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hotchsdoormat · 20 days

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Code Broken (Series) dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "You broke into my house," Joel says moving his gaze from your eyes back down to your mouth as his wide hand grazes his belt buckle. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [m receiving], rough oral sex, face-fucking, Come shot, Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk

word count: 6.9k

a/n: Y'all, this whole series is pretty depraved (from my perspective) and much darker than my normal stuff. I wanted it as a challenge and I had a lot of fun doing the series, there's 5 parts so I hope you enjoy it. Comments and the like really make my day. xx

masterlist

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Chapter 1: Go your Own Way

Joel Miller is the most serious man you've ever seen. The rigidity of his spine when he walks, the dark eyes always darting around in stormy irritation. People still greet him when he goes into the center of town, and he nods politely and makes small talk. But he never looks anything other than bothered.

He terrifies you.

You know his name only because of your friends in the small community of Jackson City. His brother is Tommy, a cheerful man married to Maria with a baby on the way. Tommy is the one that welcomed you into this settlement years ago, the one that settled you into the modest home you now live in on the end of Rancher Street. Larger homes buttress you on either side and yours is dwarfed in comparison but you don’t care. You still can’t believe you have your own house. Your own bed. Your own everything.

You watched the survivors come from all over the globe, watched as the community swelled in number and joy over the years. It was like a slice of heaven in and amongst a hellish landscape of the undead.

And then Joel Miller had entered and everything for you changed.

Tommy and Joel couldn't be more different. Tommy is sweet and polite and likes to ask after people to make sure they're okay. He’s stoic and his dark eyes light up when he laughs or makes a joke.

Joel keeps to himself. He doesn't talk to many people. He answers people with a serious tone in his drawl. He likes horses and he likes music, that's as much as you can tell about what he likes because he rarely does anything else.

When he'd moved into Jackson City he'd been given the home next to yours. Yours was a simple one bedroom, meant for singles, his was a spanning home with a garage. You rarely saw him outside unless he was headed for the stables or communal meals.

Sometimes on nights your window was open to let in the night breeze you heard him playing his guitar in his place. On rare occasions he sang, his voice rasping and mournful under the chords. It made your chest tight and your eyes prick with tears. It made you remember a youth you’d rather forget.

It was actually the music that had inspired your first attempt at an introduction.

You'd been out planting in your garden when you heard the front door to his place creak open. You walked casually over to the fence that separated your properties to see him sitting on the front stoop of his place, a pale blue coffee mug in one hand.

He was looking into the middle distance, his profile strong. You'd leaned on the fence, hoping to catch his attention. As a man always on alert he had, his dark eyes sliding over to you as you greeted him.

"You play really well," you told him enthusiastically, recalling the tune you heard him play late into the night the evening prior. "Was that Fleetwood Mac you were singing yesterday?"

Joel hadn't replied. In fact he'd given you the coldest look you'd ever received, stood up and gone back into his house. You'd stood there looking after him in shock for several moments until going back to your gardening.

When you'd told your friend Trish what happened that following Tuesday during your weekly "book club" (drinking poorly made wine and playing cards) she'd laughed in that annoying way of hers and told you to stop being so sensitive.

Trish told you that Joel Miller was rude to everyone. That the only reason people put up with it was because his brother was Tommy and because Joel himself was one of the few bachelors in the community. Then she’d gotten a soft look in her eyes and sighed that Joel was gorgeous in that sullen, quiet way that made older men mysterious. You hadn’t understood that, having never found poor humor and a bad attitude attractive.

You’d decided it had been a one-off. Maybe Joel was just tired that morning. You tried waving to him if you saw him in the street, one hand usually on the reigns of a horse tugging it gently behind him. He never returned the gesture.

It came to a head when you and Trish had been to a movie night in the square some months later, the summer heat always driving you indoors where it was cooler. They were playing an old science fiction feature and finding seats was near impossible. It was always like this when a popular film was showing. The popcorn lay in big tubs and patrons brought bowls to scoop the kernels into.

The children were hunched in front of the large white blanket that acted as a screen chatting animatedly. Your co-workers waved, observing how busy it was as you scanned the space, seeing an empty chair in the middle row near the back. Trish told you to grab it and that she'd search for another free one.

You'd been so intent on taking the chair that you didn't even realize who was seated next to you until you plopped down, brushing arms with the bare forearm next to you.

You noticed his jeans first, the way they seemed molded to his muscular thighs. Then his forearms, his plaid shirt rolled to the elbows and then finally up his neck to his profile, the full lips, the hawkish nose and the dark eyes that you could clearly see were trying to ignore your presence.

"Hello neighbor," you'd chirped trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. You'd watched as he glanced out the corner of his eyes at you, nodding briefly. Emboldened by this you motioned towards the large white sheet.

“You a big fan of Charlton Heston?”

He’d given a short nod, a grunt of a reply. This had felt like such progress to you and you relaxed a bit into the seat. You saw Trish heading your way with popcorn in hand and your knee bumped into Joel’s as you swivelled in your chair, angling your neck to see if there were any other free seats.

"Do you see any other empty seats? My friend Trish-"

He gave you one sharp look, scanning your body from top to bottom before rolling his eyes and jerking from his seat. Your face went bright red as he sidled past you just as Trish approached with popcorn.

"What was that?" Trish asked, looking after his frame quickly disappearing down the street. You'd shrugged, embarrassment overtaking you.

But the message was clear: Joel Miller can't stand you.

You suppose after that is when you decided on payback. Something innocent, really, silly in hindsight. Something that would irritate him on a daily basis.

The plan was to hide his guitar somewhere within his home. Specifically, in the back of his under his kitchen sink... then the bathtub ... then under his bed.

It's immature, especially at your age. But you'd missed out on so much life during those twenty years of running and hiding that this felt fun.

You could imagine him going insane trying to find it. Shouting angrily when he realized it was misplaced only to find it popping up in random places in his home.

It was an innocuous prank, borne out of boredom and humiliation. And if Joel caught on or accused you and brought you before the sheriff, what could they do? The guitar never left his house. How could it be stealing?

It had seemed like the perfect plan.

But now as you pull the black hooded jacket over dark jeans and look into the night sky this evening, you're wondering if this was really is the best idea.

You've gotten away with it twice before. Once to hide the guitar in his shower. Once under his kitchen sink.

You do this once a month on one of the evenings that everyone is at the movies. After your last experience with Joel, when you started to internally begin cataloguing his movements, you'd noticed that Joel attends every single one. His only habitual act that you can count on.

His visits with Tommy are regular but never scheduled, sometimes they go to the bar, sometimes at Joel's and you assume, sometimes at Tommy's. He's not a big joiner, not found during game nights at the canteen. He rides, that much you've seen and know. He likes to be around the animals.

There’s not much to do in the evenings in Jackson City, and that usually rests easily on the community. After so much violence it’s nice to have quiet, peaceful nights. But the movie nights provide popular and give you enough time to act, a good hour and a half minimum. You could push it to two hours but that seems foolish. It's a perfect time because it's where your neighbors are usually spending their time as well.

The first time you'd navigated from your roof to his, you'd been shocked at how easy it was. Your homes were close together and jumping onto his shingles was nothing more than a gentle leap in the darkness.

The window to his hallway was unlatched, just as yours was, just as most everyone's was. You lived on a glorified compound; no one felt the need to lock up the upper floor windows.

You'd squeezed in, falling gracelessly onto the wood floor. You'd worked quickly, finding the guitar beside the fireplace downstairs and gently placing it into Joel's shower half leaning against the tile.

Then you'd run back, closing the window after you, jumping back onto your roof and throwing yourself back into your bedroom with your heart in your throat. You hadn’t taken time to catch your breath before you'd rushed down your own steps and run to the movies, coming in the back to make it seem like you'd always been there, standing near the far corner with your heart racing, trying not to giggle.

When the lights flickered on and everyone rose to leave you made sure that Joel saw you, brushing past him intentionally. You had to have an alibi. He needed to see that you’d been here the whole night, just as he had.

"Excuse me," you'd said airily, not even put off by the silence of his reply when you ‘bumped’ into him.

The second time in his place you were finding an appropriate hiding spot for his guitar when you'd noticed other things about him. Like the detailed wood carvings that lined the mantle over the fireplace. The paintings of landscapes filled with animals hung around the sparsely decorated home.

You’d taken time to wander around the home, noticing the records, the other guitars hung on the wall. You’d seen the reading glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa and the woodworking space in the garage. It had been thrilling seeing this interior life, knowing that the impenetrable Joel Miller wore reading glasses and carved wood figurines. There was something beautiful in those small pieces of him.

But tonight as you stand looking at yourself in your mirror you wonder if maybe that's enough. You've had your fun. You've tricked him twice; you've snooped in his home. That's enough.

That should be enough.

But you haven’t seen his bedroom yet. Something holds you back every single time you consider it. You’ve walked by that closed door twice, knowing that solving the mystery of Joel Miller could be even closer if you just walked over the threshold.

You’re broken from these thoughts when you hear his front door open. You creep to your bedroom window, hiding in the shadows to see his tall frame pulling his jacket on, locking his front door and heading to the center of town for the film. His boots crunch the leaves underfoot as he moves and when he turns the corner you know it's time to move.

You traverse across your roof silently, cloaked in the darkness of the night. The neighborhood is mercifully quiet and you take a moment to appreciate the view. Your thankful for the still of the evening, the quiet and you glance up to see the stars dotting the sky.

Then you’re back focusing, leaping onto Joel's roof and hurriedly moving inside. You pass the familiar sights of his closed bedroom door, the creaking wood hallway leading to bathroom. The single red toothbrush that sits sadly in a fogged water glass. You jog quickly downstairs to retrieve the guitar, always in its stand by the fireplace.

