, he grabs your jaw and makes you turn to him. “Baby. Look at me.” You stare, lip twisted in your teeth, and you can’t help but feel small under the weight of his gaze. He angles your chin down then, and you finally let your eyes fall, taking in the cock you’ve tried to conjure in your imagination while your fingers were stuffed in your pussy more times than you can count. 

In a word, Joel Miller’s dick is pretty. Thick and long and tan. Veiny and girthy, easily the biggest you’ve ever seen. His tip, which is a few shades darker than every other part of his length, is an angry red, weeping precome from the little slit at the top. The thick weight of him bobs up and sits at attention against his belly, resting against him obediently. Your mouth pools with saliva at the sight of it. 

Through the cotton in your ears, you can just barely make out when Joel says, “You tell me, honey. ‘s that look like regret t’you?” You swallow thickly and shake your head. 

“N-no,” you stutter, sitting up slightly. You admire the way pearly beads of precome trail down his length and subconsciously lick your lips. 

“No.” You can feel his stare on the side of your face, but you can’t focus on anything except the cock in front of you that has you drooling while your cunt begs to be filled. “Want this, sweet girl, jus’ as bad as you, and that ain’t gonna change tomorrow or the day after or next week. I want this,” he says, and he says it with such confidence and surety that you have no choice but to believe him. You nod, almost in a trance, before bending over and pressing a chaste kiss to his fat head. 

He must not have been expecting that response from you because at the contact of your lips against his hard member, his head falls back against the seat and he groans, the sound drawing out when you start to press soft kitten licks to his slit. 

“That’s it, honey – fuck, feels good.” You preen under his praise, smirking as you spread your lips to wrap around his tip. He hisses through his teeth, and the noise is all you need to start slowly working him down your throat. He’s so big, and even just the head of his cock has your jaw straining slightly.

You know that there’s no way you’ll be able to take him fully in your mouth, that you’ll have to use one, if not both hands to stroke the rest of his long, thick dick as you focus your attention on the head. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. 

You pull off of him quickly, and he responds with a disappointed little grunt, mouth turned down in a depressing little frown. That is, until he watches you spit into your hand and place your palm around his base, stroking him slowly. A lopsided smile replaces his previous expression and when you twist your fist at the same time your mouth latches back onto his cock, he can’t help but jerk his hips. Joel’s thrust makes his tip kiss the back of your throat and it takes you by surprise, making you gag.

You watch his eyes go wide in worry as he immediately murmurs, “‘m sorry, baby,” his voice utterly wrecked. You lick from the space your fist occupies and swirl your tongue over him a few times, looking into his eyes as you catch your breath. 

“S’okay, Joel,” you purr, lips against him as his cock twitches at the low cadence of your voice. “I can handle it, I won’t break.” And then you’re right back to easing him down your throat. Drool dribbles from your mouth as you work him in your fist, stroking and twisting and pulling while your tongue focuses on the sensitive area you’ve discovered just under his head. 

The cab of the truck fills with the melody of your slick mouth sucking Joel off, punctuated by the sweet sounds falling from his lips. Joel isn’t a particularly talkative person, but you’re incredibly happy to find that all that changed when your head was bobbing up and down his length. 

“Good girl, perfect fuckin’ girl,” he grits out, tightening his hand into a fist and slamming it against his window a few times as he struggles to keep his hips stationary. You hum around him, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to thread into your hair to encourage him to move. A throaty groan rips through him as he realizes what you’re asking, and he thrusts lightly into your mouth. 

You relax your throat, allowing him to push deeper than he had been just a minute ago, and the feeling of being so utterly full of him makes you whine, shuffling slightly to relieve the pressure building at the apex of your thighs. 

“Y’like that, sweetheart? Like when I fuck your pretty face?” The utter filth he’s spewing at you makes you gasp and whimper, and he laughs almost smugly at your reaction to his words. “Yeahhh, you like that. Go on, baby, touch yourself while you suck my cock.” You don’t have to be told twice, snaking your hand down to rub frantically at your aching clit while he slowly, gently jerks his hips into the tight, warm, wet vice of your mouth. 

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm in no time, seeing as how you were already thoroughly worked up from your little display at the restaurant and everything that’s transpired in Joel’s truck since. Actually, if you’re being honest, you’ve been soaking into your panties since that stunt you pulled in your room before you even made it to dinner. 

You feel stuffed to the brim, Joel’s cock hitting a spot in your throat over and over that has tears of pleasure dripping down your cheeks to combine with your spit lathering his cock. He brushes his big thumb over the path a tear careens down, brushing away the wetness as he drags his hand down to cradle your throat. 

“Doin’ real good for me, doin’ perfect.” He squeezes lightly around your neck and curses. “Shit, darlin’, I can feel my cock right here.” He taps your throat and you whine, eyes rolling back as you rut desperately against your fingers. You’re so, so close, and you can tell that Joel is too by the way his tempered pace is growing more erratic, his shallow thrusts less controlled. The noises dripping from his lips to meet your ears are gruffer now too, words he’s failing to string into sentences as they're cut off by expletives and needy moans. 

Joel looses a low, gravelly groan that signals he’s mere moments from reaching his peak, and you hear him choke out, “Where do ya want it, baby?’ just as the pull of pleasure burning in your tummy goes taut. You don’t answer, opting instead to simply pull off of him and seat your open mouth at the head of his cock, sticking your tongue out and looking up into his face. Joel smirks as you continue jerking him off with the hand not paying attention to your clit, but his smile falls into a slack-jawed look of lust as his balls pull tight and he comes.

The thick ropes of warm cum spurting over your tongue and decorating the inside of your mouth are just what you need to push you into your own climax; your legs shake and you let a high-pitched sound ring through the truck cab as your cunt clenches hard around nothing, wetness seeping from your underwear and coating the insides of your thighs. 

Despite your own orgasm, you make sure to catch every last drop of Joel’s spend, holding it on your tongue for him to see. The space goes silent for a few seconds, both of you basking in your respective post-coital bliss as your eyes scan over each other. Your gaze hangs heavy as he takes in your sweaty, disheveled form languidly before landing back on your face. Joel shoots you an endearing, sweet look, before brushing the hair plastered to your sweaty forehead away from your face. 

“Go on, honey. Swallow it f’me.” You do as Joel says, swallowing the sticky fluid he’s shot down your throat, and you find the salty, tangy taste surprisingly pleasant. You clean the corners of your mouth where some of his seed landed with your thumb and, with his eyes on you, push the digit into your mouth, sucking it dry. The dirty act makes Joel shake his head and chuckle, and once you’ve finished, you open your mouth and tip your head back to show him that you’ve taken care of his mess. 

You both sit there for a while, just staring at each other with your head resting on his thigh as he strokes your cheek. You’d almost call the gesture loving, but you don’t want to be presumptuous. After a decent amount of time has passed and the stars have come to bear witness to your dirty deed, you turn your head and catch the pad of Joel’s thumb in a soft kiss. 

“Oughta get back,” you say, reluctantly breaking the silence. He nods, and you stay like that for a second longer before sitting back in your seat. Joel starts the truck and traverses down the lonely path toward the main road. As he pulls back out onto the black asphalt, likely still warm from the summer sun that’s long disappeared, you can’t help but wonder if this moment will forever belong to the space between that long stretch of prairie grass and corn stalks. 

You can’t help but hope that it won’t.

***

As Joel nears your development, you pull down the sun visor on your side and flip open the mirror. Your mouth falls open and a little gasp slips at the sight that meets your eyes. Joel must hear it because his gaze flickers in your direction. 

“Somethin’ the matter?” he asks, worry lacing your tone, and you almost giggle at his concern. 

“I’m a fuckin’ mess,” you groan, raking your fingers through the hair that Joel’s fingers knotted. Your lips are swollen and chapped, your eyelids heavy with the look of lust, and there’s a track of mascara streaking down your cheek from your tears. To put it bluntly, you look like you’ve been freshly fucked. 

Joel looks at you again and barks out a laugh as he turns down your street; he pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park so that he can turn to you more fully. You’re frantically trying to will the bright blush on your cheeks indicative of sex from your cheeks as you wipe furiously at the now-dried trail of black mascara. 

“Waterproof” my ass. 

Your head snaps in Joel’s direction when you hear him chuckle again, your eyes wide with a plea for help. He shrugs, smirking slightly. “Better get inside ‘fore someone sees ya, or else they’ll know what we’ve been up to.” 

You know he’s teasing, but his words make you deflate slightly nonetheless as they feel a little bit like he’s kicking you out; however, you steel yourself quickly. There was nothing for him to kick you out of, and it was silly of you to think otherwise. Sure, you’d just sucked his dick and made him come down your throat. And, yeah, maybe he’d almost gotten caught with his hand between your legs at dinner. But that didn’t mean anything. 

Just two adults engaging in a casual hookup. That’s all.

Even as you try and convince yourself of this, your reasoning, and consequently your attitude, falls flat. You grunt with thinly veiled annoyance as you grab the door handle and make to leave. “Could’ve jus’ parked at your house, I woulda walked,” you mutter, irritation simmering in your gut as you go to open the door, but then a strong hand reaches across your lap to wrap around your hand on the handle and pull it back shut.

When you try again and are met with the same result, you huff and turn, coming face to face with Joel. His brows are furrowed and the corner of his plush lips are turned down. You hate yourself for wanting to kiss him right now, even though he’s actively telling you to go while not allowing you to do so. 

“What?” you bite out, and it comes out harsher than you mean it to. He squeezes your hand, and you feel tension you didn’t realize was making your body go rigid ease. 

“What’s a’matter, baby?” The pet name makes you blush, and now you feel even more stupid. 

“Nothin’,” you lie. Rather convincingly too, you think proudly, until Joel cocks an eyebrow and informs you just how shoddy your facade is. 

“Know ya too well t’believe that bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” You huff, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. You drop your hands into your lap, eyes falling to watch your thumbs twiddle. You don’t think you can look into those all-consuming brown eyes right now. 

“Jus’... I dunno, bein’ dumb. Thought you were kickin’ me out or somethin’.” You shrug indifferently, and he sits there for a second, watching you fidget nervously. You see him scan your surroundings out of the corner of your eye, making sure no prying eyes are around, and before you can even react, Joel’s gripping the back of your neck and turning your head to meet his lips in a bruising kiss. You melt into him, sighing in relief at the feeling of his tongue licking the seam of your mouth.

You stay like that, greedily tasting each other. Or, in Joel’s case, greedily tasting the lingering flavor of himself in your mouth. He pulls back suddenly, chest heaving and eyes dark, and you lick your lips and grin at him. 

“I’ll see ya soon, baby,” he says with conviction, and you nod slowly. But apparently your response isn’t convincing enough for him, because he pulls you in closer and says against your lips slowly, “I will see you soon.” 

“Okay,” you breathe into his mouth, and he kisses you chastely once, twice before opening your door and tapping your thigh. 

“Now get.” You smile, hopping out of his car, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire way to your front door. Even when you’ve disappeared into your house, you can feel the brand of his gaze on your flesh. 

You watch through the window as he sits in his truck for another minute, and then he reverses down your driveway and pulls into the one next door, hopping out of his truck and leisurely heading up to his front door. You watch him walk into his house, and only then do you stop watching.

You’re not entirely sure how you get up to your bedroom, but you’re almost able to believe that you floated there like an apparition, head airy and thoughts bordering on dream-like. When you collapse on your bed, your mind is on the feel of Joel’s tongue in your mouth, of his cock thrusting into your throat, of what that same tongue and those same thrusts might feel like in your pussy. 

What you’re not thinking about is how utterly fucked you are. You’d told yourself once that you wouldn’t be able to do a thing like this with Joel because you’d never have your fill, always wanting more after that first initial taste of him. But you’d gone against your better judgment tonight, and now that little crack of yearning had split into a yawning chasm of want; greedy and unsatiated and hungry. 

Hungry for one thing, one person, one man: Joel Miller.

Yeah, you were fucked

___________________________________________________________

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #dad!joel miller #dbf!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel fic #joel the last of us

[auteurdelabre]

SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR - SHORT FIC: Spoiling Joel dad!Joel x f!Reader

RATING: 18+ tags: Loving Established Relationship, Hand job (M receiving), mentions of pregnancy (teasing), Massage, so much fluff, AU - everyone lives. Summary: Your fiance Joel takes care of everyone - you, Sarah, his brother. . . But who takes care of Joel? a/n: I think we all know that this Joel is the dreamiest (to me) and I think he deserves to be spoiled so . . . I wrote this. From the SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR universe. But I believe it could be read as a stand-alone as you and Joel in an established relationshi.

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Joel loves taking care of you. 

He's said it from the first admission of affection to you. That he just wanted to take care of you and love you. And you'd reveled in it. So unused to a love that came without strings, uncertain at first but slowly healing with every kept promise and gentle kiss. 

But who takes care of Joel?

It's pathetically late in the game to think of this. Six months of officially dating, an engagement ring on your finger, living together, planning a wedding. 

It hits you late one evening with Joel curled up beside you in bed. His steady breathing makes you feel calm and grounded. His leg is between yours, his arms holding you to his warm chest. You move a curl from his forehead before pressing a soft kiss there.

I love him so much. 

He's exhausted these days, working overtime to save for the wedding. You think of the fatigue in his face over dinner tonight, the saddled brows as he sleeps now. You think of how he whispers promises of how he wants to take care of you, how he always ensures you come before he even thinks about his own pleasure, how his time is spent making sure you and Sarah are provided for. 

How could you not have questioned this? You've been so fixated on your own joy that you never even considered that you should have been thinking about Joel's! 

You feel impossibly guilty about it. Sure, you and Sarah love him endlessly. He's never lacking in that department. In the bedroom you never shy from expressing your desire for him, loving the way his face looks when he empties himself into you. 

But when's the last time Joel was taken care of?

"Seem to remember you takin' good care of me last night," Joel murmurs in bed when you ask him the next evening, his arms around you. "And this mornin'."

"Not that kind of care," you say with an amused roll of your eyes. "I mean like... Feeling spoiled."

"I am spoiled," Joel insists all honesty in his voice and features. 

"No you're not," you pout. "You're always spoiling everyone else. Me, Sarah, your brother, your employees. But no one takes care of you."

"Baby." His finger goes to your chin, tilting your face. "Hey, look at me."

You do and he sees the gloss of your eyes. 

"You lovin' me is all I need," Joel tells you. "I'm serious. Every day you're here in my arms I'm spoiled. Sharing my life with me, loving Sarah. What more do I need?"

Well what the fuck could you say to that?

Annoyingly perfect fucking man. 

///

Despite Joel being an almost annoyingly perfect fiancé, you plan a little something nonetheless. When he comes home that Friday night looking tired from a long day you’re there to greet him with your hair curled and your smile bright.

"Sarah is at Tommy's," you tell him pressing a kiss to his waiting lips. "And dinner will be here in about an hour."

"Mmm," Joel says, brows raised in surprised delight as he places his toolbox down by the front door. "Plannin' a little date night I see."

"Mhmmm," you say with a grin. "And before dinner gets here I ran you a bubble bath."

Joel gives an amused quirk of one brow."Not really a bath gu-"

"And as soon as you get in I'm bringing you up a nice cold beer."

Joel stares at you a lingering moment, his warm eyes searching your face for why all of this is happening. 

"S'not my birthday."

"Nope."

"Not an... Anniversary?"

You smile at his nervous face. "Nope."

"It's not-"

"I just wanted to do something nice for you so go get your ass in the bath, Miller. I'm not telling you twice."

Joel presses a kiss to the end of your nose. "Yes ma'am."

You watch him take off up the stairs quickly, holding in an excited giggle as you watch him go.

You go upstairs a short while later, chilled Lonestar bottle in hand. You peek your head around the door, seeing Joel tilted back, eyes closed. 

You've set the scene perfectly. Candles are lit all around the tub, a soft vanilla cashmere scent. 

His broad shoulders peek up above the bubbles, his handsome face free of concern. And he’s all yours. This gorgeous man is going to be your husband. How did you get so lucky?

"Joel Miller you are one fine lookin' specimen," you say as you enter the bathroom. Joel's eyes crack open, his lips curling into a grin as you saunter over. 

"Damn, what service," Joel rumbles, his beautifully tan body moving under the bubbles to sit up a bit.

"You deserve it," you say grazing a kiss atop his damp lips and handing him the beer by the neck. He takes it, his face mischievous. His free hand slowly drags up the back of your leg.  

"I deserve anything else?"

"Down boy," you say with a smirk, stepping back out of his grip. "Dinner'll be here soon. Drink up, relax and then come down in comfy clothes."

"Alright then."

///

Joel arrives downstairs a half hour later smelling delicious, hair in damp curls. He follows his nose to the dining room where you've laid out a sumptuous feast from his favorite BBQ place in Austin. 

"Hope you're hungry," you say motioning to the chair at the head of the table. There's another cold Lonestar waiting for him there, and a plate that you're now piling high with ribs, beans and potato salad. 