It gleams in the moonlight streaming through the window, as if it’s begging you to grab it, to hide it, to play a game. You take it into your hands, always sure to be careful with it. Pulling a prank on him is one thing, willful destruction quite another.

It's your last time doing this, you've decided. So where should you hide it?

The answer comes to you almost immediately - his bedroom. The only room of his house you haven't snooped yet. The only space of his that you haven’t conquered. Excited tingles go through you as you race back up the creaking step to his bedroom, pushing the door open without ceremony before your nerves overtake you.

It's a simple box shaped room, larger but the exactly the same shape as yours, which is exactly the same as the many homes that line these streets. Joel's is much less inviting than yours though.

He has a bed near the window, tan sheets and blue coverlet. The bed is hastily made, as if he'd been in a rush to leave. There is a small nightstand next to his bed holding a pile of books. On one wall is a well built shelf holding a myriad of records, all ones you've heard him play and on the table below it is the record player.

You observe that his closet doors are half open and you pull them smoothly apart, your gaze going hungrily over the contents inside. You’re amazed at how neat and organized it is. Shirts and jackets are hung, hats on shelves, belts strung on hooks.

The familiar green plaid is hanging there dead center, reminding you of that embarrassment at the movies. Despite this your fingers go to the fabric and you find it soft with use and age. Without thinking you dip your face forward, dragging the fabric to your nose and you inhale. It smells like him, or how you imagine he smells. Like the outdoors and fresh laundry and warm cologne. Probably the cologne you saw in his bathroom during your last adventure.

You take the smooth neck of the guitar and place it gently in the far side of the closet floor, next to what looks like a beat-up tan backpack. You close the closet doors with a smile of self satisfaction, imagining what his reaction will be.

You've never actually seen Joel get upset by these pranks but one day working on your garden you did hear him complaining to Tommy over coffee that he must be getting old because he can’t remember where I put my fucking guitar.

You'd giggled yourself silly at that, trying your best not to be heard as you moved the soil under your gloves. It had tickled you immensely to know that your small inconvenience was upsetting him. You felt vindicated for the way he had treated you.

You stand in the center of his bedroom and your eyes drift back to that pile of books and you find yourself curious about what he reads. You traces the spines with your forefinger and your gaze and you're shocked when you find classics by Jane Austen and books on astronomy. You'd expected worn paperbacks of cowboys or travel.

You notice that behind this stack of books there's a framed photo of a smiling Joel and a sweet faced little girl, obviously his daughter at what looks like a carnival. You can see a waving Tommy in the distance. You’re shocked at how different Joel looks when he smiles, his dark eyes crinkling authentically, his smile broad and his face boyish. Perhaps he is sort of attractive, in a brooding way.

You notice the yellow of age in the corner of the photograph and the realization that the photo is over twenty years old. When you look closer you can see Joel is younger, his hair and beard not threaded with grey.

Knowing what that means in this dark world of carnage is what solidifies the realization that you've overstepped.

You need to leave. Fuck the prank. Fuck harassing a guy who clearly has very good reason to not like people. You were so quick to judge, so fast to make it about you when maybe, just maybe, he was just a loner who never got over the loss of his kid.

You even think about taking the guitar back to its place by the fire when you hear the distant jingle of keys hitting the lock to the front door.

What the fuck? He was supposed to be gone at least another hour!

Your heart sinks when you hear him enter his home, tossing the keys onto the kitchen table and moving quickly to the stairs.

Fuck.

Now his footsteps are on the creaking staircase coming your way. If you run for the window in the hallway he'll see you through the gaps in the banister. If you hide under the bed you'll be easily seen.

Panic overtakes you and you do the only thing you can think of and dash into the closet, sure to avoid hitting the guitar with your leg. You close the doors, leaving them open just a hair, just as he had.

You don’t want to arouse suspicion. You'll just stay here a little bit. Wait until he goes back downstairs and then try to sneak back out the window.

"The fuck?"

You hear Joel on the landing and now you realize your fatal mistake when he murmurs something else to himself and you hear the heavy sound of the window being closed.

You left the fucking window open.

He knows someone is inside.

You cover your mouth, muffling the shallow pants of terror that go through you when Joel enters the bedroom. Through the slits between the slightly parted closet doors you can just make him out. He doesn’t turn on the light in the bedroom, so everything is still bathed in a blanket of darkness tinged blue from the moon’s glow.

He’s wearing a flannel, this one tighter around the shoulder, emphasizing the muscles of his back and broad expanse of his upper body. He looks suspiciously around, his face stoic like someone on a deadly mission.

He walks past the closet, his body strong and his movement’s solid in a way that intimidates you. If he wanted he could snap you in half and not break a sweat. He scans the room before slowly dropping to his knees beside the bed, craning his head to see underneath.

When he sees it's clear he stands again and moves out of your view.

You tilt your head, trying to listen for his footfalls but hear nothing but silence. Did he go downstairs? You figure he's gone to check out the other rooms when the closet doors fly open revealing you to him.

Joel is there, his hands on either door as he looks down at your hooded frame hunched in the corner.

"I fucking knew it."

He reaches in and pulls you out of the closet by the arm of your jacket but you stumble out, wrenching out of his grip enough to run into the hallway, your heart pounding.

The window is closed. It'll take too long to open. Your best bet is to run downstairs and out the front door. You think since you're hood is still on he hasn't seen your face properly and there is a chance to make an escape.

You move swiftly down the hallway, your eyes on the nearing stairs but he's immediately there, gripping you by the back of your jacket and tugging harshly. You fall back into his arms before he’s whirled you around to face him.

You give a sharp yelp when he slams you against the nearest wall, his hand around your throat pinning you there.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His voice is loud and echoes in the barren hallway. He sounds furious, not that you're shocked. If you'd come home to a stranger hiding in your closet you likely wouldn't be elated either. You try to hide your face in the hood of your jacket, panic making you feel cold all over. If you could just-

His large hand comes to rip the hood of your head, taking with it a few loose strands of your hair. You give a hiss of pain as your scalp tingles.

You're caught.

Joel's stares down at you with fury in those dark eyes of his that fades abruptly when he recognizes you. "You live next door."

He still has you loosely pinned to the wall by the throat, but now he drops his hand, gliding it down your collar before pulling it from your body. He smooths his palm over his wavy hair, not out of nerves but more out of disbelief at seeing you of all people in his home.

"Did I hurt you?"

You stare up at him in shock. You've broken into his house and he's the one asking if you're hurt? You shake your head. The slam of your back against the wall had shocked you more than anything. He looks confused, his eyes narrowing on your face.

"How'd you get in my house? Why are you here?"

You're both breathing heavily and you can only hope he doesn't see the fear in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you sputter instead of answering him. "Just a joke, was just-"

"How did you get into my house?" He repeats though this time his voice isn't as hard, more curious.

"I j-just climbed in the window," you explain shakily pointing to the window at the end of the hall. "My roof is close enough to yours that..."

You trail off, not wanting to incriminate yourself further. He's so close to you that you can feel his warm breath falling over your cheeks.

"I've never stolen anything," you assure him just in case that's what's really upsetting him. "Never touched any of your stuff except your guitar. Just hid it a few times and I was really careful with it."

"Why were you doin' that?'

"It was just a joke," you say again weakly, though now under his severe eye line you can't understand why at one time you thought it was so amusing.

He's not responding, not replying, just staring at you with that inscrutable gaze. There is a flutter of panic starting in your belly, the realization that no one knows you’re trapped between Joel Miller and the wall. The knowledge that despite a few interactions, he remains a mystery.

"I should get back home," you whisper, trying to sidle off to the left. "My boyfriend is waiting for m-"

His palm comes to lay flat against the wall just next to you, boxing you in. Its dark in the hallway, but the moon hits you both, silhouetting you and showing you Joel’s expressive eyes.

"You live alone," Joel says with a sigh, as if your lie has disappointed him. "Have for as long as I've been here. Only company you get at your place is on Tuesday nights with that gal of yours."

You gape up at Joel, shocked at how accurate he is. Your brows furrow in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"Same reason you know I go to the movies every other week."

He's been watching you.

Just as you've been watching him. And while you know why you've been following his schedule, noting his arrivals and departures you can't understand why he would be doing the same for you. He just keeps staring at you in that intense way of his that makes you feel warm and tingly all over.

"My friend Trish-"

"No one knows you're here," Joel murmurs, his eyes moving to your mouth and then back to your eyes. His voice is so low, so velvety, so soothing despite the inherent menace in the sentence.

You swallow thickly, the sensation of fear slowly curving the length of your spine. You’re suddenly so aware about how little you know of Joel Miller. For all you know he could be a serial killer.

But that doesn't fit with how he's studying your face. He looks more open, even bordering on amused. But that can't be right, he can't stand you and now he knows you've broken into his house on more than one occasion.

"Had a feeling someone was fucking with me,' Joel observes evenly. "S'why I turned around tonight. Realized the guitar thing only happens when I'm out at the movies."

You remain silent, feeling so stupid. Why had you needed to keep going? Why didn't you just go with your gut instinct and stay home?

"I’ll go," you croak, hoping that Joel will take pity on you and just let you leave. Joel's face remains placid, his hand going to rest where your neck meets your shoulder, stopping you from leaving.

"You broke into my house," Joel says moving his eyes from your eyes back down to your mouth. "Moved my shit around. Least you could do is be polite."

Polite? What is that supposed to mean?

The meaning becomes quite obvious when you feel his heavy hand on your shoulder begin to press, moving you back to slide down the wall until you're on your knees between he and it. The wood floor bites into your denim clad knees, but you remain still.