"Wow," Joel says approaching the table with wide eyes. "You order the whole damn restaurant?" 

"Just some of your favorites." 

"I didn't know you liked this place," Joel says curiously as he comes to take his seat. "Thought you said you didn't like ribs?"

"Huh? No, I like 'em," you say passing him the cornbread and sitting in the chair to his left. "Plus they're your favorite, right?"

Joel nods, taking a bite. "Mmm, just as good as I remember."

You try to hold in a grimace as the sticky sweet meat slides down your throat. You take a long gulp from your wine glass. 

"Mmm."

Joel eyes you a bit suspiciously as he eats, but the two of you soon ease into casual conversation about Sarah and work and the sanctuary that is well underway. The dinner is going so well that it shocks you when Joel leans back, fixing you with a serious look. 

"You talk to Paul lately?"

You drop your fork to your plate in surprise. "Paul? As in my ex, Paul?" 

"Yeah."

"Why the fuck would I have spoken to Paul?"

Joel shrugs, shoving a piece of cornbread into his mouth. "Thought I saw him in town today."

"Gross," you frown, the thought of Paul being in Austin makes you want to vomit. You never want to see that asshole for as long as you live. 

Joel notes your response and seems to relax at that. The conversation drifts back to the every day. Like Tommy and the very pregnant Maria who have begun nesting. Every time you go over there she’s added a new throw pillow.

"I guess when Tommy and Maria have the baby we'll be the ones babysittin’."

"Guess so," you say amused at the thought. "You can handle the diapers. You have baby experience."

"Well you might wanna pract-" Joel immediately stops himself and you note the red that has started creeping up the back of his neck. 

It's no secret that Joel wants more kids. Every time you've taken Sarah to the park the last month or so he's made note of the mom's with newborns in strollers.

"I miss that age. Not that I don't love Sarah at every age, but I miss that feeling of rockin' a baby in my arms."

You had just nodded in reply because you're nowhere near ready and Joel knows this. But that doesn't stop him from secretly hoping that you want kids with him one day.  

"I might wanna what, Joel?" You tease.

"Nothin'" he mutters, taking a forkful of beans from his plate. 

You want to tease him more but considering your aim is to spoil him you decide to lay off. 

After dinner you pull him onto the couch, stating that you’ve decided on what to watch. Joel looks at the DVD case on the coffee table before looking at you with the remote in your hand grinning excitedly at him.

"You hate this movie."

"No I don't," you lie. "I love No Country for Old Men."

"Last time we saw it you said Chigurh gave you nightmares."

"I don't remember that," you say, urging him to sit under the blanket next to you. "Shhh, it's starting." 

You sit back with Joel in the couch, snuggling up against him. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you close. Your head rests gently on his chest, your hand under your chin. 

Your thankful Joel can't see your face (or your eyes when they close during most of the film). You close your eyes so often that soon you drift off. You wake up only as Joel kisses the top of your head.

"Movie's over baby," he murmurs. “Let’s get to bed.”

"Really?" You raise yourself up to sit straight, eyes cracked open to take in your blurry soundings. "Shit."

"S’okay," Joel says with a grin. "I enjoyed watchin’ my favorite movie with my girl in my arms. Let’s get you to bed.”

You feel him start to move off the couch and you give him an almost desperate clutch around the wrist, pulling him back.

“No wait!”

Joel turns in confusion at you, concern in his eyes. He watches as you lean over the sofa, pulling out the massage lotion you’d stored under there. Joel smirks at you wrestling with the plastic tab inside.

“What’s this, honey?”

“I noticed you were rubbing your neck a lot this week,” you mutter as you pull the tab off. “You were saying it was stiff. I wanted to give you a little massage.”

You squirt the lotion into your hand, rubbing them together to warm them and looking at Joel expectantly. “Take off your shirt.”

“Honey you don’t have-“

“Shirt, Miller.”

Joel gives a good-natured grin in your direction before he’s tugging off his t-shirt, tossing it onto the couch on the other side of him. You give an approving nod before shuffling over to him, perched behind him, hands flying to his neck.

“Just relax,” you soothe, sliding your hands over his tired muscles as he groans. You love knowing that you’re making him feel good.

You watch the crease between his brows lessen as your thumb works a particularly sore muscle in his neck. You don’t know how long you’ve been massaging, but Joel looks completely relaxed, his eyes cracking open to look at you over his shoulder.

“You up for massaging any other stiff spots?” Joel rumbles. You smirk, noting the tent in his sweatpants. You go to sit next to him, eyelids lowered.  

“Of course,” you tease. “Just show me the problem area.”

He doesn’t hesitate lowering the band of his sweatpants so that his hardened cock is exposed. Just the sight of it has you feeling weak as you pour more oil into your palm. Joel shudders at the sound of your hands rubbing together. He watches your hand hover over the head, your mouth going to his ear.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

Joel groans, head tilting back as the slick of your oiled palm slides over him, coating his throbbing length. He looks so beautiful leaned back against the couch, mouth parted as he grunts. It takes everything in you not to be selfish and lower yourself onto him.

This is about Joel’s pleasure, not yours.   

"Feels so good," he rumbles and the sound of it makes your stomach clench.

"Good," you soothe, your strokes increasing in speed. 

His hands are in loose fists on either side of him on the couch, his hips thrusting into your hands. He looks so good like this, so needy and yet in control. His hips pump quicker and quicker as your hand slides along him, thumb sliding over the head, the friction everything he wants.

"Baby, I'm not gonna last long," Joel warns and his eyes crack open to see your face there, inches away looking at him with open desire. 

"That's okay," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Just want you to come, Joel. Wanna make you feel good."

Joel groans, his hand attempting to slide between your legs. "Lemme get you first."

"No," you say firmly, arching away from him, your hand still stroking rapidly. "I just want you to come."

You yelp when Joel's broad hand comes to land on your wrist, pulling your hand from his throbbing cock abruptly. He tucks himself back in his sweatpants with his free hand.

"Alright," Joel says, his voice tinged with authority. "What the fuck is going on? Did somethin’ happen?"

You stare up at him, confused by the sudden change in demeanor, the sudden cold to his eyes.

"Huh?"

"The bath, ribs that I know you don't like and a movie you can't stand?" Joel says this with a confused draw of his dark brows. "That's not countin’ the massage and what I feel like was rampin’ up to be the best hand job of my fuckin’ life."

"Then why did you stop it?"

"Because it's... I don't ..." Joel sighs, licking his lips nervously. "Why? What're you makin’ up for?"

Making up for? 

"What are you talking about?"

Then you realize.

"Do you think I'm only doing this because I did something wrong?" You ask, eyes searching his. "Is that ... Is that what happened with Michelle?"

You rarely speak to Joel about Michelle because you don't feel like it's your place to. You didn't know him during that time and you didn't know her. But what you do know of Michelle sometimes makes you frustrated. 

Joel shrugs before casting his dark eyes on the ground. Without saying it you realize that this is exactly the case.

"Just she'd be real overly nice if she did somethin' like scratched the truck or she overspent on the credit card," Joel mumbles. "So all this just got me scared. Thought maybe you saw Paul or somethin’ and this was your way of breakin' it to me."

Your heart cracks. “Joel that’s not how I do things. If I fuck up, I’ll tell you. Just like I hope you would tell me.”

“Of course.”

The two of you are quiet in the darkness, your wrist still in his grip, only loosened. His thumb traces the back of your hand.

“I just wanted to spoil you tonight,” you finally explain.

"It's too much. I don't deserve it."

"You're right, you deserve more."

Joel stares at you. 

"Joel you take care of everyone," you say, trying to hold in the tears as Joel struggles to find the right words. "But who takes care of you?"

"I don't need to be taken care of."

"Why not?"

"Cuz I'm a guy-"

"Stop," you say raising your hand in front of his face. "Everyone needs to be taken care of. That's what love is about. I think you spent so long taking care of everyone else that you forgot what it’s like to have someone do it for you."

"But I like doin' it," Joel explains. "I love taking care of my girls. I love cooking for you and helping Sarah with her homework. I don't need more than what you already give, baby. I feel spoiled every fucking day."

"Joel I want our relationship to be to be a partnership."

"It is,” Joel insists. “You do so much for me and Sarah. I know how much you had to do to get here.  I love knowing you're here beside me and that you're gonna be my wife. Don't you know how good you love me?"

"It never feels like enough."

"Baby," Joel murmurs. His fingers trace along your jaw. Now it’s your turn to blink back tears as you go through the ever expanding catalogue of things Joel has done for you before and during your courtship.

"I wanna take care of you, Miller," you tell him resolutely. "I wanna love you as much as I can for as long as I can. I want more of our life to be about you, Joel. Food you like to eat, movies you like to watch. Beers in baths."

"Head massages?" Joel says with a teasing smile.

"Full body if you want," you promise, kissing him firmly. "Not everything has to be about me and the kids."

"Kids?" Joel's brow rises. "Plural?"

"I-I uh I just mean if one day we decide to have a baby or whatever," you stammer with embarrassment. "I just still wanna make sure that-"

"You think about that?" Joel interrupts, his warm eyes searching your face. "Havin' a kid with me?"  

"Of course I do," you say, cheeks flaming. 

Joel grins widely, so widely his cheeks hurt. You know that he wants to tease you right now, to poke you about what you’ve just let slip. But his eyes grow misty and suddenly the smile is softer, his touch gentler.

"Can't believe I'm marrying a woman like you," Joel murmurs as he gazes at you. "Fucking beautiful and smart and kind and you wanna take care of me?"

"Yeah,” you nod, heart overflowing. “I do.”

"What if I wanna take care of you?" Joel murmurs, mouth finding yours. "What if I wanna take care of you right now in our bed?"

“Only if I can take care of you,” you breathe against his lips. “At least twice.”

“Deal.”

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #dad joel miller #joel miller #something to fight for fic #something to fight for series #something to fight for #joel the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #joel tlou #dad!joel miller #sweet!joel

[heartpascal]

i was born waiting

▹— joel miller x daughter!reader

▹— summary: you’ve been looking for your dad for as long as you can remember, is this really him?

▹— a/n: hi! i started writing this september ‘23, so it has. it’s been a WHILE. so if this seems jumpy / not consistent then that is why! sorry!!! i have done my best!!!

▹— warnings: canon-typical violence and themes, weapons, parental death, witnessing parental death, aka insane amounts of trauma, death in general, she/her pronouns, reader is biologically related to joel but no mentions of appearance, no mention of her bio mother’s appearance either, fantasising about being dead (sorry), all hurt zero comfort, attempted murder, unrealistic expectations of someone you never met — please let me know if ive missed anything!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything), @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There are certain things from your childhood that you can remember vividly. Though, really, childhood is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? It’s hard to find the right word to encompass the way you had grown up, because you didn’t have much of a chance to actually grow.

From the moment you had been born, your life was a battle of staying alive to see another day.

That’s not to say that your mother didn’t do her best for you, obviously. But it was hard to raise a child as a child in the midst of a global apocalypse. You were bound to end up the way you did — moulded and hardened by the world around you, by having to pick up a gun at seven years old and use it to protect your mother. By never putting that gun back down.

For the past few years, you had known your mother was suffering. The world had been anything but kind to her, and age was hitting her harder than she had expected. More than the physical aspect, you knew it had been destroying her, the fact that you were now the one protecting her and not the other way around.

But what choice did you have? Her aging body had left her fragile, prone to falling and breaking even more frail bones. You could see the strain on her muscles, as they slowly decayed and shrunk, until they were barely there at all. You couldn’t let her carry the burden for you anymore, because you knew her body couldn’t handle it.

You had been preparing yourself for that moment, though. Making sure that you were ready, that you were strong enough for the both of you, strong enough to shoulder the burden she had been carrying for years.

When you were growing up, your mother had told you tales of your father.

She had told you all about how strong he had been, how he had been the best man she had ever known. She told you how he had cared for his daughter before you, how he had been the best father to that girl. When you were old enough to comprehend these things, you’d asked what had happened to him. “Is dad dead?” You had asked her, watching the way her face fell.

“I don’t know, honey. I hope not.” She had responded, smiling sadly at you, and patting her hand against your cheek.

It was hard for you to let go of that.

The uncertainty had haunted you for the rest of your life since that very moment, leaving you wondering for hours at a time where he could possibly be, why he would ever leave your mother to carry this responsibility alone. And in your more selfish moments, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t here to care for you as he had his daughter before you.

For a long time, you had convinced yourself that he was dead, despite what your mother hoped. And sure, you felt that loss, something like mourning weighing you down, but it was the only way you felt you could accept his absence. He had to be dead, because otherwise, why wasn’t he here?

But as you grew up, getting taller, stronger, you felt like you could rationalise his absence even if he wasn’t dead. After all, the apocalypse wasn’t exactly family friendly. You figured that if your mother didn’t know whether or not your dad was alive, that the same could go for him. He might just think that you and your mom died, years ago. After all, how many pregnant women survived the end of the world?

You have a feeling that the answer would have to be not many.

So, really, you and your mother being alive by now was nothing short of a miracle. It was a testament to your mother’s strength, her ability. She had succeeded where so many others had failed, and she had managed to keep both herself and you alive.

It’s a bitter kind of irony that you can’t do the same.

The last dredges of autumn fall away, leading into the coldest and harshest part of the year. Winter is hard — it’s full to the brim with fresh Infected, the ones not yet frozen solid, and resources are more scarce than ever. And this winter feels like something tangible, something which sends unending waves of dread through you.

Your mother gets weaker by the day, spending more time resting than moving, and you spend as much time as you can keeping her warm, finding food and water and pain relief for her broken arm that didn’t heal right. She’s exhausted, you can see it in her face, in her every movement. And you’re pretty sure it’s not just from the lack of rest. She watches you with dulled eyes, something like heartbreak reflecting in them.

For a long time, you pretend not to notice.

You pretend that you don’t see the way she lags behind, just watching you move away from her with speed she can’t quite manage any longer. You pretend that you don’t see the way she hesitates before taking her painkillers, or her food, or the last sip of water.

This year, the winter brings something worse than the cold. A bug, spreading across the state in a way that was familiar to so many. Not quite the Infection, but still able to take out people with ease.

When your mother catches it, you physically felt your heart clench in your chest. You felt it squeezing all of the blood around your body so quickly that you became dizzy with it. There’s a panic so deep that you can’t climb your way out of it. For days, weeks, you’re certain that you’ve lost her. That after everything, everything you’ve done, everything the two of you have been through, a cold would be the end of it all.

But then, she gets better.

The little strength she had before the sickness returns to her, bringing some colour back to her skin, some ease back to her breathing.

Religion wasn’t a thing in the apocalypse. Not really. But if you had believed in God, you would’ve thanked every one that might’ve existed for giving you this. This miracle. This small mercy.

The two of you are in an abandoned barn when it happens.

You’re dozing away, not quite asleep, but not awake either, when you hear the sound of old hay crunching underneath boots. If you weren’t so familiar with the lightness of your mother’s footsteps, you might’ve passed it off as her wandering. But these boots are heavy. They’re purposeful.

The gun in your hand means nothing when you jerk upwards, eyes snapping open and squinting through the light let into the barn by the rising winter sun. It’s an image that has since been ingrained into the back of your skull, replaying each time you close your eyes.

There, right in front of you, is your mother.

Behind her, a man, a gun pressed to the back of her skull.

Your stomach lurched suddenly in that moment, the small rationed dinner you had before dozing off trying to rise to the back of your throat, trying to race the rapid beating of your heart to see which would kill you first.

“Put down the gun.” He said, voice cold, throat dry from the winter air. The sound of his voice is printed in the base of your brain, echoing every time things around you still, go quiet.

He could be bluffing, you thought in the moment. His gun could be unloaded. It didn’t take you long to notice that the safety was off, but in those few moments, he had pressed the end of it harder into your mother’s head. You dropped the gun to the floor without another moment of thought.

You were nauseous, waiting to wake up, to realise this was all some twisted nightmare.

But you could see a look in your mother’s eyes. Acceptance. Defeat. It was almost familiar to you, so closely related to the look she had been giving you for months.

All this time, she had just been waiting to die. Waiting for something to come along and kill her off, to free you from having to take care of her. She knew that if it was up to you, that you would look after her for the rest of your goddamn life. If she lived any longer, she might just live long enough to see you die.

“Slide it over.”

You barely registered the cold pinch of metal against your palm as you pushed the gun away from you, sending it skittering over the rough ground and into the side of an old hay bale.

“Now your pack.”

There was a numbness to you as you gripped the backpack you had been leaning against, and chucked it towards where he stood behind your mother. It hit the front of his boot, but his eyes didn’t stray from where he stared at you.

“Turn around.”

You stared at him, teeth gritted together.

“No.”

There was a beat where both him and your mother just watched you. And then the surprise flickered across his face, apparently not expecting any resistance from you.

“Turn. Around.” He told you, firmer this time.

“No.”

“Okay then,” He relented, after a moment of consideration. His eyes drifted down towards your mother, who stared forwards at you. “This your daughter?” He asked, jerking his head towards you despite knowing your mother couldn’t see the movement.