His eyes stay on your face as realization dawn's on you. His fingertips are ghosting over your shoulder and you watch as his free hand goes to his jeans, undoing the button and bringing down the zipper. You can see his pale boxers underneath and watch his hand flexing.

Your eyes dart back up to his face, seeing the way he towers over you, his breathing elevated only slightly and his eyes fixed on yours.

Why aren't you running?

He reaches and grips your wrist in his fingers. You watch almost detached as he opens your hand with his own and slides it under the waistband of his boxers.

Why aren't you screaming?

His stomach is warm and taut, strangely smooth for a man of his vocation. You hesitate before his hand is forcing yours to continue, wrapping it tightly around his hard cock. You hold in a gasp as your palm hits it, instinctively curling.

"Like that," he murmurs gently.

He's warm and thick and under your exploratory fingers you can feel him twitch which excites as well as terrifies you. He hisses through his teeth softly as you begin to squeeze, your eyes focused on his face. His eyes never leaving yours, the full mouth dropping open as he groans.

You continue slowly, feeling the ridge of his shaft, the pulsing heat of that iron under velvety skin. He has his palm flat on the wall above your head, his forehead moves to rest in the crook of his arm as he gently shifts his hips.

You stare up at him from your spot kneeling on the floor, still in disbelief that this is happening. Usually just the sight of him walking down the same street as you is enough to send you bolting in the other direction.

But now his gaze is soft and half lidded. His mouth isn't curled into a sneer or scowl. Joel Miller is much less intimidating when he's leaning into your stroking hand.

Then with a soft grunt he bats your hand away and brings himself out of his boxers. You hide a sigh at the sight of his broad hand curling around his thick cock. You hadn’t expected beauty in him, a softness of movement inside his rigid edges.

He remains standing there unmoving and watches you stare, breathing shallowly as you drink him in. You think he must like it because you can see droplets of pre-cum gathering on the tip. It's obvious what he wants.

Your heart gallops. "I don't-"

"'Course I could just go down to the sheriff and see what they make of this break in," Joel interrupts tightly. "Whatever you'd prefer."

It's blackmail, plain and simple. And considering how the threat of being tossed into the wild with the ravenous clickers is always an option when it comes to the sheriff, you know your choices are limited.

His large hand has come to slip over the head of his cock, his hips moving to press into his fingers slowly. You seriously consider your chance of survival outside these walls survival when Joel tilts his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I think you want it," he croons, his hand continuing to stroke himself shallowly. "Think you've wanted my cock for a while now, pretty eyes. Just been afraid to ask for it."

You frown, protestations dying on your lips as you consider his words. Had a small part of you been wondering what lay beneath your neighbors rough exterior? Was that why you had been so determined to engage with him in the first place?

Wait, did he call you pretty eyes?

A steady thrum starts between your legs at that, your knees pressing into the wood floor harshly. You feel too warm in your jacket, but you don't dare move. You feel like a trapped animal trying to outwit an apex predator.

"Just a taste," Joel suggests when you don't reply, his hand moving from his cock to cup your cheek. You feel your lips parting subconsciously to take in a sharp breath as you regard him twitching inches from your mouth.

Fuck why are you even considering this? You should be screaming, running away, not on your knees and looking at Joel's hard cock with what feels like a burgeoning anticipation.

No. You're not doing this. It's fucking degrading. You barely know Joel Miller and this is- Your eyes fly open when his hand comes to grip your chin. His eyes are heavy lidded with lust, the pupils blown wide.

"Open up," he commands huskily.

When you don't immediately acquiesce you feel his thumb drag over your lower lip, curling over your bottom teeth and urging your mouth to open for him.

After a moment of consideration your jaw goes slack and you feel your heart leap when Joel gives you a ghost of a smile. There is a brief shadow and you're almost convicted you saw a dimple in his right cheek.

You don't have time to consider this because he's taken his cock in his hand again, stroking the base languidly.

"Mouth open. Tongue out."

You hesitate, wondering how far this is all going to go. He's not actually going to go through with this, is he? You open your mouth a bit, your breathing coming out in hurried puffs. The amusement has fled from his features and he narrows those dark eyes of his on you

"Tongue. Out."

The words are clipped and offer no room for negotiation. With a quiver that goes through your core, you do as instructed, slowly inching your tongue out of your mouth and letting it hang over your lower lip.

He moves slowly, but you're still shocked when his hips shift forward. You turn your head at the last minute, panic overtaking you. Joel gives a grunt and you feel the warmth of his cock pressing against your cheek having just narrowly missed your mouth.

He growls in frustration, his hand coming to grip the back of your head as he drags his cock along your cheek. You feel the pre-cum smearing along your skin to the corner of your mouth like some debauched trail of pleasure but you seal your mouth closed, a small form of rebellion.

"Don't make me ask again."

His voice is low and dangerous. If it hadn't been so intimidating you might have pointed out that he hadn't asked for anything, just demanded. But as it is you’re caught in his home, his hand is wrapped in your hair and he doesn’t look like he’s fucking around.

You tilt your jaw and again stick out your tongue. With cock still in hand, he taps the weeping head onto your flattened tongue before letting it rest there, heavy and pulsing. The salty flavor of him explodes on your tongue, the ridges of his cock pronounced on your sensitive tongue.

Your eyes crack open and move up the length of his body, noting that Joel's breathing picks up when your eyes meet his again.

Without ceremony he slips past your lips, tensing only when you let out a small cry of surprise. When you offer no other protestations his cock inches further into the slick heat of your mouth. He gives a small shudder, his head tilting back and exposing the column of his neck.

Your eyes shutter closed, your mouth working around him, confused as to why you're not fighting this more.

"You deserve this," he says through slow exhales, his hand bracing on the wall behind you. His eyes are closed so you're not sure if he's talking to you or to himself.

His hips snap forward and you whimper, feeling him inch closer to the back of your throat. One of his hands moves down to stroke your hair as he withdraws, his slick cock dragging against your lower lip. You exhale through your nose, catching your breath as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

"You can take it all," he tells you plainly.

And without another word he's thrust himself back fully into your mouth. So deep that your nose brushes against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock. You feel him hit the back of your throat and it takes everything not to gag or pull back. You have a feeling if you did he'd stop.

But you want to continue. You want to hear what other noises Joel Miller makes when he gets his cock sucked.

Does he do this often? Instruct women like he's done to you this evening? Fuck their mouths? The thought overruns your senses, imagining Joel in the throes of orgasm. Imagining that its you doing it to him. Your tongue swirls on the underside of him and you're rewarded with a shallow gasp.

Joel groans, watching your bob your head along his shaft. His hands are on either side of your jaw, guiding you along his slick member.

"I just know this is makin' you wet," Joel grunts as his hips continue to thrust forward. "Me fucking this sweet mouth of yours."

While you wish you could deny it, he's completely right. You are shocked at how wet you are. You can feel it there, pooling between your legs as you suck him.

His movements increase in tempo, the motions are abrupt and you search for purchase anywhere. Your hands go to the bottom of his t-shirt, gripping it as you urge him to bury himself completely in your mouth.

He growls as he begins to fuck your throat hard, so hard your head jerks back and presses into the wall behind you. He pins your head there and shoves his cock deeper into your throat, giving sharp moans as you whimper and writhe, knowing you can't escape. For a moment all you can feel and see is Joel's cock, slick with your saliva sliding between your lips over and over again. After a few guttural grunts and thrusts his movements slow and he lets his cock simply pulse there, your lips straining to wrap around it.

"Show me those pretty eyes," he murmurs. He doesn't need to ask you twice, you lift your gaze up the length of him, hollowing your cheeks. When your eyes finally meet Joel's you hear a sharp inhale from him.

"You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now," he says, his teeth clenching as you continue to suck him. "F-fuck, those eyes staring up at me.. Your mouth so... So full of my cock... You like it don't you? Having my cock fill your sweet mouth?"

You make a low humming noise of approval. Those words, those filthy, delicious words wrap around your insides. Now your hands are at the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft.

"So good," he grunts, his hand going to the top of your head. But instead of using it to brace you and push further into your mouth, it just rests there, almost fondly.

It's you who grips the back of his thighs, urging him down your throat. You who moans wantonly not for him but because you're so turned on you can barely function.

You suppose that's what tips him over the edge, your open desire.

Now his movements are erratic and he's fucking into your mouth so harshly you think you might faint. Not from pain but because it feels so fucking good to be used like this. So taboo to have the grouch from next door using your mouth for his pleasure. So fucking heady knowing that he’s going to come because of you.

Your hands fly back to the base of his cock, stroking him as you swivel your tongue along his shaft. He makes a sound that could almost be a whimper if it weren't so low and gravelly. He tilts his chin down, watching you.

"You want my come?" He grunts, pulling your hair back at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze to his. You nod, your mouth stuffed with him and he makes a noise in the back of his throat as he pulls out from between your lips.

"Say it.” He's visibly shuddering as he takes his cock in his hand and begins stroking.

"I want it," you whimper, your body aflame.

"What do you want?" He asks jerkily, his movements becoming staccato-ed. "You know what I wanna hear."

"Please Joel," you say; drifting forward and licking the reddened head of his straining cock. "I want your come. Please."

He licks his lower lip swiftly.

"Fuck yeah you do," he sighs almost reverently before the fist around his cock increases in speed. "You're gonna take every last drop aren't you?"

Another nod from you and now your tongue is out, flattened and ready for him as you arch. Joel makes a tortured sound in the back of his throat.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Joel whispers raggedly. "Don't you dare look away."

Your eyes open just in time to see Joel Miller come undone before you. The face normally contorted into a frown or grimace is replaced by his mouth curved into a disbelieving smile as he looks down at you, his breathing coming out in short little rasps. Then he stills and you watch him spill out over his hand.

Thick ropes of his come erupt over you, landing in warm strips along your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. His hand continues stroking, painting you with him, muttering filth that you can't really hear before he is spent.

Joel's legs tremble a moment, but grow steady as he leans against the wall with his forearm. You go to wipe your face but Joel shakes his head.

"Don't move," Joel demands breathlessly. "I.. I just need to look at you."

You sit there, your face decorated with his seed and your eyes fixed on his face for what feels like forever. He looks at you as if you are art. As if you were designed and molded to be everything he wants.

You want to bathe in the warmth of his eyes forever, but soon his breathing becomes even. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.

You sit there expectantly, unsure of what to do next. After everything that happened is-

"Get out."

You blink twice as the words sink in. You’re still kneeling there, still staring up at him when Joel pulls back, his gaze hard again. He raises a brow in irritation, a silent question of why are you still here?

Humiliated again by Joel Miller.

You hastily wipe at the cooling seed on your face with the arm of your jacket as you scramble to a stand. Your eyes go to the stairs, thinking of how you'll get back inside your place and you make a motion to go down them. His hand shoots out, holding it in front of you to stop your movement. You notice he doesn’t touch you when he does this.

"You can go the way you came," Joel says without inflection and somehow this option of escape feels like a further sting. He steps back, indicating the hallway window with a tip of his head and you move past him quickly, hot tears pricking the back of your eyes.

You pull open the window with ease, not looking behind you to see if he’s watching. You hope he’s not. You pull yourself over the sill and lower yourself onto the roof. You hate yourself for looking back over your shoulder, hoping he’ll stop you and bring you back inside.

Instead you watch as Joel brings his wide hands to the lip of the window, preparing to shut it the moment he stops speaking.

"Don't ever break into my house again."

#so real for this bc i’m breaking into the house too #THE WAY HE THREW AGAINST THE WALL HELLOOOOOOOO #me next.#now.#he needs to come be this disrespectful right to my face so i can appreciate it #he’s such an asshole #i love him dearly #10/10 would let him treat me like this #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel recs 🥃#not cm

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hotchsdoormat · 20 days

Text

Code Broken (Chapter 2) Mean!Joel x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "Keep looking at me," he insists from between your thighs. His eyes are stormy, looking up the length of your body. You don't know what penetrates you deeper, his tongue or his dark, glittering gaze.

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: Extremely dubious consent, oral sex [f receiving], Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk

word count: 5.1k

masterlist

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Chapter 2: House of the Rising Sun

Its months later, the beginning of fall in Jackson city. The homes are decorated with paper cut outs of black cats and witches. Streamers of orange and black curve around the poles of the canteen. Pumpkins are carved and placed on doorsteps in preparation for next week.

It's your favorite time of year here. The time after the oppressive heat of the summer yet before the blankets of snow that overstay their welcome a little longer each year. It's the time when you pull out your favorite knitted scarf and go for long walks within the expanse of the community.

Trish is getting married to one of the butchers in town. He's shy but quick to smile with white blonde hair that falls into his eyes.

As with most celebrations the entire community is invited and involved in some way. You're making the dress. The girls from work are joyfully putting together decorations, citing that these will be even nicer than the ones done for Tommy and Maria's wedding party. The event is still months away but you want it to be perfect. Trish means so much to you.

You have a basket overflowing with multicoloured foliage to decorate your home but when you notice a pale yellow groundsel amongst the sleeping earth you stop. You bend down and pluck the flower, marvelling at the softness of its plush petals. Under your fingertips they feel like the gentle lips of a lover.

The sudden, intrusive thought that comes with that unbidden thought causes you to scowl, crumpling the delicate flower in your fist. You drop its crushed body to the ground as you continue on your walk.

You know with the encroaching cold weather you'll have a lot to mend at the office tomorrow. Pants, jackets, curtains, blankets. You're never in need of something to do, that's for certain and you like that. You like a purpose, you like seeing people walk by in your knitted scarves or patched jeans. It gives you a satisfaction that just surviving from place to place for years never could.

You like the people you work with, they always invite you for a drink at the end of the week as if the job you all do is such a strain. As if you don't all work half a day, mending and darning around the circular table over coffee and laughter, taking turns using the sewing machine for the bigger projects.

It's at your job where you'd first met Trish who was bringing in a stack of fabric she hoped could be turned into curtains. She was one of the teachers of the younger kids, desperate to bring some color into the drab classroom she'd been given. You'd been new, shy and Trish had taken you under her wing. She had always looked out for you, always supported you.

It's why you want her wedding to be as perfect as possible. You know she would just borrow some nice dress a neighbor owns instead of getting one made by you. You know she wouldn't ask for the work you’re putting into her dress, but you do it anyway. Those extra touches mean something to you and to her.

The dress is far and above the hardest thing you've ever made. Designed it, sewn it, and cried in frustration over it.

When a pile of old lace had been brought in to the sewing room you'd squealed with delight and claimed a bit for yourself. It would be the perfect accent to the dress, only the lace is yellowed with age. You've tried a few home remedies but nothing gives it that snow white color you need. You'll need a bit of bleach.

It's that thought in mind that sets you off early the next day, your scarf wrapped loosely around your neck, your cheeks pink from the wind. You're heading for the general store before going to work, hoping you can find what you need.

The slanted wood roof comes readily into view just off the main square. You come at the start of every week to the general shop with its tall ceilings and solid shelves to see what can be salvaged for clothing or other textile needs.

Everything non perishable that gets salvaged in travels comes through the main building and sorted. Fabric, paper, soap, shoelaces just to name a few. Some of the older folks spend a few days but divvying up where each item goes - kitchen, stables, general shop.

You push the green door open, the familiar tinkle of the bell ringing overhead to announce your arrival.

"Here for fabric if any came in last week," you say with a smile to Ralph, one of the folks who mind the shop day to day. He's sitting on a stool near the side of the space reading an old paperback. He gives you a warm smile, showing off the whitest teeth you've ever seen.

"Just got a box yesterday."

He pops off his stool, the recent page of the paperback dog-eared for later reading. Looking at the yellowed pages you think back to the lace soaking in your sink at home.

"Oh and bleach if you have any extra. Just a little."

Bleach is a hot commodity here, used for everything from cleaning to drinking water if there's a need for it. But Ralph knows you wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.

"Might have a small container of it in the back. Gimme a second."

Your eyes drift to the back of the shop as he says this. "I'll browse for a bit, then."

"New ones in the lower right," he laughs while he heads to the storage in the back room, calling out to you from the space. "Lucky you came today, had a few people asking for extra fabric for the kids costumes last week."

"Really?" you ask, but you're not really listening to his reply. Your eyes are already going to the back of the shop that leads into the little lending library.

It's modest, barely bigger than an elevator but its shelves go to the ceiling and are weighted down with books. You've read almost all of them. This space is where books come to live, be read, returned, traded. It's one of your favorite places in your small world.

You step into this sanctum, greeted by the scent of aged pages and feel your heart skip a beat. It always feels so good to be here, to be surrounded by so many topics and worlds. These are world's you'll only see in the written word, a world with no outbreak, a world bigger than Jackson City.

Ralph asks you about your plans for today as you browse and you answer distractedly, dropping to a knee when you see a book you've never seen before in the lower right, just like Ralph said.

Jane Eyre.

You skim the back and read the summary: haunted mansions, an orphaned heroine, a brooding romantic lead? You decide this will be a good read for tonight in front of the fire.

You right yourself as the tinkle of the shop door sounds behind you. Something in the air changes, an electricity that you can't explain. It's like the world expands and contracts all at once and then suddenly you just know.

It's him.

"Morning Joel," Ralph says cheerfully.

"Mornin'."

The rumble of his voice is unmistakable. You'd know it even if you hadn't heard his name. That low rasp of Texas twang in the richness of his timbre. Your pulse skyrockets, the world growing quiet under the sound of your heartbeat.

Immediately you're moving to the far shelves, ducking your head and trying to regulate your breathing. Boxes are stacked at one end, meaning the odds of him sneaking up on you are minimal.

"Need help finding anything?" Ralph asks helpfully.

"Nah," Joel replies in that quiet, even way of his. "I know where the shampoo is."

His boots shuffle over the grainy floor, slow and deliberate. You haven't seen him yet which means he hasn't seen you. There's a chance you can just slip out unnoticed. You place the book on the shelf next to you beside the canned peaches. You'll come back for it tomorrow. Right now you need to get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

Despite living next door to him, in the past few months you've managed to stay off Joel's radar. After that horrible experience in his house you've gone to great lengths to avoid him. You go early to work during the week, you don't go to the movie nights anymore, you'd never been a big rider but now you don't even go near the stables.

Sometimes you might see him in the crowd during a meal but you're always able to avoid him, to duck away before his cold eyes land on you.

But here now? There are three of you in the shop. It's still early, most folks aren't even at their jobs yet.

You see the top of Joel's head over the shelving, his dark waves gliding until he finds what he's looking for in the hair care section. You catch yourself thinking of his hands massaging the shampoo into his scalp, his head tilted back under the water of the shower, rivulets of ---

Stop it.

"Here ya go," Ralph calls your name from the front of the shop. "All packed and ready to go."

You see Joel's head snap in your direction as your called and you press your forehead against the cool shelf in frustration. So much for getting out unseen. You take a beat, gathering your courage and your focus.

It's simple. Joel's on the other side of the shop. You'll just dart over to Ralph, grab the bag and go back to work. It's simple. You'll be fine. You won't look back.

Then you see it out of your peripherals.

Two dark brown boots stopping at the end of your aisle with a gentle scrape. You can't go backwards, the boxes behind you form a cardboard wall. The only way out is through, past the man with the wide shoulders and strong hands. Past the man who gave you so much only to immediately take it away.