“Yes, she is,” Your mother said, voice shaking, her breath clouding in front of her face as it reached the cold air. “Please, just let her be.”

He hummed, dropping his free hand down to rest heavily on your mother’s shoulder, his fingers clamping around it and not helping the way she trembled.

“So, your momma, huh?” He asked you, a smirk drawing up his face, showing smile lines around his murky blue eyes. His hair rustled in the wind, a piece falling down across his forehead. He stared at you, and you stared at him, not daring to say a word, still hoping that this whole thing was a dream. Muscles in his cheek twitched, pulling his skin taut and showing a scar across his left cheekbone. “Good.”

There was a moment where the sound didn’t register. A moment where you didn’t even realise it was your mother when the body slumped forwards. A mere moment where you didn’t think about it being her blood that splattered across your face.

The moments after that though, become blurry, hazed over, and you’re not sure it actually ever hit you that the body before you was your mother.

You’ve always had a hard time remembering that bodies were once people, that they once had lives and loved ones and thoughts and feelings. That they weren’t just bodies. So seeing her like that, as a body, not her, was wrong on so many levels. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You heard the second gunshot, just a moment later, followed by a snickering laugh that you would never forget, before the pain bloomed in you.

It was buried by the shock, the complete disbelief, and you only felt the pain for mere seconds.

His gun — the one that killed your mother — was whacked across the side of your head a moment after, and that was the end of that.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Three months passed by, judging by the way the seasons turned, and you were on your own.

It was a strange feeling, really. Throughout the entirety of your life, you had never actually been alone. At least, not really. Your mother was always a small ways away, a mere shout from running to you. There had never been any true distance between the two of you until that day.

A sort of ache claws your throat each day, when you realise that it’s easier like this.

The only back you have to watch is your own, the only life you have to worry about belongs to you, and you have nothing to lose in this world. There was no terrible outcome if you were caught. Nobody else would be hurt, or suffer because of it. And you’re less likely to be caught now, when you don’t have your mother slowing you down. You don’t have to stop for the frequent rest breaks she needed, you can try to outrun Infected without worrying about someone lagging behind, and you only have yourself to feed.

If your mother had known how much easier survival was when alone, you hope that she would’ve abandoned you at birth. Because perhaps, without the burden of you upon her shoulders, she wouldn’t have fallen apart so quickly.

Sometimes, you like to think of a world where she was spared all of this. Never pregnant with you, for a start. So when the infection broke out, she would’ve only had herself to worry about. You think that maybe, one day, she would’ve been able to reunite with your father. If she hadn’t been carrying a child, she would’ve been able to manage the journey to where she believed him to be. You look at the picture that had been in the pocket of her coat for your whole life, the papers folded and clipped to the back of it, one word underlined: Boston.

You had reached a store in the weeks after that day, and when you found a map, it wasn’t difficult to notice that the direction the two of you had been heading in was to that very city.

It’s a long shot. More than a long shot, really, but you find yourself continuing in that direction regardless. You don’t know what you hope to find in Boston, whether it was your dad, or the man who had killed your mother, or perhaps just somewhere to take shelter for a while. You try not to hope for anything. You try not to focus on the fact that you might not even make it that far.

It keeps you up for days.

The uncertainty of it. The unknown. The fact that you’re walking your way to a city you know nothing about, almost certain that your mother’s killer was already there, and more than that, consumed by a fever that might kill you regardless of the where the journey took you.

The only sleep you get results in fever dreams, rippling, warping images that make your perception falter, feeling all too real until you notice that it’s not. And when you do wake up from them, it’s as if you haven’t slept at all. An exhaustion weighs heavily upon you, and your shoulders hunch over with it. There’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to get rid of that endless feeling.

You hope—or wish, maybe— that if you reach Boston, the journey there will have tired you out so much that your body will have no choice but to rest. It’s a distant thought in your mind, though. You’re almost certain you won’t make it that far, because if the fever doesn’t get you, surely the Infected will.

It’s not as though you’re trying to get killed. But there is a kind of peace that comes with the thought. There’s an idea of rest behind it, hiding within the shadowy depths that make you scared. Would not having to fight in order to survive really be so terrible? You have this image in mind, of a never ending blackness, a void, somewhere that your thoughts and worries can just fizzle away. The small part of your fever-fried brain that has retained its rationality reminds you of the unknown. It reminds you that death could be worse than this.

You don’t like the thought. Not after that day. It’s a shuddering feeling, wondering if your mother is in some kind of unreachable hell.

By the time you’re even close to Boston, a few hours out at most, you’re out of ammo in the gun you’d found along the way. Out of food rations. No knife, no resources. You’re barely standing on two legs, kept up by the adrenaline, the knowledge alone that you’re this close.

When the tall walls of the QZ finally come into view, you start to feel some amount of hope. Which is a dangerous thing, but especially in a situation as dire as your own. You couldn’t afford any adrenaline fading, couldn’t afford to lose your cautious nature. You couldn’t make a mistake. One wrong move, one slight misstep, and you’d be as dead as your mother. Or worse, infected. Though this close to a QZ, you had some amount of relief at the knowledge that they should’ve cleared out any nearby infected. Runners, and clickers alike.

Your steps don’t falter for a moment. Partly because of your worry about the fever taking you out, but mostly because you’re certain that the FEDRA guards on watch on top of the wall will have spotted you, and you don’t want them to think you’re Infected, just because of your sickly appearance, and shoot on sight. Though, with FEDRA’s track record, it wouldn’t surprise you if they just shot you down regardless.

For a while, you’re not sure if you’re even awake, or if perhaps you were stuck in yet another fever dream. Everything felt so real and so not real simultaneously, it felt impossible to believe that you had actually made it.

Soldiers met you on your approach, calling out for you to get on the ground with your hands up. You called back some sort of response as you did so, practically collapsing to your knees and squeezing your eyes shut at the pain that followed. But despite all of it, despite the pain and the rough hands that grabbed you and pulled you forwards, through the gates and straight into a building, you had made it to Boston.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was maybe three weeks into being a resident of the Boston QZ that you caught wind of him for the first time. Or, at the very least, somebody who might be him. You didn’t know how common the surname Miller was, being a child of the apocalypse, but you kind of hoped the answer was uncommon.

“Goddamn Miller, again.” A man had muttered as you walked through the trading market. You paused almost instantly, pretending to peruse the feeble amount of clothes a woman had to trade. “Said we gotta go through him and Tess if we want anything, as if we gotta listen to them.” He practically spat out, glaring around as he spoke to the woman beside him.

“They’re the most well established smugglers in the whole goddamn QZ. Don’t have to tell you how, do I?” She asked, sounding more annoyed with her companion than she was with whoever Miller and Tess were. “Joel is as nasty as they come, Darren. Don’t get on the wrong side of him.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. Could it possibly be a coincidence? Could there be another Joel Miller? One who wasn’t your father? Sure, it was possible. Plausible, even, considering the fact that you had absolutely no idea if he was here. Not any concrete idea, anyway. Your mother had believed as much, but who was to say she was right?

Besides, whoever this Joel Miller was didn’t sound like the man your mother had told you about. As nasty as they come didn’t have any relation to the heroic and kind and amazing father and man your mother always spoke about. Though, you knew as well as anyone what the apocalypse could do to people.

Darren didn’t say anything else to his companion. So, after a few more moments, you continued on your way, making the journey to the tiny box apartment that FEDRA had elected to you.

But even as you got there, sitting down on the poor excuse of a mattress, you couldn’t shake the conversation out of your mind. After everything you had been through to get here, what was it all for? Could you really make this journey and just never try to find Joel Miller? Your father? You could still remember the anxiety that had come when you first arrived, when you were strapped into a chair and scanned for the fungus that had taken over so many. You didn’t know what you were more scared of: the idea that it would flash red, and you’d be killed, or the idea that it would be clear, and you’d be sent out into the QZ, where you may just find the other half of your DNA.

You don’t even know if you want to find out anything about him. Don’t know if you could face that, especially after losing your mother. That’s been the hardest thing since being here, since having your own place, the fact that you’ve gotten it all without her. It feels… empty. For your whole life, she had been there at your side, making every short stay at whatever accommodation you could find feel like home.

Plus, even if you did consider trying to find him, and if it was him those people were talking about, then who the hell was Tess? What if she got upset at your appearance, your claim as Joel Miller’s surviving child? You’re not sure you can lose another parent.

Sure — Joel Miller wasn’t exactly your dad, he couldn’t be classed as a parent in the way that your mother was, but if you never met him, that could’ve been for any number of reasons. He could be dead. He could’ve thought you and your mother were dead, all these years. You didn’t want to face a reality where you met him, and he wasn’t present for you and your mother because he didn’t want to be. You’d rather live your whole life thinking him six feet under, than know he was out there, and just didn’t care about you.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that Boston was a mistake.

It would all be different if your mother was alive. If she had brought you here, if she had been the one to hear the chatter about Joel Miller, if she had been the one to seek him out. But she was dead, and the only living connection you had to Joel was, too. Hypothetically, if you did seek him out, you didn’t know enough about him to prove your claim as his child, and without your mother, how could you make him believe you?

They had been a family, once. They being Joel, your mother, and your deceased half sister. You’d heard the tale of how Joel and your mother had met, of how it took months for him to finally feel comfortable introducing her to his little girl. Hell, you had heard almost as much about Sarah as you had about Joel. Your mother had certainly adored his daughter, and you’re somewhat sure that they had planned to have you, despite Sarah already being a teenager.

You don’t want to have to mourn a family you had never actually had. Perhaps, Joel and Sarah were out there, living their lives certain that you and your mother were dead, just as you and your mother had done.

Not that any of this even mattered — you didn’t even know for sure if it was the same Joel Miller! And even if it was, it’s not like Boston QZ was small. There’s absolutely no chance you run into the man who might just be your dad. No way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You find someone else, before you hear anything more about Joel Miller, and it immediately sends the thought of your biological dad to the very back of your mind.

After all, it’s not every day you see the man who murdered your mother.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. You had guessed that this was the place he was heading, all those moons ago. But to actually see him, here, in the flesh, alive and well despite all of the pain and heartache and devastation he had caused you? It was surreal. You had to practically pinch your skin from your body to make yourself believe he was real.

And it only really hits you now, that this man killed your mother. You had been so focused on surviving, on living to see another day, on healing and moving and getting away from her body, buried in shallow dirt outside of some abandoned barn. You can vividly remember the strength it had taken to pry the frozen dirt from the ground.

Sure, you had felt the guilt over it, the guilt over the ease that came with surviving without her, guilt over your very existence, but you’re not sure you had ever actually grieved over her. Not sure if you had ever let yourself be sad, be angry, be anything about what had happened.

But now, seeing him, you feel… almost too much.

All of the rage and grief you had squashed in favour of surviving another day, all of the sadness and fear, all of it. It all comes rushing towards you at once, hitting you in the chest, winding you. You gasp for breath on the street, ducking away for a moment, gripping your chest like you could physically hold your heart steady.

When you look back out at the street, you see him as he nears the corner. Panic grips you at the thought of losing him, of never seeing him again, of failing to avenge your mother. You follow after him before you can think better of it.

It’s strangely easy. You fall back into the life of a hunter like it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever known — and maybe it is. You’re healed up, by now, or about as healed as anybody gets in this world, and your shoulder only bothers you when you move it too much. Even with that, you’re pretty sure that you could take the man on. Now that you’re not hazy with sleep, caught off guard, held back by any sort of earthly tether.

You’re strong. And despite FEDRA’s harsh reign, their dire consequences for rule-breaking, you have a switchblade stuffed into your shoe. You could do it. You could kill him.

There’s no question about it in your mind, especially as you follow him from a distance, and he remains none the wiser. He takes a left, and a moment later, so do you. He’s clueless. It’s almost painful that he was the one who managed to get the jump on you. How could you have let this man kill your mother?

He skids to a stop outside of a doorway, so you slide down the wall of the building opposite and listen. He pays you no mind as he knocks twice on the door.

“What d’you want, Colin?” The man who opened the door asked gruffly, seemingly inconvenienced by the man. He sounded tired, or out of it, maybe.

“I need the supply.” Colin answered, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver down the back of your neck. It echoed in your ears, the words he said that day. Good. Everything in you itched, like thousands of critters had dug into you and made a home scuttling around your insides. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to end his life, and you wanted to make it slow. Brutal. Painful. Even if it meant you were hung by FEDRA tomorrow morning. It’d be worth it.

The man at the door sighed, as if deeply bothered by getting Colin what he needed, and disappeared inside. He emerged a moment later, empty handed. “I’m all out. You’ll have to go across town tomorrow.” The man said flatly, saying nothing as Colin swore, before stepping away.

You ducked your head down as Colin passed, all too aware of the man in the doorway watching you suspiciously. After a moment, he sighed again, and retreated inside, slamming the door after himself. It took almost no time at all for you to push yourself back to your feet, and take off after the man who had left.

Despite your pounding footsteps against cracked concrete, he didn’t pay you any mind as you caught up to him. He seemed focused on getting to wherever it was that he was unknowingly leading you to, glancing up at the darkening sky every other step. FEDRA’s curfew would be coming into play soon enough.

To your disappointment, he walked into an apartment building, about three blocks away from your own. It seemed that, unless you were willing to risk being caught and stopped, today wasn’t the day you would be avenging your mother. You vowed that tomorrow you would do it. You would kill Colin. No matter what got in your way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

By the time curfew was lifted, you had been waiting by the exit of your building for an hour.

The switchblade in your shoe felt heavy with every step you took towards the home of your mother’s killer. It weighed almost as much as the picture in your pocket. All of it was heavy. But you acted as normally as you could manage, passing by patrolling FEDRA guards without them so much as glancing towards you.

You were waiting by his building when the door opened, when he stepped out, and headed determinedly in the opposite direction from which you had come. You followed without a moment of hesitation.

He made his way around town, trading with a few people on the side of the streets, handing them small wads of ration cards in favour of various items. Nothing dangerous, though. Not to you. He clearly was oblivious to your loitering figure, standing a few metres away, like some omen of death. Despite your shadow reaching for his shoes as the sun rose, he didn’t flinch.

It was irritating you, just how easy this was. You had been following the man for two days now, and he hadn’t even noticed. How had he gotten the drop on you? How had he managed to kill your mother? How had you allowed him the opportunity to do so?

There was nothing remotely special about him — no reason that he should have survived over your mother, no reason that he should have been granted mercy over the last twenty years. He didn’t deserve it. Not like your mother had. She had done the best she could, for years, for the only daughter in her care. And she had done it all alone. This man, Colin, he was alone, and he had no reason to hurt her. You were going to make sure he regretted it.

You loomed at the entrance of an alleyway as he walked down it, finally stopping at a dead end, leaning against the brick wall as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. You knew it wasn’t you he was waiting for, so you bided your time, cautious of someone happening upon the two of you. If they had business with him, they would care. If they didn’t, then nobody but FEDRA would care.

By the time you finally decided to move, almost an hour had passed, and Colin was facing away from you at the entrance of the alley, head pressed to the bricks.

It was strange, what the innate desire to hunt and kill could bring out in you, that it could make you move silently without thinking about it. It could make you reach for the blade in your shoe, without so much as a rustle of your clothes.

With a final glance back at the entrance of the alleyway, you grew impatient, and you attacked.

From an outside perspective, you probably looked like some kind of wild animal. You jumped at him, tackling him, pushing him sideways and landing on his back as his shoulder smacked the asphalt, and he howled in pain. It was like seeing a cheetah hunt an antelope, the way you bored down on him. If you could have widened your jaws, and ripped out his insides, you think you would have.

But without that ability, you could only press the cold metal blade to his throat, and feel him go still.

“Do you remember me?” You asked, voice flat and still, despite the way your heart felt as though it would beat out of your chest, and splatter down in front of his face. You were quieter than you had expected, too. You thought that the words would burst out of you, vicious and unending, but they were quiet. Calm.

Colin shook his head, as much as he could with the side of his face pressed to the ground, and a blade to the soft skin of his neck.

“Think about it.”

His eyes strained to try and get a look at you, and they widened as you leant sideways slightly, allowing him to gaze at your blank face. “Oh, shit,” He said, mouth fumbling around the words.

“Yeah, shit.” You repeated, waiting for satisfaction to seep into your chest cavity, waiting for the grief to fade away.

It didn’t.

Nothing changed, even as you pressed the blade closer to his throat, even as you watched his eyes dart back and forth, as you watched him try and formulate a plan to survive. “Listen, kid—” He started, throat bobbing against the knife, drawing the tiniest line of blood. You watched him bleed, and expected to feel more than numb.

He threw your weight backwards, sacrificing more skin on his throat to your knife. You went flying off of him, but you flung yourself forward faster than he could stagger up, and dug the knife into his calf as he tried to stand. His yell pierced the air, louder than any of the commotion yet, and likely drawing attention of people out on the street. You just hoped, distantly, that FEDRA wasn’t around.

His flesh and muscle moved as you pulled the blade free, and you didn’t flinch at the squelch of blood that left him alongside it.

Colin fell back to the floor, resulting in crawling along the asphalt without care for how the small stones cut into his palms, leaving streaks of blood. “You don’t gotta do this, man, chill out!” His voice had more emotion in it than it had back when he killed your mother, which was infuriating. “It wasn’t personal!” He insisted, crawling further as you got to your feet, prowling after him similarly to the wild animal you felt like.

You’d disagree with his statement, though.

He already had your pack, you had already relinquished your gun — the only thing you refused to do was turn so you could be executed. If you were going to be killed, you were going to look your murderer in the eye. Instead of that, though, Colin had decided to make it personal. He had decided to kill your mother, to spread her brains out on the ground in front of you, to cover you in her blood, rather than spare her. And then, worse, he had let you live.

That seemed pretty personal.

“You killed my mom.” You stated, getting closer as he turned so he was facing you, watching you get closer. “D’you remember what you said to me?”

He shook his head.

“You said good. You were glad that it was my mother. Admit it, Colin. Tell the world all about how not-personal it was.”

More than anything, you wanted to feel satisfaction for how badly he was trembling beneath you, for how scared you were making him. But you just didn’t. Fear wasn’t enough. Not for what this man had done to you.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” He said, shaking, still shying away from you,

“No, you’re not. You’re sorry that I’m here, that you’re going to die. And that isn’t something to be sorry for.”

“Pl—Please, I have a daughter—a son, you don’t need to do this.” He begged, tearing up as he watched your grip on the switchblade tighten, watched you continue to approach. He was pathetic. Everything about him was pathetic.

“She had a daughter, too.”

His eyes widened as you leaped at him once again, digging your knife as deep as you could get it into his shoulder, feeling it graze bone as you pushed the hilt firmly against his skin, until you could practically hear the blood vessels breaking. He howled, a wounded animal, prey. And he did nothing as your fist descended against his face, once, twice, a third time.

It was just as you were losing count that somebody grabbed you, hauling you up and away from the body sprawled out on the floor, the puddle of blood slowly expanding beneath him. His chest was stuttering, but he had stopped groaning minutes ago.

“Well, shit.” A woman’s voice said, not sounding particularly authoritarian, so you figured she wasn’t FEDRA.

The hands grasping onto your arms released them shortly after, and you dropped to the asphalt, watching Colin’s chest closely, waiting for his breathing to stop. It didn’t seem to be slowing much, and you could feel that unending wave of rage coming back to you, overruling the numbness, and enhancing your need to have him dead.

You moved the slightest bit, about to launch yourself at him, but as soon as your foot was pushing you from your spot on the ground, the hands wrapped around your arms again.

“Fuck! Get off of me!”

“We can’t let you kill the guy, for fuck’s sake. We got business with him!” The woman spoke again, sounding increasingly irate as she moved to get between you and your mother’s murderer.

“He deserves to die. He deserves to be killed. Get off!” You practically roared, resorting to a state not unlike a feral cat, spitting and hissing, spine curling, trying to claw at the hands holding onto you. They stayed steady, even when you managed to scratch one of them deep enough to break skin.

The woman swore again, “Everybody deserves to die, get a hold of yourself!”

“Tess, ‘s probably best if we get him out of here.” The man gripping you said, voice straining slightly as he focused on keeping you restrained. He couldn’t do anything but hold on to you and watch as Tess dragged the guy, by his ankle, down the alley slightly, banging on a side door that you hadn’t even noticed. It opened, and the man inside swore before helping Tess grab the guy and haul him inside.

As soon as the door was safely shut, the man released you.

You walked to the end of the alley, gripping at the back of your head, swearing the whole way. You were probably screaming, given the way your throat was grating on every word, but the sound didn’t register.

“Joel, you’d better get in here.” Tess called, poking her head out of the door. You could hear the irritation in her voice, but it was immediately sent to the back of your mind as you realised what she had actually just said. You whirled around.

He wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

But he was… familiar.

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, almost hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” You said, voice strained with laughter, “You are Joel? Miller?” You asked, wanting him to say no and be done with it all so badly, but you knew that he wouldn’t say that. It was ingrained in your blood, in your very DNA.

He stared uncomprehendingly at you, as if expecting a spark of recognition to go through him, but it didn’t happen. You saw Tess step cautiously out of the building, apparently prepared to have Joel’s back, no matter what your next move was.

“Who are you?” Joel asked, instead of answering your question, or even making a move towards where you had begun to cry. If only he fucking knew — he had just saved the man who had murdered your mother, who had murdered the woman who was, once upon a time, his wife.

You reached into your pocket, uncaring of the way they both reached for what you assumed were weapons, and pulled out the photo. The moment you unfolded it, revealing him stood next to your mother, it was certain. This man was your father. You held the photo out towards him.

“Joel—” Tess warned, as he stepped forward, but he dismissed her with a look, clearly communicating that he could handle himself. He wasn’t worried, despite the state Colin had been in when they had arrived.

He stared at the photo, brows creasing, face drawing blank, before he reached out and took it. His finger ran across the image of your mother, her bright smile, not a slither of grey to be seen in her hair. “How did you get this?” He asked, clearly in disbelief, denial, maybe.

You pointed to the woman in the picture. “That’s—was my mom.”

It could’ve been funny, months, maybe years ago, the way his eyes flickered between you and the image of her, as if trying to put together how much of the statement was true. You vaguely noticed Tess shift uneasily behind him, before approaching.

“Was?” Joel decided to ask, eventually, instead of whatever else was going through his head. He said nothing to Tess as she took in the photograph he was still holding onto.

“That man, he—he killed her. A few months ago.” You said, smiling, because you couldn’t do anything else. This was all too much. First, your mother is killed. And then when you finally find somewhere potentially safe, you hear about your father. And then before you could do anything about that, you see her killer! And then, before you could finish the job, your biological dad, Joel Miller, saved his life. It wasn’t funny, but you didn’t know how else to react.

You stepped back, sliding down the brick wall behind you until you were sat on the asphalt, and could hang your head between your knees.

“Oh fuck,” Tess said, connecting the dots as she looked between you and Joel rapidly, brows furrowed as she became increasingly concerned. “Don’t tell me that she’s—” She shook her head, turning away from the photo and Joel and you, running a hand through her greasy hair.

Joel was still processing, or at least that’s what it looked like to you. He was staring at the photo, strangely still, seeming blank of any and all emotions.

Tess paced for a moment more, before releasing a heavy breath. She walked past Joel, over to you. “Okay, c’mon.” She said, holding out a hand for you. When you hesitated, she waved her hand and barely refrained from putting it in your face. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get you out of here before Colin goes to FEDRA.” You take her hand, surprised by her strength as she hauls you to your feet in an instant, releasing you immediately. She shook her head again. “Joel, time to go.”

He looked at her, and then towards you, nodding once. You said nothing when he put the picture in his own pocket, instead of handing it back. You hesitantly followed after Tess, wondering what your next move should be, and Joel followed after the two of you, looking stricken.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

None of you had said anything, the entire time Tess had hurried you through borders and to what you assumed was their apartment. It felt like it was miles away from your own.

The wallpaper was yellowed with age, slowly drooping down the walls, peeling away at corners, but it wasn’t the worst state it could’ve been in. The floral pattern didn’t really lend itself to the vibes of the apocalypse, though. Nor did it match either Tess or Joel’s stoic and tough demeanours.

You had no idea what to expect from this.

For as long as you could remember, your mother had told you tales of your father, of the great man he was, the great father he was. But here, on the other side of a worldwide outbreak of infection, you couldn’t quite match the image in front of you to the man in those stories. You had spent so long thinking of him as being dead, unable to do anything to find you or your mother from a grave, that to learn he was alive, and with Tess, it was a shock to your system.

Where was Sarah? Where was the half-sister you had heard so much about from your mother?

Despite Joel matching the name, and the photo that your mother had kept, it just didn’t feel like he was the man you had been imagining as your father. He didn’t seem kind or caring, he didn’t look like he had any love left in him. And maybe, you could have accepted that, if he had other aspects to him, if he hadn’t let your mother’s killer live.

“What happened the day of the outbreak?” You asked, finally, despite the way you ached to run away and cry, for your mother, for yourself, for the father you would never have. Joel just looked at you, rarely blinking as if you were a figment of his imagination, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“No, we are asking you questions.” Tess responded, clearly taking the lead on the situation, despite having no connection to you. It really shouldn’t have been her business. You scoffed. “Where did you come from?” She asked you, unblinking in the face of your disbelief.

You shook your head, “How is that even relevant?”

“Because I said it is.”

“I don’t care what you say. He’s my dad. You’re not my mom.” You replied, roughly, angrily, and you’re only more irritated when Tess doesn’t even react. You become furious when Joel says nothing. “Are you going to say anything?”

Tess went to speak, but you spoke again before she could utter a word.

“Not even about how you let my mother’s killer go? You don’t have anything to say about that?” You questioned, stepping towards him where he had taken a seat on the couch in front of that god-forsaken wallpaper.

There was an awkward lull in the room, each of you waiting for Joel to speak. He seemed unsure if he was going to speak at all, his brows furrowing further, and he pulled the photo out of his pocket to look at once again.

“She died, years ago. My—my kids…” Joel swallowed, and shook his head. He placed the photo down beside him. The photo meant nothing. You could’ve been to his house, and brought it here with you, never having met the woman he hadn’t seen since the day the world fell apart.

“Did you even look for us?” You asked him, head tilting, eyes stinging, wanting desperately for him to say yes, to say he scoured the world but missed you somehow. But looking at him, covered with scars, you could see he was nothing like the man your mother remembered. He didn’t care, not like she thought he had. The man in front of you wasn’t your father — he was a disappointment. He was your father’s shell.

Joel didn’t speak, swallowing harshly, seemingly unable to form any words.

“You’re nothing like she said you were.” You told him quietly, shaking your head, reaching by his side and taking the picture. You wanted to rip his half off, throw it at him, denounce him, tell him he wasn’t your father, that he was never worthy of your mother, but you couldn’t. It was the only thing that you would ever have of the father you should’ve had. The man your mother had loved. She’d already had so much taken from her, you couldn’t, even after her death, take Joel away too. He could live on in the memory. In pictures.

They didn’t say anything when you turned your back on them, shoving the picture in your pocket, and walking out of their door. You slammed it behind you, felt the walls of their apartment tremble with the force, and kept walking.

Part of you, a big part, wished that Joel Miller would have stayed dead. At least that way, you could have kept pretending.

#heartpascal writes #joel miller x reader #joel miller x daughter!reader #joel miller imagines #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader platonic #joel miller x platonic!f!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller hurt/no comfort #tlou fic #tlou angst #tlou one shot #tlou imagines #tlou imagine #dad!joel miller #dad!joel miller x daughter!reader #im shit at tagging anyways

[faerygrant]

Baby Daddy!Joel thoughts

Summary: SFW + NSFW baby daddy Joel thoughts [he’s kind of slutty] [also age gap relationship ]

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who gets you pregnant just so he can watch the way your stomach swells, full of his baby.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who relentlessly fucks you once your stomach begins to grow, proud of his hard work and eager to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who secretly loves to have you so dependent on him, his perfect girl.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who insists you move in with him so he can take good care of you and his baby.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who loves to watch as you waddle around stomach swollen and curlers in your hair, as you iron his freshly washed clothes like the good little housewife you are.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who comes home during his lunch break all sweaty and disheveled to put together for the nursery.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who brings you lunch on his breaks to ensure you’re well fed, for him and his baby.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who will have you sat on his lap and feed you whenever you refuse to eat, because once again, he needs his little girl and his baby healthy.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who upsets a very hormonal and grumpy you, by merely being friendly to the female cashier.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who makes it up to you by sending you a bouquet of your favourite flowers and “I’m sorry” head.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who kisses you dumb, early in the morning, leaving a glass of tea on the bedside table, before he heads off for the day.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who keeps a steady grip on you at all times in public, to let everyone know it’s he who got you knocked up.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who takes you baby shopping and smiles at all the prying eyes and the strange looks the two of you receive because of the obvious age gap.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who gets handsy at the annoyingly long Lamaze classes that you insist the both of you attend.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who merely laughs when you whine and groan about how you’ll never let him near you again because of your sore back and aching muscles.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who despite being exhausted from work, rubs and massages your sore joints and muscles till you’re satisfied.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who merely smirks at his family gathering when all the men are clearly ogling you in your pretty little dress, bump all round with cute ribbons in your hair.

౨ৎ Baby Daddy! Joel who keeps a photo of you and your precious daughter when she arrives on his work desk.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dad!joel miller #joel miller headcanon

[cowgurrrl]

Shrapnel

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them.” — Lois Lowry, The Giver aka a person from your past finds their way back [2.3k]

Warnings: pregnancy, a problematic ex, jealousy, talks of Jane, ✨feminine rage✨, language, threats of canonical violence

You're holding Joel's hand while walking through Jackson when it happens. He's not usually one for PDA, but since you found out you're pregnant, he almost always has a hand on you. He squeezes you when a voice calls out to you. You have a doctor's appointment later in the day and got through your unremarkable early morning patrol shift. You're much more interested in debating baby names with Joel than talking to anyone else, but the shouting gets more persistent. At first, it's just your first name, but as the sound gets closer, your maiden name gets tacked on. Nobody's called you by your maiden name in years. It's enough to make you turn with furrowed brows and frustration building in your chest.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the person in front of you, but once they do, you're stunned into silence. He's aged— wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, gray at his temples, and a slight limp in his gait. He's definitely not the teenage boy you once knew. You subconsciously drop Joel's hand and take a step back to fully process the man in front of you.

"Matt?" You breathe, and he smiles.

"Hey," he says. "I can't believe you're… here and alive."

"Yeah, I could say the same to you. What are you doing in Jackson?"

"My group trades out here sometimes. I've never seen you here before, though." He says. How the fuck could Maria not tell you about the smuggler who looks a scary amount like the little girl in the photo on your desk? Maybe she didn't know. Jane never had his last name. There's no way she would've known. "What are you doing here?" He turns the question around.

"We live here." You say and raise your hand to rub Joel's back. His shoulders are tense under your touch, but you each relax at the familiar affection. Matt looks between you two, and you recognize the slight puffing of his chest. Matt's body has changed with the apocalypse, muscles and scars peeking from his sleeves, but Joel is broader and a good head taller than him. Joel doesn't even blink at the peacocking.

"You gonna introduce us?" Matt asks, gesturing to Joel.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, this is my husband, Joel," You look up at Joel and nearly choke on your next words. "Joel, this is Matt, Jane's dad." Joel's face falls at the sudden connection. You can see him scrambling for something to say, but a light tap on your shoulder stops him. Like the patron saint of horrible timing, Ellie appears at your right. Matt looks over her in awe, and you immediately want to tuck her away from sight. "Joel, can you take her home?"

He stares at you, a protective glint passing through his eyes, and you give him a minuscule nod. He clears his throat and jerks his head at Ellie. The unspoken communication is understood, and she falls back enough for your blood pressure to drop to a reasonable level. He pecks your lips before holding a hand out to Matt.

"Nice to meet you, man." He says, and Matt meets him halfway, grimacing slightly at Joel's grip.

"Likewise," Matt says. Joel gives you one last look as he walks away. You watch him and Ellie bump shoulders and get further and further away from you and Nugget, Joel's nickname for the baby still developing under your heart. When you pry your eyes from your family and look at Matt, he smiles politely. "Should we talk?" You don't trust yourself to open your mouth and speak, but you nod and lead the way to the Tipsy Bison.

The Tipsy Bison is emptier than usual, something you're silently grateful for. Town gossip didn't end with Cordyceps— something you and Joel are more than familiar with— and you don't want to give anyone material for rumors. Matt gets a plate of food while you grab a glass of water and snag a table towards the back of the room. Once he settles across from you with his plate, you're not sure what to say or do. What do you say to the father of the kid you had at sixteen? The kid he abandoned?

"What've you been up to?" He asks, breaking the ice and making you chuckle at the absurdity of it all. "Besides getting married." There's enough bitterness in his voice for you to hear it and roll your eyes.

"That's normally what happens when you don't see someone for over twenty years."

"C'mon, let's not do that."

"Do what?" You snap, and he gestures vaguely between you.

"Fight. I'm not gonna ask you for anything," I'm not gonna ask for her back. "I'm just happy you're alive and safe. I wanna know how you got here and what's been going on with you guys. Can you just, I don't know… let me in?"

Something stupid, vulnerable, and fifteen in you wants to give in and tell him everything. Something else screams at you to run him out of town. You take a deep breath and a sip of water.

"I was a smuggler in the QZ back home for a few years before moving to Boston. That's where I met Joel." You say, and he nods, grateful for the information.

"Joel seems like a good guy."