He hasn't moved, hasn't said anything. You don't dare make eye contact with him. Your face flushes red, your head ducking as you shoulder past him. He makes no attempt to stand or shift back so it's easier for you. He just takes up space at the end of that aisle and you can feel him watching you maneuver past him, desperate not to touch him.

He lets you pass without issue. You think you're safe until you feel the back of his hand brushing your knuckles as you pass by. It's gentle, a ghost of a touch. You're not even sure it happened; a part of you is convinced you imagined it. But you don't slow, you don't look back, don't want to see if he's watching you.

You don't care even if he is.

Fuck him.

You mumble a thanks to Ralph, taking the heavy bag swiftly and rushing out of the shop. You're only steps away when you hear the door to the shop tinkle open and Joel's voice calling you by name.

You instinctively pause in the street, your eyes blown wide at the gravelled sound. But you don't turn to face him; you don't even tilt your head to show you've heard. But he knows you have all the same, his distinctive footfalls coming in your direction until he's standing front of you. Your eyes remain on the ground, on his boots.

He says your name again, this time softly. You didn't even realize he knew it. You refuse to look him in the eyes and decide his chin will do. He's so close you can see the spot he missed shaving just under his jaw.

He extends his full hand. "You forgot this."

You look down to see Jane Eyre, the book you'd been about to purchase, the one next to the peaches in his grip. How had he known it was yours? Your eyes swim over the cover before glancing back to his chin.

You have so much you want to say to him and none of it is kind. You want to scream at him for treating you so poorly. Want to punch him across the jaw for calling you pretty eyes and making you believe it. You want to shove and berate him until he confesses why he did it, why he went warm and then turned so cold. But you know you won't because there's a large chance you don't want to hear the answer.

He hates you. He was using you. He was fucking with you after you fucked with him.

Your hair stirs in the wind, twisting and knotting in it. You say nothing when Joel's right hand comes to touch a wayward strand, smoothing it between his fingers and if testing it. The shock of his nearness is broken by this gentle action and you take a large step backwards, your hair jerking out from between his fingers.

"That's not mine," you mumble motioning to the book.

Before he can say anything else you've turned and jogged off in the direction of your job, your heart smacking harshly against your ribs with each step.

///

In your house that evening with lace soaking in the bleach solution you pull on a sweater and pour yourself a cup of tea. When the tea is prepared you go to the fire with your teacup and a distant look on your face. You wish you had that new book but grab something else from your shelf instead.

It's the photo album, the one non necessity your mother brought with you from place to place. The only sentimental item that shows there was a time when the world wasn't on fire.

When you first got to Jackson city you looked at it every night. You spoke aloud to your favorite photograph of your mother, the one where she's laughing at the beach while the two of you build a sandcastle.

Now that it's been a few years since you arrived here you only look at it once in a while. It used to make you happy and bring you comfort when you first got here. Now when you look at the photos of your childhood all you can feel is robbed.

No prom. No college. No career as a graphic designer. No sweet sixteen party like the one you'd been planning when the world went to shit.

The day you'd come home from school to see your neighbor writhing in her front yard, tendrils peeking out of her mouth and straining for sunlight. That had been the day your mom had packed you up and . . .

You don't like to think about it. You thumb through the photos until you get to the second to last grainy image. The photograph that brings tears to your eyes and a pounding of your heart.

You close the album.

You drain your teacup; shuffle to put it in the sink. You peek at the partially submerged lace and smile. The bleach solution worked perfectly. The lace, once yellowed with age is now a beautiful white. It'll look perfect on what you've done so far with the dress.

You rinse the lace before placing it into a bowl of lukewarm water to sit in overnight and then head upstairs feeling warm but not contented.

You get to the bedroom and change into your nightdress, yawning. You feel strange, keyed up. Today has you feeling off kilter and you know it's because of your interaction with Joel Miller this morning.

You glance at the window that faces his house. It's propped open slightly to let the breeze in. You like the crisp air of Jackson city at this time of year. There is music playing faintly, The House of the Rising Sun. You draw slowly over to the window, bathed in the blue of the light. A cursory glanced tells you all the lights are off in Joel's home. He’s either asleep without turning off his record player or he’s out and left it on by accident. You’d bet money on the former.

You go to close the window when your eyes fall to something placed on the ledge of the windowsill. Your heart hammers when you realize what it is.

Jane Eyre.

The book you'd left with Joel Miller.

You frown, gripping the book and righting yourself. Still frowning you crawl under the sheets, your eyes scanning the book’s cover but not really paying attention. Joel obviously did this. Was it a message? A warning that he could enter your home at any time? Was it an apology for how he treated you?

You turn off the light, falling into a restless sleep.

Its hours later when you sense something isn't right.

There is a creak behind you and a hand is over your mouth, stilling and silencing you. Immediately you panic, flailing under the bed sheets.

"Don't scream."

Its him.

You know that if his hand wasn't over your mouth you would be. You'd be screaming shrilly in his face trying to wrench free of his grip. As it is, now that you know it's him you feel the panic subside, but only minutely.

"Don’t scream,” he repeats.

You nod, staring up at him in the darkness. He removes his large hand then he steps back, still staring down at you. You stare at him for what feels like an eternity before speaking.

"What are you doing here? In my room?"

"Fair is fair," Joel counters placidly. "You broke into my place, I break into yours."

You don't know what to say to that. This whole situation is so surreal. Joel is in your bedroom, standing at the side of your bed staring down at you with that familiar, heavy gaze. His frown deepens but his irises remain unreadable in the shadows.

“Why’d you run from me this mornin’?”

You sigh, rising to a seated position in the bed, bringing the blanket up with you. You never take your eyes off Joel as you do this, and he doesn't hide the way his eyes are sliding along your body.

You motion for him to take a seat on the edge of your bed, near your feet. Instead he comes closer, sitting inches away from your hip with his right leg crooked in your direction. The bed creaks under him and you glance down at his knee, so close to you. The coverlet of your bed, a delicate pale blue, is a stark contrast against the dark stonewash of his jeans. Your eyes move from his knee back to his face.

He's waiting for you to explain with his brows raised. You swallow finding your mouth impossibly dry. After a beat you manage a shaky reply, a half shrug.

“I dunno.”

There is a cleave between you, as wide a chasm if it physically existed. You hold tight to the blankets, not releasing them. You stare at your fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

“You do so.”

He leaves the words hanging there in the semi darkness.

You make a gentle sound of surprise when his hand tugs the blanket down out of your hands. His eyes drink you in, shivering in your nightdress. Is it from the chill or from Joel's gaze? You're not sure.

"The way . . . Last time," you utter quietly. The shame of that last interlude is still a stain on your mind, a humiliation you've replayed a thousand times. "Why?"

"I couldn't control myself," Joel explains without hesitation, his gaze dipping to the collar of your nightgown. "Just like I don't think I can control myself now."

You absolutely loathe the thrill that goes through you at those words. You despise that the low rasp of his voice and the soulful eyes combine to make your entire body throb. You wonder if Joel can tell, if he can sense the way your pulse has started tripping into a gallop.

But you need to say it. Need to explain that it wasn't okay how things ended last time. You keep your eyes on the blanket between you.

"You made me feel," you search for the words, glancing from him so you can think clearly. "Used."

There is a pause, a clearing of his throat. His voice drops a bit.

"I'm not a good man."

If you thought he was looking for sympathy that belief is erased when you look to see his challenging gaze fixed on you.

You search his face, looking for doubt or for pain or for something he's trying to hide and you see it all there barely hidden in his eyes. You muse that one day you'll learn more of his secrets, but for now you're content to wait.

You'll wait for his secrets, but not for his touch. You move up onto your palms and with a short crawl you close the gap between you. He sits still, watching you approach in measured breaths.

You press your lips to the side of his neck, knowing that kissing his mouth would ruin you. It would make it so much harder if Joel turns cold again. Instead you'll enjoy the quiet groan it elicits from him vibrating against your lips.

You move back, looking at him from under your hair in a way you hope communicates that he has permission to continue. There is a moment where he looks unsure, as if he’s fighting an inner battle. But then with a low growl he pushes forward, crawling over you and pressing you back until you're lying under him, your knees pressing into his sides. His body is heavy on yours but you don't want it any other way.

He's kissing your throat, wild open mouthed things that make you keen. His hips grind against yours as he kisses and nibbles. You feel the bulge grow in his jeans and this makes you groanw wantonly. When one large hand goes to cup your breast through your flimsy nightgown you whimper.

Then he's stopped, holding himself above you and breathing raggedly.

"I'm not a good man," Joel repeats. And now you see the hesitation in his eyes, in the way he looks at you.

You take his hand, still wrapped around your breast and slide it downward. He lets you do this silently, allowing you to move his wide palm down over your tummy, your pelvis and then finally . . . Over the soaking gusset of your panties.

"I don't need you to be good," you sigh.

This is all the encouragement he needs. His hand jerks your panties to the side, so desperate to continue touching you his finger begins sliding along your damp slit. It’s a short tease. You hiss as one of his fingers curls inside your cunt abruptly, the slick allowing him to slide in with ease. You jolt at the intrusion, your fingers flexing into his shoulders.

He stares down at you, your eyes creaking open to watch him. His face is neutral save for the way his dark eyes stay on your mouth. His fingers curl, coax, pleasure. His thumb taps your swollen bud and you give a strangled whimper. It feels so fucking good.

Your hand is at his belt buckle, preparing to undo it when his free hand bats yours away.

"We've done enough for me," Joel murmurs as his hands go to the waist of your panties, dragging them down slowly. They glide over your legs, the fabric leaving goosebumps in its wake as it trails down your body and is then tossed onto the floor.