"He is," you say. He takes a bite of food, and uncomfortable silence falls over you. You wonder if he can spot your barely there bump under your thick jacket and if he would even say anything if he did. He barely gave you any attention when you were pregnant with Jane. You doubt he'd see anything now. "How long have you been smuggling?"

"About ten years. I used to do the FEDRA jobs before I met the people in my group. It's better money, and I get to travel with them."

"What QZ did you end up at?" You ask. He gives you the name of another QZ about a six-hour drive from your hometown. He tells you he was visiting a friend when Outbreak Day happened and never made it back. Why would he? He didn't have anything he cared enough to come back for. You tell him about getting to the local QZ and staying there, conveniently leaving out details about Adam, hit jobs, and midnight star gazing. Once you're done, he stares down at his plate, moving food around with his fork as he thinks.

"That girl," he starts, and your heart clenches. "Was she-"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "No, she's not. Her name is Ellie. Joel and I adopted her a few years ago."

"So, where's Jane? She's… how old is she?" He asks. Your hand instinctually lands on your small bump under the table, a nervous habit you picked up from your first pregnancy.

"Twenty-five."

"I can't believe that. What's she like?"

"Matt…"

"I know I don't have the right to ask or even be here, but I wanna know about her. If you don't want me to meet her, that's fine. I won't argue with you. I just wanna know if she's happy. Well-adjusted, especially after everything. That's all." His words are too little, too late. How dare he act like you kept her from him when he never came around in the first place. Like suddenly he's Father of the Year, and you're the bitch baby mama who never gave him a chance.

"She's dead." It stings as it leaves your mouth, and you watch the weight of the words smack him in the face. His fork falls from his hand, and his eyes search your face like he's trying to determine if you're lying or playing a mean joke on him. You don't know what he finds in your expression, but it's enough for all his breath to leave him.

"W… what? What happened? When?"

You give him bits and pieces. You tell him about Mrs. Carmichael and the school, but you don't tell him how far you were from the QZ or why you couldn't return to your original, much closer trading post. You tell him you buried her but not where. You tell him you went after the Fireflies who detonated the bomb but not how you bled information from them until you were shaking from rage and grief. By the end of it, he's pale and wide-eyed, but his hands are steady.

"I should've been there," he says, and you want to agree, but then he keeps talking. "I could've protected her better or kept her safe or, I don't know. Maybe things would be different." Protected her better. What the fuck could he have done that you didn't? How would he have kept her safe? By keeping her from her peers, learning, and the sliver of hope embedded in her favorite books? By locking her away and controlling her every move like he tried with you?

"What would've been different, Matt?" You ask, decades of anger and annoyance bubbling up to the surface. "You? Us? Give me a fucking break. There's nothing you would've done to protect her. You weren't ready to be anyone's father, let alone hers."

"But you think you were?"

"The second I saw those positive tests, I knew I could. For ten years, I was ready to give her anything and everything. For ten years, I took the shitty jobs and overdrew my bank account, and lost sleep trying to keep her alive. And what were you doing when I got kicked out of my mom's house and had nowhere to go? What were you doing when she had colic and couldn't stop crying? What were you doing when she needed someone to walk her into school every morning for a month because she was so scared?"

"I was a kid." He tries, and you laugh, dangerous and low.

"And I wasn't? I was Ellie's age when I had her. Joel was twenty-two when he had his daughter, and he was scared but still stepped up for her." At the mere mention of Joel, he rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table.

"We're talking about us and our daughter, not him."

"Oh, it's our daughter now? Now that she's dead, you want some kinda claim?" You ask. "You don't get to come into my town, ambush me, and then act like I'm the bad guy," he tries to open his mouth to argue, but you put a hand up to stop him. "And if you say anything else about my husband, I'll tie you to the back of my horse and drag you out of town. Do you understand me?" You ask, and he pauses like he's trying to figure out if you're serious, nodding when he realizes you are.

"Here's what's gonna happen: you and your group are gonna trade whatever you need to trade for, and then you're going to leave my town. You're not gonna say anything about this conversation to anyone, most of all my daughter, and if I catch you so much as looking at her again, I'll break your fucking neck. You can keep smuggling here but never speak to or about my family ever again. If I find out you're spreading lies about Jane or Ellie or even Joel, I'll-"

"Careful, you might run out of big, scary threats there, sweetheart." The unmistakable sound of you cocking your gun under the table clicks in the air. It's a miracle he's survived this long with that big fucking mouth and no observational skills. He swallows hard as you press the barrel of your gun into his kneecap.

"You wanna cut me off again, or do you need to learn a lesson?" You ask. He shakes his head, suddenly enthralled by whatever you could have to say. "Get the fuck out of Jackson." You push your gun against his bone hard, hard enough to make him hiss in pain, before removing it completely.

Then, silently and with his tail between his legs, he does what he does best. Turns his back and leaves. You're privy to the fact that this is similar to the first time he left. You were pregnant, he was pissed, and neither of you were necessarily happy with the situation. Except this time, you hold all the power. This time, instead of going back to a home you'd be kicked out of, you're going home to your husband and child. This time, your baby already has a father who loves them so much, and you still have six months until they're born. This time, you're not worried about the future because you have people who support and love you, no matter what.

And what is he returning to? A sleeping bag and the knowledge that he fucked up and probably will continue to fuck up until he gets it together or dies, whichever comes first. For the first time since he yelled at you and left you to fumble with the pieces at sixteen, you feel a sense of closure or, at least, victory.

Did you see that, Janey girl? You think when you walk outside and look up at the gray March sky. Do you see how I'm still protecting you? Do you see how much I still love you? Do you still feel it? A single, strong kick to your side seems as good an answer as any. You laugh and rub your hand over where you felt the tiny foot. For a moment, you realize you're the only bridge between Jane and this baby, that whatever cells Jane left behind in you are mixing with these new ones. And you're not religious, haven't been for a long time, but you pray they're able to know each other through you. You pray you're strong enough to do that for them. You pray one day you'll see Jane again, and she'll tell you how she was with you every step of the way.

Not yet, sweet girl, you think. Not quite yet.

#when you’re lost in the darkness #look for the light #joel miller x reader #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #dad!joel miller #tlou fic #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us series #joel the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us angst #joel miller angst #joel miller and ellie williams #platonic!ellie williams x reader

[agentmarcuspike]

"a promise softly sung"

synopsis: pre-outbreak. sarah skins her knee. joel overreacts. uncle tommy fixes w/c: ~ 950 tws: mentions of blood, hit and run (everyone lives), mentions of imagined injuries, joel sings. but otherwise this is mostly fluff and love! a/n: this has been in my drafts since august (!) and i just never felt confident enough in it to post. based on the johnny cash song "rose of my heart" and also these stills of their bike helmets taken from the game. based on show!joel, because he's a bigger softie than game!joel, who'd probably tell sarah to "walk it off" if she broke her foot.

It happens so quickly.

One second Sarah is flying down the street on her bike, clutching the tassel-covered handles, barely containing gleeful squeals, with no support wheels, no Daddy holding the rear. The next second she’s veering into a ditch to avoid the oncoming car.

Joel barely has time to blink. He doesn’t have time to think, but his instinct sends him running, even though he knows it’s too late to catch her. 

She cries out before he can reach her, the scream dissonant with the sound of screeching wheels against asphalt as the guilty driver floors it and speeds off.

The temptation to run after and kill the guy is overtaken by his daughter’s soft sobs.

“Sarah!” His hands are on her in an instant, cupping her face. His thumb rubs soothing circles on her cheekbone before looking her over. “Are you okay? Sarah, look at me.”

Her breath hitches, and his heart does the same. No bones in weird angles, no spurting blood, just a skinned knee. Helmet still intact. But it’s not enough for Joel. She could have internal bleedings, she could be slowly dying of a ruptured spleen.

Trying his best not to make any potential injuries worse, he shovels her up into his arms, and speedwalks the remaining quarter mile left to Tommy’s. 

“Tommy!” Joel bellows before he’s reached the end of his brother’s driveway, and Tommy sticks his head out the door, eyes squinting, brows furrowed. His demeanor changes immediately when he spots his brother with his niece in his arms.

“Shit,” Tommy swears under his breath as he holds the door open, letting Joel in before him.

He makes his way to his brother’s kitchen, Tommy grabbing his phone on the way, ready to dial 911, as he quickly follows. Joel puts Sarah down on Tommy’s kitchen table.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” he yells, already opening kitchen cabinets. 

“Joel–,” Tommy starts, but he’s cut short by Joel slamming a drawer shut. 

“Why the fuck don’t you have a first aid kit in the kitchen, Tommy?”

“It’s in the bathroom, but Joel–” 

But Joel’s already out of the room, rummaging through the bathroom drawers. He finds Tommy’s way too small first aid kit, grabs a towel without knowing what for, and makes his way back to the kitchen, where he stops in his tracks. 

Sarah. She’s… laughing?

He peeks around the corner into the kitchen, where Sarah sits perched on the table, her uncle kneeling in front of her, blowing raspberries on her foot. A sigh of relief escapes him. His heart makes its way back into his chest, and he rests a hand on his ribs to feel it, leaning on the doorway.

“You gave me a big fudging scare there, baby,” he admits, making his way back to the pair. 

Tommy shakes his head. “Jesus, Joel. It’s just a skinned knee.” He grabs the first aid kit from his big brother’s hand, cleaning and bandaging the scrape on his niece’s leg while she rubs her teary eyes with a tiny fist.

Joel huffs. He drums his fingers against his thigh impatiently, looking around to avoid seeing his brother fix up his daughter. Relief, but also shame, is spreading through his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. Ashamed he couldn’t stop it from happening, and from letting his panic and paranoia get the best of him. Relieved his baby girl is fine, and that his brother managed to remain calm. He’d never say the latter out loud though, he thinks, downing a glass of water before refilling it and bringing it over to Sarah.

When he returns, Sarah is on her feet, dramatically reenacting her collision for Tommy. He gasps dramatically at her expressive performance, sound effects included, but shoots Joel a look for confirmation. He nods back, and Tommy shakes his head. One thing the two of them silently agree on: they hope the damn speeder crashes and burns. 

“How’s the little patient doing?” 

“Good.”

Joel sits carefully on the edge of his daughter’s bed, who is comfortably tucked in, yawning, and fighting to keep her eyes open for a few more minutes. He brushes a stray piece of her out of her tired face.

“You scared me today, baby.” His breath hitches a bit as he sighs, warming her hand with his. 

“Sorry…” she whispers, looking away. 

He shakes his head and lowers himself to meet her shameful gaze. 

“S’not your fault. Not at all.” Joel leans down to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

“Daddy?” she whispers, as he sits back up.

“Yeah, honey?” 

“Can you sing the song?” 

Joel’s brow furrows as he thinks for a second. “What song?” 

“The one you sang when I was a baby.” 

A smile spreads on his face at that. He waves his hand for her to scoot further in on her bed, and he lays down next to her. “Daddy’s big girl feeling like a little girl again tonight?” Sarah rests her head on his shoulder as he carefully pulls her close. She doesn’t answer, just nods her head against his chest. 

“S’okay,” he murmurs, into her hair, rough palm moving up and down her small back as he breathes her in. “‘You’ll always be my babygirl, no matter how old you get.” 

Joel sinks back into the pink frilly pillows as Sarah’s breathing slows, and he sings their song over and over, even as she begins to snore softly:

“We’re the best partners this world’s ever seen Together we’re close as can be But sometimes it’s hard to find time in between To tell you what you mean to me You are the rose of my heart You are the love of my life A flower not faded nor falling apart If you’re tired, rest your head on my arm Rose of my heart”

dividers by @saradika and @inklore title is from the song "butchered tongue" by hozier

#joel miller fanfiction #sarah miller #dad!joel miller #pre outbreak!joel #the last of us fanfiction #my writing #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction

[j-eryewrites]

A Sinner’s Redemption

A “what if” fanfic series based on The Last of Us 

(HBO Television series and video game)

Playlist: A Sinner’s Redemption

AO3 Link

AI Character Art

Disclosure: I do not own the plot or the characters from The Last of Us. This is a “what if” fic based on the HBO television series and the game The Last of Us. 

*Updates sporadically 

꧁_____________꧂

Chapter One: When You’re Lost in the Darkness

Chapter Two: Infected

Chapter Three: Long, Long Time

Chapter Four: Please Hold to My Hand

Chapter Five: Endure and Survive

Chapter Six: Kin

Chapter Seven: When We Are in Need

Chapter Eight: Look for the Light

꧁_____________꧂

Taglist: @bartokthealbinobat @angelmenace @mimi-luvzyu@d4rno @lizlil @winterschildren17 @sunsumonner @lovelyygirl8 @homeslices​ @guacala​ @emsownuniverse​ @thetiredtoad0-0 @galacticstxrdust​ @jackierose902109​

꧁_____________꧂

#joel the last of us #joel miller #ellie williams #piper williams #ellie and piper are sisters #OC #what if ellie had an older sister #the last of us #tlou show #hbo the last of us spoilers #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou #tlou hbo #tess #joel x daughter!reader #joel miller x daughter!reader #dad!joel miller #dad! joel miller x reader #joel x platonic!reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #reluctant father #found family #unhinged characters #The End of the World #zombie #infected #pedro pascal #bella ramsey #bella!ellie #pedro!joel miller

[looopylupin]

ellie: hey joel

ellie: hey asshole

ellie: hey asshole!

ellie: *sigh* hey dad-

joel: did you just call me dad?

ellie: did you just respond to me calling you dad, dad?

#source: ??? #the last of us #incorrect quotes #joe tlou #ellie tlou #joel and ellie #incorrect tlou #incorrect joel #incorrect ellie #ellie x you #ellie williams #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou game #tlou2 #dina tlou #ellie and joel #dad!joel miller #protective joel miller #ellie the last of us #joel the last of us #tlou fanfiction

[jomiddlemarch]

reunions, expansion pack edition

You decided, brunette pixie cut and outdated stereotypes about blondes notwithstanding, to play dumb.

“I’m not sure—”

“Miller.  From 11th grade English. Though I don’t generally go by just my last name anymore,” he said and then extended a hand to shake, which obviously, you had to take. He had a firm grip, calluses across his palms, and you’d be lying if you didn’t admit you were turned on. “Joel.”

“I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he interrupted. 

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re the only reason I decided to come to my high school’s 20th reunion,” he said.

“Me?” you said, actually feeling pretty dumb at the moment. More like the struck dumb kind and your mouth was probably hanging open, given the way Joel was smiling at you. You shut it, feeling your teeth clatter against each other, biting your lip but not in the tentative sexy way it happened in a movie or a romance novel. You considered taking a sip of your drink but figured you’d probably spill it or gulp too much and end up spluttering. You couldn’t take a deep breath to calm down, he’d notice, so you balled up your free hand in a fist and then relaxed it. It didn’t work.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be so hard to believe. I had a crush on you back then. Wanted to ask you to Prom—”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Maybe you’re actually dreaming, this can’t really be happening, but if it is a dream, it’s a good one, probably the best you’re going to have in the next decade, so you decide you should really push it. The chances of it going off the rails with like some Fraggle asking you to do the Electric Slide (Mokey, not Red) are high, but the chances of Joel telling you he had been interested and Still Was were good enough you’d risk it.

“Lots of reasons. Didn’t think you’d say yes. Couldn’t afford a limo. Or a tux, the little rosebud corsage in the plastic box with all the ribbons and shit. Didn’t want to ask you to go in my dad’s pick-up. Get you all dirty maybe,” he paused and you were both standing there with all dirty hanging in the air between you, hovering, making you blush. Joel looked a little abashed too, which was a relief. “Too scared, basically,” he said.

“I don’t like limos,” you said. “Never have.”

You’d sort of blurted it out, but there was only warm interest in his dark eyes, no mockery.

“Good to know. Didn’t take one here tonight,” he said.

“Me neither,” you said and he laughed.

“Look, you rather talk or dance? I know my limits, I can’t do both. Not with you. Not well,” he said. The DJ the reunion planning committee hired had started to play and people were heading to the dance floor. You thought about Joel’s hands on your hips, your arms looped around his neck. You thought about the revelations he’d already shared, his ringless hands, whether you were going to wake up and when.

“Talk?” you said. “These heels, they’re kind of high—”

“You can take them off, you know,” he said. “Whenever you want.”

“Later,” you said.

“Later’s good too. You want another drink?” he replied. 

“Sure. Surprise me,” you replied. You weren’t aiming for sultry but magically, you’d gotten about 47% of the way there. Joel held your gaze and it was definitely a promise, not a challenge.

“I aim to,” he said.

*

“So, cards on the table,” Joel said, having set down a brightly colored cocktail with a wedge of lime and a matching green umbrella in front of you and a fresh beer in front of himself and nary an actual card. “Graduated, went to UT, run my own construction business with my brother Tommy, you probably don’t remember him. I got two girls at home, eleven and eight, divorced for over five years, don’t see much of either ex and yeah, I got two. Third time’s the charm, so they say.”

“Um, yeah,” you replied, trying to take it all in with some facsimile of nonchalance, a phrase your favorite journalism professor would have struck-through with red pen instantly. “They do say that. I feel like—”

“It’s a lot,” he said. “I know. But my girls are my whole life. I can’t, I won’t hide that. Can’t French braid their hair worth shit, but being a good dad’s the most important part of my life.” 

“No, it is good. I appreciate you not dancing around stuff. It’s just, I feel like I’m in the speed round of a game show maybe,” you said. You took the umbrella out of the glass but you didn’t pick it up. Not yet.

“You think you’re gonna win? Joel asked. He did take a long swallow of his beer, then grinned. God, he was attractive, his features a little too rough to be conventionally handsome, which was better in your opinion. “I’d always bet on you, Scout.”

“Christ, no one’s called me that since high school,” you said. You’d carried your paperback copy of To Kill A Mockingbirduntil the cover nearly disintegrated. It had been tucked into the inner pocket of your navy-blue Jansport backpack but word had gotten around.

“If you don’t like it, I won’t,” Joel said.

“It’s okay. It’s just a blast from the past, you know? Like this whole thing really,” you said. You paused and both of you looked around the room, filled with people you’d seen every day, but never in a setting like this, the hotel ballroom much more nondescript than the gaily decorated lockers that lined the high school hallways, hand-lettered posters plastered in the cafeteria. Everyone was all dressed up in a sort of uniform, Joel like the rest of the men in a nice button-down and chinos, you wearing a cocktail dress that was a little too tight for anything work-related, your heels a little too high, designed to make your legs and ass look as close to amazing as you could manage north of thirty-five, plus or minus Pilates and/or running 5Ks. In your case, definitely minus both Pilates and 5Ks. Joel did not seem to mind, based on the frankly appreciative glances you kept catching.

“My turn—graduated, went to college up north, worked on a couple papers before I ended up back here. I’m trying to make a go of the whole journalism thing but I’m going to take some education classes, hedge my bets. Maybe I’ll end up back at our old school, teaching English in Mr. Pascal’s old room and being the faculty advisor for the drama club,” you said, running through the last twenty years and where you’d gotten to: back in Texas, not sure of yourself. Tonight, you were back in high school but now there was Joel, looking at you like you’d been away too long. Like he knew who you were then and he recognized you now and if anything, he was more interested, where interested was a good enough word for a journalist to use when a man looked at her like Joel was looking at you. 

“Not the advisor for the Herald?” Joel said. “I remember the drama kids being a hot mess most of the time.”

“If I end up back there, advising the Herald will be salt in the wound,” you said.

“Maybe not,” Joel said. “You’d be an amazing teacher and faculty advisor, I know it. And hey, I heard a piece on NPR when I was drivin’ the girls to school the other day and they couldn’t stop arguin’ about what station they wanted to listen to, so I pulled the dad card and picked, and they, the NPR folks, were talking about how lots of people want to support local news these days. Have some faith in yourself—”

“You don’t have to say that,” you replied. “No one comes to their high school reunion to give an old classmate a pep talk.”

“I came hoping to see my high school crush,” Joel said. “Hoping not to make a fool of myself. Hoping you would show up. That you wouldn’t be married or seeing someone…”

Here, he paused, shrugged, and you remembered you hadn’t said yet what your relationship status was.

“I’m single. Totally. Very single,” you said in a rush. 

“That’s a fuckin’ relief, Scout,” Joel said. “Maybe now we can have that dance?”

“Sure,” you said, reaching over to pick up your drink and toss it back. Liquid courage and all that. Joel put his hand on your wrist, lightly enough though it stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Don’t. Don’t want you too tipsy,” he said, his voice soft, maybe the voice he used with his younger daughter if she was having a hard time settling down. “I want you to be able to say yes and mean it.”

Okay, that was not the dad-voice. 

You left the drink untouched.

*

“Never would’ve believed this, back in the day,” Joel murmured. The DJ had switched over to what seemed like an endless medley of the popular slow dances of their high school era and every couple on the floor had reverted to the most basic sway, except for Maria Gonzalez, who was executing what looked like a professional tango with some guy whose name you couldn’t remember who’d been on the basketball team. You’d spent exactly one second trying to remember and then focused on how it felt to have Joel’s hands at your waist, his cheek grazing your temple. He was holding you close, so you could tell he smelled like cedar and leather, like he’d put on an actual cologne to get ready, but just enough. He’d been careful.

“Me neither,” you replied. “I never thought you thought about me like that.”

“Like this,” Joel corrected. Somehow, he brought you closer, his hips pressed snug against yours. “I thought for sure you knew. It wasn’t like I was real subtle—”

“What d’you mean?” you said.

“You serious, Scout? I caught so much flak for watchin’ you instead of the board, I was always hangin’ around your class or your locker. I sent you those pink carnations for Valentine’s Day senior year,” Joel said.

“Those were from a secret admirer,” you protested. “It was signed in block print. You literally wrote ‘from your secret admirer’ without a single hint or clue about how it was you. I thought my mom felt bad and had one of my friends buy them for me.”

“I figured you’d know it was me,” he said.

“How? Telepathy?” you said. Joel laughed and his hands tightened on your waist.

“Okay, maybe that one was on me. I liked you so goddamn much, I wanted you so bad, I thought you’d feel it,” Joel said. You both swayed together for a moment and you rested your cheek on his shoulder. You could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, wished you were rubbing your cheek against his bare chest. Finding out what made him moan your name.

“This all right? Not too much?” he asked. 

“Is it past tense? Liking me, wanting me?”

“No. It’s so present tense I’m in danger of embarrassin’ myself,” Joel replied. 

You took one hand from the back of his neck and cupped his cheek, pressing a little to incline his head towards yours. You looked into his dark eyes and then, almost exaggerating, down at his lips. His left hand slipped down to your hip and then briefly touched your ass.

“That makes two of us, I guess,” you said.

“Not possible, darlin’,” he said, his voice, the endearment tender where his body was hard, demanding. He shifted so you’d feel his erection against your thigh, his arousal undeniable.

“This isn’t just messing around,” he said. “This isn’t just tonight, for me. If that’s all you want, I understand, but I can’t—”

“It’s not all I want. Tonight. It’s more than I thought could ever happen,” you paused, arched your back to get even closer to him, “but it’s not more than I want. You didn’t ask me why I came tonight—”

“Why did you?”

“Because someone said Miller was coming. Probably. Maybe. There was a chance you’d show up,” you said. “I bought this dress, these heels thinking you might show up and you’d see me across the room and smile. Maybe lift your beer up in sort-of a toast, like, lookin’ good, and then you’d go back to talking to your friends.”

“I really should have signed that Valentine’s Day card,” Joel said. “If that’s all you thought might happen.”

“Well, it’s all I expected was possible,” you said. “I hoped—”

You broke off then, because it was a lot to confess and also, Joel was now stroking the curve of your hip with his thumb and letting his lips touch your temple, the shell of your ear in what was basically a kiss and then definitely a kiss when you felt the tip of his tongue on your ear and gasped.

“What’d you hope for, Scout?” he said.

“That you’d be good with your hands. Able to help me with my zipper. It was tough to reach to get zipped up and I think it’d be a little tricky to get this dress off,” you said. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and thank God he’d somehow guided the pair of you over to a shadowy corner of the dance floor because you were in serious danger of someone yelling out Get a room already!

“I hoped you’d like black lace,” you said.

@tinytinymenace @goodwithcheese @tessa-quayle @sheepdogchick3 since there was perhaps some interest in more of this drabble, I (ahem) elaborated.

#tlou fanfic #joel miller #alternate universe #no apocalypse #high school reunion AU #joel/you #dad!joel miller #rom-com vibes #not the 10K words requested but an expansion pack #gets a little spicy

[talaok]

Imagine no outbreak Joel seeing you doing a million steps nightly skin care routine and just laying under the covers and waiting for you to be done and come to bed already and slowly getting frustrated

Maybe a little toddler cuddling in bed with him and Joel fake complaining to them about you

“Mommy is taking a long time huh?”

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

a/n: this request is so so so cute, anon you're a genius

he was being a drama queen, 

as always.

You'd been in the bathroom a total of five minutes and already he was groaning and calling out to you as if you'd been in there an hour.

"I've just finished washing my face baby, I'm not even half way done" you laughed, patting your skin with a towel 

Another groan sounded from the bedroom and you just smiled, as you reached for the fist of the many products that were gonna go on your face.

This was part of your routine now.

Him moaning and complaining because you were taking too long and wanting nothing more than to just have you there in bed with him into his arms, while you laughed in front of the mirror at how much of an unpatient man you had married.

"I don't even understand why you do that stuff" he sighed, loud enough for you to hear, turning again in frustration under the blanket "You're already gorgeous, darlin'"

You rolled your eyes, your mouth betraying you with a smile

The amount of times you'd heard him say that...

Doing your skincare, makeup, putting on lotion... all tasks that to him did nothing but lessen the amount of time you could be in his arms.

"nice try miller" you chuckled, peering out of the bathroom door to talk to him "but flattery ain't gonna work"

Just as his eyes narrowed, a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue, a little goblin jumped on the bed, having sneaked in without either of you hearing.

Said Goblin, being Emma, your beautiful, smart, nosy daughter.

"daddy!" she giggled, jumping literally on top of him, earning a painful groan from Joel, before he smiled, feigning an attack on her by wrapping his arms around her and bringing her down to him.

"whatcha doing here peach?"

"'m not tired" she explained, hiding her face in his neck

"aw babygirl, you can stay with us for a while, but you have to sleep in your own bed ok?" he murmured, stroking her hair "You're a big girl now"

"mh-mh" she nodded

Your heart warmed as you watched the scene before you, but before you lost precious moments where Joel was too preoccupied with your daughter to realize you still hadn't finished, you went back to your skincare.

But of course, it was all in vain.

Not even a minute passed that you heard him murmur "Mommy's taking a long time huh?" to Emma, who gasped as she answered

"where is she?"

"she's in the bathroom, putting all sorts of stuff on her face"

"what stuff?" She frowned, confused

"stuff she doesn't need" he explained 

You huffed a laugh as you popped your head out of the bathroom, still massaging some serum onto your cheeks "I'm almost done I swear"

"mommy!" Emma smiled wide as she saw you

"Hi pumpkin" You blew her a kiss in return

You watched as Joel murmured something in her ear, something you could very well hear

"tell mommy she doesn't need all that stuff, that she's already beautiful"

Emma didn't waste a second before complying

"You're pretty, mommy!"

You rolled your eyes at him, although the smile on your lips didn't fade one bit

"thank you baby" you stifled a chuckle "but you should explain to daddy that the reason I am so beautiful as he keeps saying, is because of this stuff"

"daddy!" Emma scolded him, turning back to him "You didn't tell me that! You should listen to mommy, she's smart"

He couldn't help but laugh at that, 

God if she wasn't right

"You're right" he grinned "she is smart, and I should listen to her" he said "But you know what would be better? If while she was explaining all that smart stuff she's always saying, she was right here beside us, so we could cuddle with her, wouldn't it?"

Emma considered what he said for a moment before agreeing

"yes" she nodded "it would"

You sighed, exasperatedly, as you finally exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind you

"there, I'm done" you said, climbing into bed "happy now?"

They almost answered in unison, but while Emma yelled her "yes!" as she jumped between you two, Joel's "yes" was much calmer... only a hell of a lot more smug.

He brought you closer with his strong arms, sandwiching your daughter between you and him in a tight hug.

"You're the least patient person I've ever met Miller" you murmured, turning to him with a glare

"And you, sweetheart, are the most perfect one I've ever met."

You rolled your eyes, your mouth once again betraying you

"I better be" you bit down a smirk, watching him grin

"I love you" he murmured, ghosting your lips 

"I love you too assh-" your eyes lowered to where your daughter held onto you, forcing you to censure yourself "I love you too" you said, before he kissed you softly, his hand drawing gentle circles on your waist,

You leaned away when quiet snores sounded through the room, and once you lowered your gaze, you found out why.

"just this time" Joel immediately suggested, giving you his best puppy eyes

"You said that last time too" you reminded him

The pout on him persisted, as he tried harder to convince you

"please?" he begged,

You let out another exasperated sigh, before inevitably, as always, agreeing

"fine" you breathed "but this is the last time"

He kissed you again, and when he let go... you swore your daughter had a smile matching his on her lips.

You would have bet a fortune that this was their plan all along.

#did i think this request was for pedro until i was halfway done? yes. yes i did #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #dad!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #no outbreak!joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #tlou #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #joel miller angst #fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo

[louis-the-french-one]

Joel Miller x Teen!GN Reader

AFAB Reader

Request : *verbal request from my friend* Can I have a Joel Miller fic of Reader coming out to Joel as Trans after they get attacked? Platonic/Parental relationship !

Type : Comfort

Relationship : Platonic/Parental

Summary : While on the road to get to Tommy, Joel and Reader get attacked, they get out just fine but Reader is exhausted, which leads to Reader coming out as trans and explaining that they wear a binder

Warnings : self-hatred, internalized transphobia, abusive wear of binder (BE SAFE MY LOVELY PEOPLE), coming-out, violence, swear words

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You and Joel were still looking for Tommy and had stopped in a town to get some more food and supplies. While wandering in the lonely streets, you had suddenly heard people talking just across the street.  Three raiders were coming your way. It took only a second for Joel to notice them as well.

“Fuck! Run Y/N, Run” Joel suddenly whispered/screamed.

“Fucking hell Joel ! Fuck!” You said, startled.

You did as asked and ran to safety in a nearby house. Joel though, quickly hid behind an old car and took the raiders by surprise, killing one from a bullet before going to fight the other two with a knife, whom ran towards him. While Joel was fighting them the best he could, and you were hiding, you quickly realised he was gonna need help seing he had managed to kill another one but the last was putting up a great fight. Taking a deep breath, already tucking at your binder, you opened the back door of the house and ran as fast as you could to where Joel had parked the car, you knew he had extra shotguns in there, though he never let you use them.

Running as fast as you could, it took you a few minutes to get to the car, you took a shotgun he had hidden in the trunk, loaded it, took bullets with you and got ready to run again. Your ribcage was already killing you, ‘now is not the time to take my binder off’, you thought. Even out of breath you got back to running. You tripped a few times, your mind dizzy from the pain and the lack of air. You manage to get back to Joel whom was struggling, stuck under the last raider alive, He put all his strength into stopping the knife that was currently threatening to stab his throat.

Once you got a few meters away from the scene, you stopped and lifted the shot gun. Your vision was blurry but you had to do it, you had to help Joel. Gathering all the strength you had left and taking one last short breath, you shot the raider in the arm, hurting him just enough so that Joel could get back on top of him, steal his knife and cut his throat.

But your brain had reached its limits, you fell to the ground, desperately tucking your binder in a last desperate attempt at breathing,you just needed a little more air. Joel, instantly worried about you, ran to your side and picked up your head, laying it on his legs.

“Are you okay?! Fuck Y/N are you hurt!?” Joel asked you in a grave voice.

“Hm Hm, yeah, I’m fine, I just need to catch my breath” You whispered, your eyes were closed. You were focused on trying to breathe through your stomach.

“Y/N look at me, you don’t seem fine”Joel said. You could sense the panic in his voice although it was steady.

“I- I ... I can’t breathe, give me a minute please”You said, your voice cracking up with each word.

“Why? Why Y/N ? let me see”With his words Joel went to lift up your shirt but you quickly stopped him, your eyes now open and looking right at him.

“NO! No... Please, Joel, Don’t...”You struggled to breathe. “Don’t look.”

“Y/N please, I need to know what’s wrong.”

Your head was spinning, your eyes were in his. Not knowing what was happening anymore, you decided to tell him. You knew you would have to say it someday, well today was the day, right there, hardly breathing in his arms.

“I’m just, I’m... I’m wearing a binder Joel...” You waited but he didn’t say anything, of course he didn’t understand what you meant. “I’m trans, Joel. I’m wearing a binder, to compress my chest.”

“Okay”He simply said.

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes”You repeated, very nervous.

You and Joel stayed like that, your head on his lap, in complete silence for a few minutes. His gaze alternated between you and the streets, checking for any danger. Yours was fixed on him, still waiting for him to say something, anything. Finally, after what felt like forever, you breath steadied and your head stopped spinning.

“I’m sorry”You said suddenly.

“For what?”Joel replied.

“For what I said, for fainting, for who I am...”You started crying.

“Hey, it’s okay kid. I can’t force you take off that thing. It seems important to you” Joel assumed respectfully.

“It is, it really is” You quickly noted.

“And if it stops your breathing obviously it’s gonna make you faint,it’s fine,just be careful, you won’t have to save my ass next time hopefully.” He laughed a bit at the end. “And never apologise for who you are kid, you do you, I respect that”

“But, But it’s not normal, I’m not normal Joel.. I-I hate myself and I hate my body, and I hate how I have to wear this binder to feel like myself while it kills me slowly and put us in danger. Fuck, I’m so sorry Joel”You are left sobbing on his lap, turning to hide your face.