You're lying back on your elbows watching this when he pushes you back into the bed. He follows you, kissing your collar with a dizzying softness. You arch as his mouth moves down your body, his hands teasing and grazing you everywhere until you feel about to unravel.

You give a ragged breath as he kisses you, just below your navel. Your skin twitches at the sensation of his facial hair rasping against the smooth flesh of your abdomen before he pulls back. Your eyes crack open to see he’s still fully dressed, not even palming himself through his jeans.

Instead he’s gripping your ankles and with a soft pull he brings you to the edge of the bed before he moves between the vee off your thighs. His eyes linger along your lower half, a tongue coming to trail the seam of his lips. His intent is clear. He's not going to stop at kissing your belly.

You draw your knees together, anxious. You're nervous. You know what he wants but you've never had a man do this before. You don't know what to expect and Joel seems to sense your hesitation. Much like your first time he's serious, all business. Warm calloused hands are on both your knees.

"Open for me."

It seems he feels most comfortable when he's in control giving orders. You can imagine that's how he survived outside the walls of Jackson City.

The blunted tips of his fingers dig into your flesh, a silent way to prompt you. You'll feel so exposed like that though, in front of Joel Miller of all people. He's so serious, so intimidating. And he's looking down at you as if he wants to consume you whole.

"Open."

His voice is a low purr, and his fingertips start to move in slow circles over your kneecap, gentle and stirring. You know you're absolutely soaked, probably dripping onto the blanket under you.

You swallow before you allow your thighs to fall open for him. His eyes dart down to your slick cunt, the trembling of your body, the way you're looking up at him with a look of fear and deep need.

You aren't expecting the almost pained look that crosses his serious features, the slack of his mouth as he hits his knees on the wood floor beside the bed.

"Fuck," Joel moans, his hands coming to grip the blanket on either side of you. "I need a taste."

Without ceremony he's gripping your thighs and moved his mouth between your legs, a flat tongue slipping between your slit. Immediately you arch back, the sensation fucking divine. Your head hits the pillow so quickly you see stars.

He holds fast to you, even when you begin to wriggle. He’s making soft groaning noises, kissing you, licking you there. You feel helpless to stop from opening your eyes and looking down the length of your body. The sight of Joel Miller between your thighs makes you moan,

You aren’t expecting Joel’s eyes to be open, fixed on your face as he tastes you. You expect him to look away, caught, but he doesn’t. If anything his gaze pierces you and he begins fucking you with his tongue. You had no idea it was possible.

You wish you could say you held out, that you were in control. But soon, too soon, you feel the warmth in your lower belly start to spread. As if he can sense it, Joel's mouth drags from your cunt to begin pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs.

You give a sound that is both pleading and desperate. Joel lets out of soft rumbling chuckle that you can feel grazing against your cunt.

"So impatient," he rumbles, huffing warm air against your exposed clit.

You let out a shuddering exhale. He's holding you with one arm over your abdomen; the second snaking is way between your thighs. His fingers comes to circle your clit as his lips move back between your legs, working together to bring you to the edge. Your head falls back sharply and you try to hold yourself back from bucking into Joel's greedy mouth.

"Keep looking at me," he insists from between your thighs. His eyes are stormy, looking up the length of your body as he tastes you. You don't know what penetrates you deeper, his tongue or his dark, glittering gaze.

"That's she is" he croons, his lips pressing sweet open mouthed kisses to your cunt. His fingers are removed and now it’s just him, his talented mouth pulling you deeper into the pleasure you can’t hide from. But it’s almost too much, the pleasure frightening you and you move to inch back from him.

His grip is steel and instead of his arm banding across your waist, he moves to your hips, holding you in place. His tongue is flicking now, causing choked noises to emit from you. Your entire body is trembling, and now Joel’s tongue laves your swollen clit.

"Give it to me," Joel groans. "I need it."

You arch up off the bed, your hands groping the blanket for purchase. You can feel yourself rocking into his mouth, your fists holding tight to the blanket on either side of you as you begin to give short, rasping cries as you stare at him.

"Give into it," Joel demands. "Come on my fucking tongue, pretty eyes."

Pretty eyes.

There it is.

You feel a cascading pleasure move through your limbs like water. Subtle at first, but then it spreads so quickly, so different than orgasms you’ve ever experienced. More potent, flooding the length of your body. The sensation is so overwhelming that you jerk at the waist, a loud wail of release echoing within your bedroom as you tremor against Joel’s waiting mouth.

You fall back, your eyes on the ceiling as you come down from your high breathing raggedly. You feel Joel’s warm hands slide down your waist, dragging along your legs until they reach your ankles. That's where they lift off, the warmth of his touch gone. Normally you would raise up, you would make some attempt at conversation. But this is Joel Miller and something tells you he doesn't care for it.

You know he won’t say goodbye. He won’t even acknowledge that he’s made you come so spectacularly you’re ruined for any future encounter. But when you finally raise your head and see your empty room you don’t feel as alone.

The book, Jane Eyre, sits on your side table.

#the book would’ve had me cooked #like i would’ve signed my life away to him for that one thing #expectations are criminally low when it comes to a man that fine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel recs 🥃#not cm

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hotchsdoormat · 20 days

Text

Code Broken (Part 3/5) mean!Joel x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni

summary: "And I wanna give it to you," Joel says huskily. "Wanna give you everything. But no more trying to stop me. No more pretending like you don't want this. 'cuz we both see how much you do."

You only wanted to pull a silly prank on your neighbor, Joel. Who could have seen it ending up like this?

[AU where Joel Miller ends up in Jackson City by himself.]

warnings/tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, Extremely dubious consent, unprotected p in v, fingering, coercion (kinda), Joel is bad at feelings, Mean Joel, Dirty Talk, infidelity, nicknames (pretty eyes)

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

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The chill of early December has settled over Jackson city in a way that feels cozy despite the cool temperature. It’s the time of year when colorful lights are strung, homes blanketed in snow looking like something out of an old postcard.

The Tipsy Bison is packed when you arrive. It usually is in the colder months when the days feel more oppressive and darker for longer. It boasts a humble catalogue of booze, dart boards and circular tables to play cards at or just relax. You shrug off your coat as you join Trish and your new friend Markus at one of the tables

Trish is talking to him about her wedding being moved to August. She's been talking nonstop about it and you don't blame her. In this new world there's so little to be overjoyed about. Markus listens with interest, expressing surprise that she wants to postpone the wedding.

"I always wanted a summer wedding," she says blushing prettily. "And I figure why rush?"

Markus is new to the colony. Dark hair and light eyes and the slightest New England accent. He works in the Jackson city stables, a confident rider who used to work on his family's farm.

He fell into your friend group the same way you had all those years ago: Trish taking you under her wing. You and Markus are both shy, both not quite sure what to say to one another when Trish isn't around. She's the glue that holds your group together.

Right now she's regaling you both with an amusing story about one of the kids at the school she teaches.

You dart a glance at Markus, amused to see the affection he's shooting at Trish from behind his beer glass. It's obvious he has a crush on her and you don't blame him. She's funny and sweet and caring. There's a reason you care so deeply for her.

You should be listening to your friend but instead your eyes are across the crowded room fixed on a figure you've come to recognize as both your punishment and pleasure: Joel Miller.

Only he isn't alone. Hasn't been for over month now. Now at his side sits a statuesque woman laughing lightly with Tommy who sits opposite she and Joel.

Her name is Tess. She came to Jackson City a month and a half ago. You'd heard about everything from Trish who had been in the when she walked through the doors of Jackson city.

She's a beautiful woman in her late forties with wide blue eyes, a kind smile and the kind of rough mannerisms that were to be expected for anyone who'd lived in a QZ long enough.

She is smiling at something Joel is saying to Tommy, her focus on the drink in front of her. You watch with a twist in your stomach as she squeezes Joel's arm with casual affection.

Joel doesn't pull away. He actually shoots Tess a shy smile that makes your breath hitch.

You watch as Tess and Tommy start chatting, Joel's focus not with them. As if he senses your gaze on him Joel's gaze swims in your direction. Your own eyes have sharply darted away, back to the still talking Trish.

You haven't told anyone what happened with you and Joel. Not even her. Sometimes the guilt of that silence consumes you, but you're able to justify it. It's not like it's a relationship, it's not like it's anything other than two isolated incidents.

Markus offers to get the drinks and before either of you can stop him he's started loping over to the bar, moving past Joel and Tess. You and Trish watch him move and your friend watches as Tess and Joel exchange a smile.

"I still can't believe that grumpy bastard has a girlfriend," Trish whispers with a grin in your direction.

Neither can you.

Apparently Tess and Joel had known each other back in their old QZ, had travelled together and separated after a raid had gone sour which ended with her wanting to partner with the fireflies and Joel wanting to find Tommy.

"They look so natural together though," Trish reflects. "It's nice they have each other."

You hate the twisting that starts in your stomach at that. Hate the jealousy that threatens to spill into every part of you.

Joel isn't yours and you aren't his by any stretch of the imagination. Two clandestine meetings that both ended with you sleeping alone afterwards. The second had made living next to Joel bearable though.

You no longer hide in your home paranoid he would be outside the same time as you. No longer terrified if you both attended movie night. But that didn't mean you were comfortable with him. It didn't mean anything more than a polite nod if you met eyes in public.

"Have you spoken with her yet?" Trish asks with a curiosity that's clear across her freckled face. "Tess?"

You have.

Quite by accident when she came into the textile room asking if her jeans could be patched. You were the only one there at the time and she had been so unassuming in her green flannel and nervous glance in your direction that you had smiled brightly and assured her you could.