Joel lifted you and hugged you tightly. One of his hand in your hair caressing it to sooth you.

“shhh, it’s okay, you’re just a kid you’ll be fine, we’ll be fine. You are you and it’s all that matters. I am not mad at you. I just want you to know I see you as you and nothing else, this thing or not I don’t care. What I care about is you, and I'm sure if your chest really bothers you we can find a doctor that can do something about it. It’s okay kid” He declared.

“Thank you, thank you so much Joel” You continued crying, but were relieved.

“It’s okay, now let’s get going, it’s not safe to stay out there”He reminded you.

Eventually Joel let go off you and helped you get up. He smiled softly at you before taking the shotgun and walking back the car. You had had enough action for today.

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!Reminder that english is not my first language, be kind in the comments!

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #coming-out fic #self-hatred #internalized transphobia #comfort #dad!joel miller #teen!reader #be safe with binders #yes even in the apocalypse #x gender neutral reader #afab reader #x reader

[auteurdelabre]

Something to Fight For (Epilogue) Dad!Joel x f!Reader

Something to Fight For: Epilogue

Warnings: Tooth-rottingly sweet epilogue.

Words: 5.3

a/n: I dragged y’all through angsty hell and I PROMISED I would deliver a happy ending and imo it don’t get much happier than this! Now, if you're sad this is over I understand. Nice thing is, I got vignettes happening featuring the characters in this story. Some of 'em sweet, some spicy, some funny. I can't say goodbye to these characters or this world quite yet. So I'm not gonna. And if you want, you're always welcome to request a scene you'd like to see in the comments! I love hearing what you want to see! And I got heaps of other writing, but if you like this sweeter sort I recommend: “Bravo! Take a Bow” and “Losing our Minds Together”

I thank every single one of you out there that read this story and left a review because it really feels like we built a community here in the comment section. I'm gonna miss seein' y'all here. Hopefully you stick around while I keep writing, but if not I am so glad we could share this online moment together. Thank you for making this fanfic author a happy gal. I'm gettin' choked up here so I'll stop and we can get on to seeing our sweet idiots in love.

Oh and please review, reblog, etc cuz it makes me smile.

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You walk into life on Rancher Street as naturally as if you've always been a fixture there. You think this is borne from a routine the three of you slipped into without thinking.

Mornings are coffee and cereal (Joel's banana pancakes on the weekends), then it's getting ready, brushing Sarah's hair, packing leftovers into cartoon lunch bags (for Sarah) and brown paper bags (for you and Joel). 

You're dropped off first; your work is on the way to the school. Its kisses for both of their sweet smiling faces and then you're thrust into the world of animal rescue. Joel drives Sarah to school next, holding her hand until they reach her classroom where he kisses her forehead and tells her to "learn lots" before handing her off to her new first grade teacher. 

He drives to Tommy at whatever site they're working at. The days are long, but punctuated with texts from you. Most are funny, some sweet. Occasionally Joel tries to write back but when he really wants to interact with you he just excuses himself and calls you. Hearing your voice always makes him smile in that dreamy, crooked way that has Tommy giving him shit the rest of the day.

At five promptly Joel returns to pick you up with Sarah buckled in her car seat smiling up at you. His heart jumps every time you come through the door, eyes bright and smiling as you jog over. He holds back the urge to kiss you senseless, restraining you both to a quick peck and then drives his girls home. 

Dinner is done by Joel unless you've offered (which you rarely do because cooking is a drag). Instead you help Sarah set the table and the meal is spent listening to Sarah talk about her day and the animals that you’ve helped to rescue. 

After dinner Sarah goes to play with her toys or watch a DVD while you tidy up. Joel sits with his coffee in his favorite green mug at the counter, eyes on you and chatting as you do the dishes. He always tries to help at first but you always remind him that he did the cooking and that you want to keep things fair. 

This is when you both talk about everything and anything. Work, movies you want to see, plans for the weekend, philosophical questions (you've both decided that you'd rather fight one horse sized duck versus a thousand duck sized horses, for example). Joel is hard to get information out of. He isn't used to talking about himself, but you urge him to do so. He thinks his job is boring but you're fascinated by controlling clients and his keen mind when problem solving an issue at a job site. 

Sometimes Sarah turns the volume of  the TV up really high during these times and Joel has to yell over the noise at her to turn it down, smiling and shaking his head. It's one of your favorite parts about being here. There's always noise in the background, either a television or laughter. Your home had been so quiet, so empty, you'd just never realized

The other favorite part is how Joel always finds ways to touch you. Subtle things like a hand trailing over your lower back as you wash the dishes, nestling his shoulder against yours as you watch television together, laughing and hip checking you gently as he passes you in the hallway. 

The only thing not perfect (at least for Joel) is the odd evening when you leave to go back to Maria's basement suite. He doesn't call the old suite your home because as far as he's concerned this is your home. 

His stomach always drops when he sees you've gathered your purse in your hands, ready to leave. Joel usually walks you to your car, but some nights he stops you both at the front door, bringing you into his arms and kissing you deeply. 

"I should go Joel," you tell him as he holds you, his mouth moving from your lips to your jaw, kissing that spot behind your ear that has you whimpering and your legs buckling. "Still have stuff there."

"Please stay," Joel murmurs against your mouth, hands wrapped around your waist as he presses into you against the wall. "Just a little longer."

Sometimes (often) this works. Your resolve breaks under his sweet mouth and hands and on these nights you wrap your legs around his waist and allow him to carry you back to the bedroom. 

These nights he spends hours making love to you until you're too exhausted to leave. These nights Joel likes best because you linger in his arms and in his bed until the morning, the scent of your perfume on his pillow and sheets until you return that evening. 

"Love having you here," Joel sleepily murmurs into your hair, kissing you awake one morning. "When are you just gonna move in?" 

Still half asleep in his bed you stretch, snuggling up against him and sighing into the crook of his neck. "Whenever you want, baby."

Joel wants you there all the time. He wants Sarah to know that you're there; he doesn't want to hide you. But you're tentative, nervous that this all feels too good too fast. You ask that Sarah not know that you're spending the night, not just yet. She knows that you’re daddy’s girlfriend, but that’s all you want her to know right now.

You pretend to arrive in the mornings, making a show of ringing the doorbell and smirking as Joel welcomes you in, his eyes amused. 

Despite the occasional seduction, Joel understands and he lets you go at your own pace. He agrees to what makes you feel comfortable. 

But he loves when you arrive with a new cardboard box of your stuff from Maria's. He sees the blush across your cheek as he excitedly takes it from you, asking where this one will go. Most of its clothes and those boxes are promptly brought to the bedroom and unpacked into the closet. Seeing your blouses hung next to his button ups makes him feel good.

Week by week more of your things are brought over until one day there's nothing left for you at Maria's except for your bed, dresser and sofa. You tell him as much over a late night snack of chocolate pudding after Sarah has been put to bed. 

"Pretty much everything I need is here."

Joel makes note of this, his heart hammering in his chest as he reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out the key he got cut.

“You’ll need this, then.”

He slides it across the counter with his forefinger, his eyes not leaving your face as he does.  He sees the surprise there, the widening of your eyes.

"You have a lot of keys to your house just lying around?" You joke, feeling your heart race.

"Nah, got this one cut the day after the wedding," Joel murmurs. "Thought you'd need it sooner or later." 

He loves seeing you blush, especially when you do that shy smile of yours.

When you look uncertain later that night in bed next to him, fingers twisting together anxiously Joel notices, lowering his book to glance at you. 

"What's wrong?"

"Are you really okay with me moving in here?" You ask with a furrowed brow. "It's not too soon?"

Joel's mouth over yours is all the answer you need. But he's so delighted by your potential move in that he'd already launched into an outline of what to do with your furniture. 

"We could sell your sofa and bed. I know a guy who needs a sofa. Only 'cuz my stuff is bigger and already here, but I don't want you feelin' like this isn't your house too so maybe we should-"

Kissing is the second best way to stop Joel Miller from rambling. The first is climbing on top of him and urging him inside of you, languidly bringing you both to orgasm.

You do both just to be safe. 

The things left at Paul's had been clothing and a few personal items. You considered leaving it, but decide in the end that you shouldn't have to. 

Your small pile of cardboard boxes are left outside his old apartment. He's sure not to be in said apartment when Joel goes with you to retrieve them.  

You'd ridden over in Joel's truck, the day punctuated by an unexpected silence with Joel's protective hand over your knee. He'd loaded the boxes alongside you, his face tight. With every box retrieved from Paul's place Joel grew more and more miserable. 

He hadn't responded to your gentle teasing as you both worked, had turned down your idea of going out for lunch, and had been all over a grumpy bastard. 

When you'd loaded everything and were driving home Joel's hand had flown back to your knee, grip just as tight as before.  When you finally questioned him about his bizarre behavior his dark eyes had been hard. 

"The boxes and Paul," Joel winces, eyes fixed on the road. "Just reminded me how close I was to losin' you."

You make him pull over right then and there so you can crawl into his lap and kiss him senseless. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you so tightly to him you feel breathless. 

"You'll never lose me, Joel," you whisper against his neck. "Never." 

When you make love that evening your fingers linger on his cheeks as you stare into his eyes and the words you whisper as he fills you are of the love you have for him, the longing for this life you held for so long within you. 

As you both begin to drift off, tangled together under the sheets you press a kiss to that patch in his beard that doesn't quite grow. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Joel. I'm done running."

///

You miss having an office space like your studio had. A little area for just you to organize your thoughts and work. But it's a small price to pay because you like existing on Rancher Street. You've enjoyed every day of the last three months.

It feels like home when you're there and not because of the structure but the two figures inside. Home isn't a place, you've come to realize, its people. Joel and Sarah.

Evening rituals are the same as when you babysat. Picking out books as Sarah slips into bed smelling of toothpaste and the hair cream Joel massages into the curls under her favorite purple bonnet. You smiling at her while she snuggles down under the covers, propping toad up next to her so he can see the pictures in the books.

"Okay we're ready."

The only difference is that Joel is there too, bending down to kiss his daughter's cheek and murmuring a low "G'night babygirl. Sweet dreams. Love you." 

She gives him a sweet 'I love you' back, kissing his lightly bearded cheek. If Joel takes too long to leave, getting distracted by the sight of you gathering books or just wanting to linger, Sarah is prone to shooting him a silent look that communicates: okay, I love you dad, now please leave.

He always does. Because reading before bed is your special time, just the two of you. Joel used to do it on the nights you weren't there, but now you are there every single night his services are no longer necessary. 

Joel's qualities are better served in the kitchen, you and Sarah decide as you watch her drawing on the sidewalk with the chalk you've just bought. 

"Daddy's a better cook than you."

She says it thoughtfully and without malice as she draws a lopsided flower. 

"Yes," you agree with a nod, making a star pattern nearby. "Much better. I think he puts love in his food. I just use salt."

But the ever empathetic Sarah is quick to point out your many virtues as well. The main one of course being your stellar reading ability and your stories in general. 

So every single night Joel stands there outside Sarah's room, arms folded and shoulder tilted against the hallway wall, his cheek facing the half closed door of his daughter. 

There he listens to the two of you giggling or you reading the book Sarah has picked from your pile (Sarah's right, you're very good at doing the voices), the gentle murmurs of 'I love you" thrown back between you two and those sounds wind around Joel's heart in a way he never knew just sounds could. 

He's so fucking happy. 

And when you finally creep out, quietly closing the door behind you and shooting him a pleased smile, Joel is always there to grip you by the hand and drag you to your shared bedroom down the hall. 

Rarely do the two of you make it to the bed with all your clothes on because Joel has many virtues outside of the kitchen as well. 

///

Joel watches you give a frustrated sigh, frowning at the laptop on the kitchen table before putting your face in your hands. 

"Everything okay?"

"Just this fu- darn sanctuary project," you self correct, remembering a listening Sarah sitting across from you. 

Sarah has a piece of paper she has drawn to look like a laptop and she pretends to clack away on it when you do on yours. Joel sits next to you, his knee brushing yours as you complain. 

"Alex's contact said she could get the supplies at cost and he was supposed to get back to me but he hasn't and now the landscaping guy is saying -" you pause, realizing Joel's eyes have taken on a dreamy, faraway look. “-And you're not even listening to me, are you Miller?"

He gives you a guilty look. "Nope."

You give a sharp laugh at his honesty, leaning over and shoving his shoulder with yours affectionately.

"Hey, I really wanna show you somethin'," Joel says with a hint of excitement in his dark brown eyes, a window into the boy he must have been. "C'mon. Both of you." 

You follow him down the steps to the basement, to Tommy's old place, your hand wrapped around Sarah's. You both follow him towards the large door separating the areas, watching his broad shouldered walk, the excitement in his rapid footsteps. 

At the door there he spins with a small anticipatory smile on his handsome face. 

"I thought this would be a good place to have for an office," Joel explains shyly pointing to the door behind him. 

You smile up at him, delighted that he thought of you needing one. He pushes open the door for you, his eyes on your face as he does. 

Balloons. 

Hundreds of colorful balloons take up almost the entire main room of the basement.  

Sarah doesn't wait for you, she runs in headfirst giggling and shrieking, her arms open wide. 

You walk into the basement in a daze, your eyes owlish as you take in this prism of color, feeling the balloons brush your skin, the awe-inspiring sensation of being surrounded in a rainbow. You laugh, it bursts from you.

You can see that the space beyond the balloons has been transformed into an office, complete with built in bookcases and a custom desk under the window. You trace a hand along the desk before being swept up in the color of the balloons and Sarah's contagious laughter.

Joel is standing there just outside the door, his eyes bright as he watches the two loves of his life laughing and tossing up the colorful balloons.  

Sarah kicks at them with vigor, her head thrown back in laughter at the squeaks they emit when knocked about.  

Joel looks to you, expecting the same behavior and pausing when he sees how you're now standing there looking at him with damp eyes. The balloons float between you, falling to block his eyes as you approach. 

"Joel."

"Mmm?"

"Get in here," you order gently, your finger curling around his collar as you gently tug him in encouragement. You can't move him of course, but he grins widely, nodding and stepping into the color with you. 

For a moment neither of you speaks. All you can see is Joel and the balloons that seem to surround you on all sides, the colors framing his beautiful face. You can hear Sarah's distant laughter.

Then Joel smiles in that sweet, open way of his. You look down when you feel his hand taking yours and see a diamond ring being slipped onto your fourth finger. You stare at it in amazement before your gaze meets his. In his deep brown eyes you see a future so beautiful you never could have imagined it. What you don’t know is that when Joel looks into your eyes he sees exactly the same.  

"Will you ma-"

"Yes," you breathe without letting him finish, your hands coming to either side of his jaw. He pulls you into his arms grinning before his mouth is on yours, gentle and sweet. You know that your eyes are wet and you know that on your deathbed this will be one of those moments that comes to you, comforting you. 

You pull back and look around at all the balloons, the color and you smile broadly through the tears. 

"Couldn't wait for your birthday," Joel murmurs against your cheek. "Hope that's okay."

"Yeah," you say curling your arms around his neck. "It's okay." 

You don't mind at all.

///

"Shit, did you feed the cat?"

"Daddy you said sh-"

"I know babygirl," Joel says rubbing the back of his neck as Sarah looks to him with a chastised look. "Was wrong of me. Daddy just doesn't want to find another hairball in his shoe. "

Jam, your orange tabby kitten is not really yours at all. Despite being brought home for you, Jam quickly decided that Sarah with her warm bed and shirts covered in food crumbs was a much better companion than you. You don't mind though, seeing how much Sarah loves the cat is enough for you. 

"I fed him," you say giggling as the three of you make your way up the drive. The whole gang has been invited to Frank and Bill's for a Sunday lunch. You see them quite often despite living on Rancher Street full time. 

They often encourage you to bring Sarah and you do without hesitation. She loves Bill and Frank just as much as you do. She loves painting with Uncle Frank and baking with Uncle Bill. She loves that their house smells like cinnamon in the winter and fresh flowers in the summer. 

Despite living right next door, Maria and Tommy arrive late with cornbread and lemonade, but are given a reprieve when Maria shares that she took so long getting ready because "morning sickness makes it hard to feel cute."

Joel had hugged Tommy so tightly you were sure you heard bones cracking. You had just cried, throwing your arms around Maria, careful not to squeeze. Sarah asked to feel the baby and Maria told her it was a bit too early to feel much, but she still let her niece gently stroke her swelling belly. 

"I think it's gonna be a boy," Maria told you sagely over lemonade at the table. "A mother knows."

You smile, thinking of a little mix of Maria and Tommy in the vision of a little baby boy. Your eyes sail over to Joel, watching as he chats with Jackson and Tommy. You wonder what it would be like if you had a kid. Who would it take after? 

You’re distracted by this idea when Sarah and Bill bring out the dessert, followed by Frank with the coffee. The cupcakes are decorated to resemble beautiful flowers and you all wait as Sarah picks the perfect one for each of you. A daisy for Sarah, a lily each for Auntie Maria and Uncle Tommy,  a purple rose for Daddy, a peony for Frank and a forget-me-not for Bill and finally Sarah smiles at the pink carnation she labored the longest over with Bill. Sarah immediately cites that this one belongs to you. 

"That one," Sarah says pointing, watching as Bill pushes the plated cupcake in your direction. "Do you like that one, Mama?"

Joel's hand that's been absently rubbing along your spine stills when he hears that. His attention goes to your face, seeing the way your eyes have gotten wide. Mama.

You feel your breath catch in your chest as she calls you this, her tiny face turned up and smiling at you. You don't want to embarrass her, don't want to draw attention to the fact that she's called you Mama.

She did it so casually, so naturally that a part of you is worried she didn't even realize she'd done it. If you draw attention to it you're scared there's a chance that she'll take it back. 

"I love it," you whisper, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, bug." 

You kiss her again, feeling tears prick your eyes when Joel's hand skates to the small of your back, squeezing softly. Maria and Tommy are wet-eyed, and share a soft smile before turning their attention to their cupcakes. Frank sniffles, pretending he’s just about to sneeze. You catch Bill’s eyes across the table and when you see them glossy and that’s what makes the tears spill over your lash line.

"Why are you crying?" Sarah asks, her head cocked to the side. She can’t understand why everyone suddenly got so quiet.  

"I'm not," you insist. "Just allergies."

Sarah is satisfied or maybe just relieved with this answer and she and clamors onto the chair next to you, ready to dig into her own cupcake. She leans companionably against you, starting to tell Auntie Maria and Uncle Tommy about the class hamster.  

You feel Joel's kiss on your temple and you turn to see his eyes damp like yours. 

"Mama," you whisper to him. "I'm Mama."

////////

3 years later

Joel is at your side, whispering how strong you are, how beautiful, but all you want to do is punch him.

Hard.

"You did this to me!" You say through clenched teeth as a wave of painful cramping goes through you. Your head falls back onto the damp hospital pillow. 

"If I recall it was a very mutual decision," Joel insists with a wry smile. His mouth goes to your ear and his voice drops to a deliciously low timbre only you can hear. "The words 'fuck me pregnant' were a direct quote by you, were they not?"

You don't answer him on that. Not just because he's right, but because a stab of pain is going through your pelvis that takes your breath away. 

St. David's is a very fine hospital with very fine people but at this moment everything is not fucking fine. You feel like you've been split in half by a fucking axe. 

"Doing so good, baby," Joel croons, wiping the damp hair from your forehead and temples as he watches the doctor and nurses at your feet. "Keep going, keep going." 

For a delirious moment you think that it was Joel saying these exact words that got you pregnant in the first place and you let out a high pitched laugh as Joel looks to you in concern. 

"Push," the doctor says, breaking into your foggy brain. And so you do. As you have been doing for the last three fucking hours.

You grit your teeth, feeling Joel's mouth on your temple whispering words of encouragement and you push. You push with everything you have and then...

There is a pause and then the loud braying sound of a newborn's cry. The doctor's voice behind the mask rings out. 

"It's a girl!"

A sister for Sarah, just like she'd wanted.

A second daughter for you and Joel. 

You look over to see Joel's dark eyes shimmering with tears and you feel you've never been so in love with him as you are in this moment. You burst into tears, your face wet as Joel kisses you. 

"You're amazing," Joel whispers against your mouth. "Fucking amazing." 

The nurse brings over a pink faced infant with a shock of dark brown hair. She is pink all over and her little face is scrunched up as she wails. You take her into your arms, marveling at how you and Joel made the little creature you're now holding. She's so warm and she smells so good. 

You glance over at Joel, recalling all the nights spent with his hand curving over your belly, murmuring soft sweet things to your daughter as she grew there. You think of when you both sang together, your hand carding through his hair and his eyes on you. You remember how on the days she felt really jumpy, all it would take is Joel singing a few bars from a song and she would quiet right down.

Now Joel's finger goes to trace the slope of her tiny nose and you smile as she quiets down, grunting. Seems he has a soothing effect on her outside the womb as well.

"She's so fucking perfect."

"Hopefully she doesn't swear as much as her parents," Joel says as he presses his lips to your temple.

You giggle at that, pulling her back so you can see your daughter's sweet face. The wailing has subsided and she gives little grunts as she tries to open her eyes.  

"Hi Ellie," you coo. "We're your parents."

/////

Four years after your first meeting, Joel Miller sits across from you in the very booth you had your disastrous blind date on. It's become a sort of tongue in cheek tradition, to have you all back to where it began. 

Only this booth is far more crowded than it ever was then. A very pregnant Maria slides in next to you, looking every bit the beautiful goddess she always does. Tommy and their son slip into the opposite side beside Joel, saying their hellos. 

"They're so cute," Maria coos as she watches Sarah give Ellie a toy to play with before going back to her puzzle book.  

"Sarah loves being a big sister," you smile softly. 

"Tell that to Jackson would you?" Maria says rolling her eyes at her eldest child who is obsessed with his game boy. "He seems to think that this new baby means the beginning of the end." 

"He's been an only child for so long he doesn't want to share you," you insist. But you can't help but feel secretly lucky that your daughter's had an immediate connection. 

Even when pregnant, Sarah had talked to the baby in your belly, she'd even helped pick out her sisters name. At this moment Sarah is curled up next to you on her seat, pencil in hand and her eyes focused on her latest obsession. 

Toad has been replaced by puzzle books (though you still find him under her pillow most nights) and her new favorite color is green. She's wearing green head to toe tonight including the green barrettes in her hair. She's like a slender blade of grass with wild hair and big, hazel eyes.

And while much about Sarah has changed, she still smiles when you and her father kiss, she still wows you with knowledge beyond her years and she still plays with the ends of your hair when she's anxious or distracted. Oh and she still loves you to death. 

You sling an arm around her, your eyes on the menu before traveling up to watch Joel across from you. He's looking at Ellie in her booster seat next to him, babbling incoherently as most toddlers do. 

Ellie is a daddy's girl though and through, obsessed with Joel the minute she laid eyes on him. It's now to the point where if she starts crying most mornings you simply glance his way. He always gives a grumpy frown before you see the smile peeking through as he goes to retrieve her from her crib.

He's smiling broadly at her now, his finger tracing down her nose as she gurgles. Something he’s done since she was born. There's something about seeing Joel Miller, all broad shoulders and inherent masculinity, being so soft that makes you love him harder.

Sometimes when you're watching him play with your daughters or watching him cook you all dinner, you feel this overwhelming love for Joel that's almost incapacitating. 

He seems to sense your gaze because his eyes travel over to you. He gives you a playful wink. 

"You look great tonight," Joel says with eyes that linger on your décolletage.

"Thanks," you say taking an equally appreciative look at your husband. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

More than pretty well. Joel Miller is, as Frank had once told you, sex on legs, and you have to agree with the assessment. His linen shirt is rolled to the elbows, showing off his muscled forearms. His hair is brushed back from his face and he's wearing his glasses as he reads the menu. (Something he only does when desperate as you’d found out when living with him). 

Joel wets his lower lip without thinking, his eyes drifting back down the front of your dress. Maria and Tommy are helping Jackson decide on what to order for dinner, distracted from your end of the table.  

"You keep looking at me like that, Miller and we're gonna wind up with another kid," you murmur with a smirk, knowing Sarah's not paying attention.

"I'm not opposed to that," Joel says, his gaze heated. 

"That's because you don't have to carry or pop them out," you reply with a good-natured roll of your eyes. "Just get to do the fun part."

Joel grins as you tilt over the table to fix the bow in Ellie's hair that your mother sent you. Ellie gurgles happily at you, smacking her tiny fists on the table. Joel takes this as an opportunity to not very covertly ogle your chest. 

"Joel," you hiss, even though a smile is breaking out over your features. Joel tries to look innocently up at you, brows raised.

“Yeah baby?”

You want to be irritated, but he knows very well you love it.  

"I don't know this one, Mama," Sarah says pointing to something on the page in her puzzle book. She's normally very independent so you know she must be really stuck.  You glance over at the crossword clue.

"A six lettered spore producer," you read aloud and think for a moment. "Fungus?"

"That fits," Sarah enthuses, her pencil writing hurriedly. 

"Speaking of which, I'll have the mushroom ravioli," you say as your server comes to take your order. Joel orders his chicken penne and Sarah's spaghetti and then his hand comes to fall on yours as the server takes the rest of the orders for the table. 

His hand is heavy and warm, but that's nothing compared to the warmth of his eyes. It's the kind of look you associate with deep thinking, his "dreamy stare" as you've coined it. 

"What are you thinking about, Miller?'

"Just that I never thought I'd be married to the same woman who screamed at me in the parking lot of this very restaurant."

You giggle behind your wineglass, watching Joel's eyes go soft.  

"Or how happy I'd be."

He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing gently. He holds you there, watching as you stare back at him with eyes so full of love you're shocked Cupid himself hasn't come to give you his job. 

You begin to smirk when Joel's dark eyes drop to your chest and then dart back to your face. 

"I was also thinking about how three is a very nice number. . ."

#joel miller x you #something to fight for fic #something to fight for #something to fight for series #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #dad joel miller #pedro pascal #fanfiction #smut #fanfic #Dad!Joel #dad!joel miller #Joel Miller lives #Happy ending #Epilogue #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic

[elsfavor1te]

WORKS IN PROGRESS:

ORDINARY: oneshot on how ellie gave herself the chemical burn.

ANGELS WEPT 3.5: big brother!jesse x little sister!reader

gentleparent!ellie hcs/one shot

singlemom!abby hcs/oneshot

NO RUSH: hurt/comfort fem!reader x ellie williams

TRANQUILITY: overstimulated!reader x ellie williams

CURTIS & VIPER 2: father figure!joel miller x ellie williams x reader (ellie and reader are together romantically and joel is a father figure to ellie and a father in law figure to reader.)

i am open to asks about all of these if you’d like more details on any of them! <3

PLEASE NOTE THAT ALL FIC NAMES ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE, IF CHANGED THIS POST WILL BE UPDATED. WHEN I FINISH AND POST A WIP, THIS POST WILL ALSO BE UPDATED. LASTLY, please please please be patient with me!

#mimi talks! ⚘ #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fic #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams x fem!reader #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson hcs #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #dad!joel miller #joel miller #jesse tlou #dina nolastname #dina tlou

[saturnrin]

Okay, but can we please have more dad!joel content?

#the last of us #its not just daddy issues #father issues matter too #please im begging #dad!Joel Miller #writing

[cowgurrrl]

Sweet Creature

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: holy shit thank you for your ideas this is my favorite. also i put it in the tags of darlin’ i’d wait for you BUT there is a beautiful easter egg in the baby’s first and middle name and the first person to tell me what it is gets a kiss on the mouth

Summary: “Helping one another is part of the religion of our sisterhood.” - Jo March, Little Women aka Ellie rescues you and Joel [1.3k]

Warnings: newborn DRAMA, post-partum anxiety if you squint, Joel being a softie for his daughters

"C'mon, Charlie girl, you've gotta help us out." You mumble as you bounce your crying baby around the room. It's been an hour of her crying nonstop, and you've tried everything. Nursing, changing her diaper, changing her clothes, burping, changing the room's temperature, and playing music. You even went as far as to check her for any injuries that you may have missed. You're not sure what kind of trouble your one-week-old could've gotten into to warrant an injury, but you're exhausted, and it seemed to make sense. 

Joel woke up with her first, as he has done every night since you gave birth, so you had the chance to get some rest. Recovery has been rough for you, and he's already doing so much for you. He and Ellie barely let you get out of bed most days because they want to ensure you take the time to heal. Even though the thought is nice, you wake up and listen when Joel gets up with her every time. It's not that you don't trust him. It's that you're already the world's lightest sleeper, and Joel is deaf in one ear and is rarely aware of just how loud he is. You also don't mind secretly watching as he lays her on his bare chest in the low light of your room, singing to her or explaining what he's doing for her to engage her little brain. He's caught you staring at least twice since she's come home. 

But tonight was different. She woke up crying and was pretty much inconsolable until Joel brought her over to you. She nursed for a minute or two before wrenching away from you and screaming. Since then, you and Joel have been taking turns trying to get her to go back to sleep. It's hard having a newborn with two capable parents. You have no idea how you had a baby as a single mom. 

"D'you wanna try to feed her again?" Joel asks as he stands next to you, disheveled and overwhelmed but trying his best to comfort the both of you. 

"I don't know," you shake your head, your throat starting to feel like sandpaper. You were always the more emotional person in your relationship, but postpartum emotions are nothing compared to your regular ones. "I don't know what's wrong." You cry. Joel touches your back and makes a sympathetic noise as tears fall down your face.

"Let me take her for a little bit so you can sit down, okay?" He suggests as he carefully takes Charlie from you. She chuffs at the transition before going right back to screaming her head off. You sit on the edge of the bed and watch as he holds her like a football and hums what sounds like Hank Williams to her. You'd be surprised if she could even hear him over her own crying, and you take a deep breath, racking your brain for what could be wrong. 

"What are you doing to her?" Ellie asks as she walks into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's wearing one of Joel's shirts and hand-me-down shorts from Maria, and her hair is as messy as Joel's. If you weren't still crying, you think you'd probably laugh. 

"She's just a little fussy. You can go back to bed." Joel says, but she shakes her head and walks over to where he's standing with Charlie. 

"What's going on, bug? Huh?" She asks, crouching to look at Charlie's tired, sad eyes. She may have your eye shape, but she got those heartbreaking brown eyes from Joel. When she cries like this, they look like the saddest puppy dog eyes in the world. "D'you want me to try?" Ellie asks, and Joel shoots you a look.

You've been very intentional about not putting too much pressure on Ellie to help with the baby. She's sixteen, and she shouldn't have to be burdened with that if she doesn't have to be. You told her she could help as much or as little as she wanted, but she took it upon herself to help more often than not. You just didn't want her to wake up for midnight cry sessions or feel like she had to be put in a parenting position. She's still a kid.

"It's worth a shot," Joel says, and you shrug, way too tired to argue with him. He carefully passes Charlie to Ellie, who cradles her close and pushes her hair out of her face. Joel stays nearby in case she decides to hand the baby off, but he doesn't intrude on their moment.

"Hey, it's alright. You let it all out," Ellie says as she sways. Her fingers muss Charlie's hair, and she's quieting down. Not a lot, but enough to see it as crying instead of blood-curdling screaming. "I've got you, sweet girl." Ellie's hand moves to her chest, gently scratching and rubbing little circles into Charlie's onesie, and like magic, she stops crying. She turns her little head toward Ellie and yawns big and long like we kept her up. You sigh in relief and tip your head up to the ceiling as silence fills the room. Your ears are still ringing, and your body hurts, but it's quiet. 

It would be easy to claim that Charlie calmed down because Ellie's wearing one of Joel's worn shirts or that she just finally hit a wall and fell asleep, but you like to think she was just missing her sister. Joel looks between Ellie and Charlie in disbelief, mumbling "shit" under his breath. "What can I say? She loves me." She shrugs, and you quietly laugh as she walks over to the rocking chair in the corner and curls up with Charlie. She snags the yellow blanket one of the older women in town knitted for you off the back of the chair and drapes it around them. You would think they've known each other for centuries. 

Joel is still standing in the middle of the room, his curls a mess on top of his head, as his sleep-deprived brain tries to piece together what happened. He scratches at his stubbly jaw and shakes his head as he thinks. "You don't have to stay up with her. I can put her back in the crib." Joel offers, and you watch her hold on Charlie get a little tighter.

"It's gonna take me a long time to fall asleep. You guys should get some rest. I've got her," Ellie says, a smile pulling at her lips. "Besides, I like hanging out with her." You would cry again if you had the energy, but you don't. Instead, you crawl back into bed and get comfortable. Joel looks to you for confirmation, always looking for your approval as the mother of his child before making any decisions, but you're already half-asleep again.

"If she's volunteering, I'm not gonna stop her," you mumble into your pillow. "Just don't fall asleep."

"Sir, yes, sir," Ellie says. They may have stayed up talking. You're not sure, but when you wake up, Ellie is between you and Joel in bed, and Charlie is in her crib. She's tucked under the arm Joel is using to hold your waist as he sleeps, and her hand is on his chest. He's snoring lightly as he holds you both, perfectly content to cuddle with his girls in bed. You smile and kiss each of their heads before falling asleep again.

You vaguely remember fearing how the new baby would affect Joel and Ellie's relationship and worrying if Ellie and the baby would get along. You don't know exactly why Charlie was crying last night or why she calmed down so fast once Ellie had her, and you don't need to. 

Sometimes a girl just needs her sister. 

Sometimes a father just needs to baby his sixteen-year-old a little longer.

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taglist: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts​

#look for the light #the last of us #joel and ellie #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us x reader #joel tlou #ellie williams #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #ellie williams fluff #dad!joel miller #he’s so girldad your honor