You took the jeans from her, bringing them over to an open table full of old fabric. She followed you there and asked if she could wait while you fixed up her jeans.

"Of course."

You'd nodded, your eyes going to the sewing supplies. She was obviously new to the community, still amazed at everything she came upon.

"You look familiar. You're on Rancher Street, right?" At your nod a small smile spread across her features. "I thought so."

It wasn't until she sat down and introduced herself as "Tess your new neighbor" that the shoe had dropped.

Suddenly the green plaid she wore seemed more vivid in your mind as you realized: it was Joel's.

The conversation had grown stilted after that. You weren't sure how to comprehend that you were talking to the woman who captured the heart of the enigma next door. Weren't sure why this ugly jealousy was running through your veins when you had no claim on him yourself.

She'd been friendly talking about her time in the QZ. She'd mentioned Joel and must have noticed the way you bristled because she'd leaned forward with an earnest look on face.

"I know Joel can be a bit . . . temperamental," she'd offered. "But I promise under all that he's a teddy bear."

You'd had to hold in a scoff at that. She'd left not even five minutes later with the jeans in hand.

Tess moved into Joel's place next to yours. She tries to invite you over for drinks at least once a week and you come up with feeble excuses every time.

You don't want to see it. Don't want to witness Joel and this woman who makes him soft and sweet. You don't want to sit in the same house he fucked your mouth and pretend like he's a stranger to you.

He is a stranger of course, but in a different sort of way.

Sometimes you hear them having sex. Not as often as you would have assumed. It's never obnoxious, never over the top. Just for them, no one else. But if their window is open you can hear it, the low moans and the rhythmic creak of the bed.

"Here we are."

You gratefully accept the beers pushed towards you and Trish by Markus, your brows rising when Trish shakes her head and looks up at Markus bashfully.

"I tried to tell you when you went up, only water for me."

There is a pause and then realization hits you, almost knocking the wind from you when Trish flashes you a bright smile.

"Congrats," you croak before coming around the table to embrace her. "When?"

"June." Trish looks down at her still flat belly. "

You feel as if your world is growing unsteady. Not the Trish wouldn't make the most fantastic parent, and not that her fiancé Cliff wouldn't make an amazing father. It's more the selfish realization that your friend will be a mother. The frightening realization that her focus will be elsewhere, on her new family.

The thing that it always made you feel close to Trish was the feeling that you were each other's family. Knowing that this one no longer be the case makes your stomach ache.

You feel left behind as you look around the bar to see happy couples, partners. Joel and Tess are sailing into your view as you make this assessment, their shoulders pressing against one another.

"I just hope the dress still fits after I give birth," Trish laughs. You grin with a roll of your eyes knowing that even if she didn't you'd fix it for her without question.

Markus is nursing his beer bottle looking unusually down in the mouth. You make a mental note to talk to him about it. You'd assumed how he felt about Trish was a harmless crush. But seeing his face now you wonder how deep his affection lies.

"How about some darts ---" Trish is offering but you're shaking your head and pulling on your jacket.

"I'm sorry, normally I would but I'm so tired," you lie, trying to sound casual. "How about tomorrow night you guys come to mine and we celebrate properly? Trish, bring Cliff. He needs to be properly congratulated too!"

Trish and Markus are enthusiastic about this plan and you agree that tomorrow evening will be a blast. You move through the crowded bar, your eyes fixed on the door which is starting to wave and warp as tears start flooding your eyes.

You make it outside, the sound of the bar dimming behind you as the door closes. You move to the far side of the building, leaning against it. You're thankful for the hour and the darkness. The streets are empty and the snowy ground muffles your soft cries.

The tears arrive, slipping down your face and freezing in the chill of the night. You take a moment to breathe; the crisp air flooding your lungs when you hear the door opening, letting the bar sounds escape before closing again. You quickly wipe at your face, hoping it's not someone you know who's just exited.

"You okay?"

Joel Miller walks slowly towards you. He's wearing a dark tan jacket with his hands thrust into the pockets.

He looks good, impossibly good, and for some reason that makes you absolutely furious. You cross your arms over your chest, hoping you don't look as pathetic as you feel. Joel keeps walking towards you, his boots crunching over the snow as he approaches.

"You looked like you were crying back there," Joel says, nonplussed by your silent vitriol. "Were you?"

"Why pretend like you care? We both know you can barely stand me," you manage to choke out, sniffling loudly and looking at your boots.

Joel stills and frowns hard at you. "How d'ya figure that?"

You pull your jacket hood up, your breath freezing in the air in front of you.

"Oh I dunno, just every interaction we've ever had . . . "

You trail off, your palms raised helplessly.

He's standing there waiting for you to explain further. His hair is tousled by the wind, making him appear more boyish and less intimidating. You suppose this and your irritation is what prompts your honesty.

"You know the first time we ever spoke I told you that you played the guitar well. Asked you if it was Fleetwood Mac, remember?" Your eyes angrily search his. "And you've been a bastard to me ever since."

For the first time since you've met him, Joel Miller looks unsure of himself. His eyes crane away from you a beat before returning.

"I don't like playin' in front of people," Joel finally explains in a quiet rasp. "Didn't know you'd heard me."

You stare at him in shock because Joel Miller seems embarrassed. For some reason you can't imagine Joel feeling anything other than powerful. Not just because of his broad shoulders and strong legs. But because of that quiet confidence he carries with him like a shadow.

Embolden by this unexpected show of vulnerability by Joel you continue, taking a step towards him.

"What about the movies?"

"The movies?"

Joel looks perplexed by your inquiry, his eyes drifting as he recalls the incident and then nodding when he understands your reference motioning back towards the bar.

"It was packed. You and that friend of yours needed seats together."

His answer is brief and to the point, just like him. But you're not satisfied at all with this explanation, your mind flying back to all those months ago, the night you'd felt so offended. Something is niggling at the back of your mind.

"But you were so mad," you prod.

He exhales lightly and you wonder if you've offended him. He speaks slowly, evenly, his eyes drifting over your face.

"Do you remember what you were wearing that night?"

This wasn't the answer you'd expected and your brain staggers to re frame. You frown, trying to think back to that night.

"No."

"Dress," Joel states simply. "Yellow with little flowers. You could see your tits through the fabric, hard nipples 'n all."

You think back to that evening and recall it had been a hot summer night. The dress had been one of your favorites, handmade with fabric brought into town. The top was tight and you'd decided a bra was unnecessary.

But why would Joel be upset by that? You watch as Joel inhales sharply at the memory, the fingers of his right hand twitching at his side. He can see the question in your eyes and continues.

"You kept bumping into me, your skin all smooth." You watch Joel swallow, his lean neck bobbing. "I couldn't stay there beside you the whole movie. Not when you looked like that. Not when all I could think about was fucking you."

The words send a stab of pleasurable lightning down your core. Without thinking you let out the softest sigh at the sensation.

"I was mad at myself for wantin' you so bad. Wanted to punish you for makin’ me want you."

“That’s horrible.”

“I told you that night, I’m not a good man.”

Something in Joel's eyes darkens and he takes a step towards you. You know that if he touches you its game over.

"I should go," you blurt, moving backwards. Your boots crunch over the snow as you retreat. "Hope you and Tess have a good night."

The energy shifts immediately and Joel's eyes go back to that cool, guarded look that you recognize so well. He gives a sharp nod before moving back to the bar.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning you decide to see if you can get a few extra supplies for tonight. Just a small jug of wine and perhaps a few slices of meat and cheese for a food platter.

You're out the door, thinking about what to say to Markus when a husky female voice reaches out to you.

"Hey there, any chance you have any peas? The commissary is out and I really wanna make pea soup."

You pause wrapping the scarf around your neck at the sound of her voice. Tess is at the fence separating your properties wearing jeans and a dark green jacket.

She looks strangely vulnerable standing there looking expectantly at you. Instinctively you want to ignore her or lie. But you know that's unfair, that she's done nothing wrong.

"I do, actually. Come inside"

Hours later in bed you wondered why you had asked her in, been so ready to invite a complete stranger into your home. You think it must be because of Trish and the baby. You know your one true friend will be taken from you, busy with her new life.

Maybe you'd been hoping to make a new friend, a new relationship. Maybe you feared being lonely. Maybe you wanted some pathetic connection with Joel.

Whatever the reason had been, Tess gratefully accepts, following you into your house.

"I have some leeks too," you offer after passing her the can of peas from your cupboard. "Might be nice in the soup."

Tess watches you carefully, as if she still isn't used to this ready kindness. She extends her hand, plucking the shoots from your outstretched hand.

She raises the bundle to her nose, inhaling deeply, a grin cracking over her face at this.

"Fuck, I used to hate vegetables when I was a kid. Mom had to force me to eat 'em." She gives a serene smile, looking at the green shoots in her hand with affection. "Now? Holding these? Can't remember the last time I've seen something so beautiful."

You nod, thinking back to your first week at Jackson city and knowing exactly what she meant. Shocked at the small luxuries.

"It's how I felt about the movie nights," you mused. "And the popcorn."

"Almost feels normal," she replies with that same small smile. "Almost."

She leaves with your supplies a few moments later after unsuccessfully trying to convince you to come over to their place for dinner.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Trish is laughing, tilting her forehead into Cliff's shoulder as she throws her card hand down onto the table.

"I'm out."

You've been at your place for hours drinking and playing cards. You hope it's enough to make up for your rapid escape the other night.

"I'm never winning a hand," Cliff days, his cheeks are pink from the booze and the laughter. "Y'all are cheats."

Markus is watching you all from behind his glass, frowning slightly when you turn up the cards in the center of the table.

You give a loud crow of excitement as you realize you've won the hand. You fist pump the air.

"Fuck," Markus spits, throwing down his cards with a scowl.

You joyfully pull the lentils you're using as currency towards you into a messy little pile.

Trish tries to hide her yawn behind her wrist but you catch it and raise an amused eyebrow.

"Not even the second trimester and I'm already exhausted," she says. "Scared to think what the third trimester will bring."

"Time to get you home," Cliff growls into Trish's neck, his hands skimming over Trish's body as she squeals.

"Cliff!"

You watch Markus shove his chair back and exit the table, murmuring about the bathroom.

You and the couple across from you stand, the evening drawing to an obvious close.

"Thanks for having us," Cliff says with a slur. "Better take advantage. After the baby gets here I don't know if we'll be leaving the house often."

He and Trish exchange warm smiles but you feel like you've swallowed a stone. The couple pulls on their jackets, Cliff swaying drunkenly.

"I meant to ask, is Tess nice?" Trish's asks, jerking her head in the direction of the house next door.

"Yeah," you shrug nodding. "A bit shy, maybe."

You don't expand on that, and Trish is so busy making sure Cliff doesn't topple over that she doesn't ask more.

"See you at the movie," Trish says pressing her lips to your cheek. "I think they're playing a western."

You wave at them as they make their way out your front door into the cold, dark night.

Curious at the lack of Markus' presence, you go through your home, travelling up to your bedroom when the other spaces prove empty.

You're surprised when you find Markus in your room, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other trailing over some of your books on the shelves. He turns when he hears the floorboards creak.

"Sorry I just had to.... I needed some space," Markus explains with a stammer. "I'll go ---"

"its fine," you assure him with a wave of your hand. "You want another beer?"

Markus shakes his head looking miserable. You step further into the bedroom, your eyes following his form as he goes back to your books.

"You okay?" You venture softly. "You seemed off tonight."

"I just..." Markus shrugs. He doesn't continue and he doesn't have to. You know why he's upset.

"I know," you finish for him, not wanting to embarrass him, you step towards him. "I have a similar... Issue."

Markus turns, looking at you with surprise. His cheeks are pink with embarrassment. "Really?"

"Yeah." You nod sharply. "And he's with someone too, someone great, so I get it."

"I just ... want her so badly," Markus forces the words from his mouth. You can tell he's both relieved and humiliated at sharing this with you.

You feel such sympathy for him that you can't help but reach out a tender hand to his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Markus. I know how badly it hurts. Trust me."

His light eyes jump to your face in shock at the contact. Without warning he launches his face towards you. He kisses you needful, his teeth clacking against yours as he moves his mouth to yours.

You pull back in shock, your eyes blown wide. Markus does the same, regret etched over his features. He swears before throwing himself into the chair in front of your window. He looks absolutely devastated.

"I'm so sorry," he says rubbing at his face. "That was so --"

"It's fine," you insist though you're not quite sure what to do. Markus is perfectly fine and perfectly attractive. But his kisses, his touch mean nothing.

No, not nothing. They feel like a betrayal.

As if your thoughts are spoken out loud, a light in the house across from you flicks on, illuminating the narrow upper window.

Your eyes are on Markus' face, but you can see out of your peripherals that is Joel. He's in the bathroom, looking like he's about to brush his teeth.

He's not yours. There is no betrayal.

Joel doesn't see you, but just the knowledge that he's there, so close, makes your body tingle.

"More than fine," you finally murmur from above Markus.

His light eyes shine up at you. "Really?"

Never breaking eye contact you hook your fingers into your jeans and bring sure m them down your legs. They pool at your feet and you step out of them.

You secretly hope Joel is watching you as you put in this little show. A vindictive thread is going through you.

Fuck Joel Miller.

You let you palm slide downwards under the band of your panties until you're cupping your sex. It's perfunctory and quick but that's how you want it.

You give a sensual smirk in Markus direction.

"Really."

At this you slip a finger inside your cunt, not surprised to find you're already soaked. You slide a finger over your aching clit and shudder at the pleasure that goes through you.

Markus grunts as his fingers hurriedly go to the fly of his jeans. You remove your hand from your panties as Markus pulls down his jeans and boxers. His cock springs out, pulsing and warm when you trace a finger along the tip, coating it with your slick.

He lets out a small groan as you do this and you smile as he pulls you by the waist towards him. He's impatient, quick and needy. You let him because it feels good, because his desire for you makes you feel less alone.

Your eyes subtly venture over to Joel's house. You didn't even mean to do it, your gaze is just drawn there. You expect darkness and still in the night.

You're not prepared to see Joel standing there framed in the narrow window, but he is. He's turned off the light, so he's barely visible. If not for the brightness of the moon you might not have caught him.

A jolt goes through you at the sight of him facing you, his dark eyes glittering in the shadows.

The windows in your bedroom are tall, stopping at Markus' waist. You know Joel can see almost everything.

You want him to see everything.

You don't make any indication you've seen him, but his presence is the sole reason you bend, taking the tip of Markus' cock in your mouth and licking. It's pure spite for all the times you've had to sit there and hear Joel fuck Tess. You hope he's watching another man start to fuck your mouth. You hope it makes him jealous.

You continue bobbing your head, sucking Markus underwhelming cock until his head jerks back at the sensation and he lets out a small, strangled noise. He's close - very close. You move back to a stand, viewing Markus' slack jaw as he pants up at you.

"Keep going?" He asks in a beg.

You hide a smirk and shake your head gently. A flick of your eyes confirms Joel is still there, hidden in the shadows so you urge Markus' hands to the bottom of your shirt.

Markus is a quick learner, moving the fabric up your body and pulling it off you as his cock grinds against your inner thigh. The bra is discarded to the ground along with your panties and you stand there naked in front of two sets of eyes.

'Fuck, you're pretty," Markus murmurs as his hand goes to cup your breast, the other snaking between your thighs. "And so wet."

Not for you.

A flash of movement catches your eye and without turning your head you realize it's the face of Joel's watch catching the moonlight. You can't see everything, but you recognize the jerky motions of his wrist.

He's stroking his cock and watching you.

A new surge of arousal goes through you at that. You go to the table beside your bed and pull out a condom, passing it to Markus. He moves with shaky hands, rolling it over his cock before you quickly clamor onto Markus' lap.

With a determined look in Joel's direction you sink onto Markus' cock and give a theatrical sigh, your mouth parting.

Markus makes a small whinnying in the back of his throat and you wish you could silence him for the rest of this experience.

A wave of guilt goes through you at that thought. You're using him.

The guilt lasts until Markus thrusts up into you causing your body to jolt. You grip his shoulders, looking down at him. His eyes are shut tightly and there's no doubt in your mind that he's using you just as well.

You don't tell him you're doing the same. That when he begins to fuck you in earnest and your eyes fall shut that is Joel Miller your thinking of.

But when your eyes crack open it's Joel Miller you see, staring out at you. He's moved to be framed in the moonlight and you can see his hand is moving hurriedly over the head of his cock.

He's getting off to Markus fucking you.

You know it's wrong to enjoy that, but it doesn't stop the thrill that goes through you as you bounce up and down on Markus lap.

"Fuck you feel good."

Markus is grunting into your sternum, his hips grinding to a halt. Despite his need he's trying to prolong this. But you don't want that, you want to match Joel's tempo which is fast and getting faster.

"Faster," you urge, swivelling your hips and Markus immediately acquiesces. His hips jerk up into you, thrusting as his hands move to grip your hips.

Your own palms balance against the glass pane of your large bedroom window, cool under your touch. You begin bouncing on Markus lap with gusto, your eyes jumping to see Joel moving more into the center of the window.

He wants you to see him. You can see he's breathing raggedly as he pumps himself, one hand balanced on the window frame. He's watching you, unblinking as if he's worried he'll miss something.

"Faster," you command Markus in a breathy coo as you watch Joel pumping his cock, fucking his hand at a blinding pace. You breasts are bouncing harshly, your thighs trembling.

"So good," you groan now, but it's to Joel whose lips are parted slowly, his eyes barely open.

"I'm gonna come," you whimper, your hips grinding down on an enthusiastic Markus cock. You wonder if Joel can read your lips through the glass.

Joel nods in the window at you, his hand pumping his cock. He's murmuring something but you obviously can't hear with the window and distance between your homes.

"I'm gonna come for you," you wail, you eyes fixed on Joel's face. His eyes are half closed and his mouth is slack.

And while it's Markus who releases himself within you, it's Joel who you watch spilling himself over his knuckles and groaning silently behind the window.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It’s a week later when Tess finally corners you, demanding you come over for a drink. You’ve put her off so often, so long that it feels your only answer can be what you give her: a feeble yes.

You follow her into Joel’s home, trying to pretend you don’t recognize the chipped paint or guitar beside the fireplace. That the art on the wall is fascinating and you need to be led to the table.

There’s noise in the kitchen and you realize with a sinking terror that Joel is home.

"Can you grab an extra glass?" Tess calls over her shoulder as you take a seat at the table. She shoots you a cheerful look followed by a wink. "Finally convinced our neighbor to have a drink with us."

There is the sound of a glass falling and smashing onto the floor from the kitchen and Tess looks towards the noise. Joel steps out with two mismatched tumblers looking stormy.

"One slipped," he explains passing Tess the glasses. "'S'okay though, I don't really feel like a drink."

"Since when?" Tess says giving his arm a playful bump with her shoulder. He gives her a ghost of a smile. "C'mon Joel. Try n’ be social."

Joel gives a small nod, following her to the table where you sit trying in vain to look anywhere but his face. He takes the seat across from you, his large hands folded on the table as if he's about to interrogate you. This later proves to be ironic as Tess is the one peppering you with questions.

Where did you live originally? Are you with someone? What do you do for work? For fun?

You feel overwhelmed sitting there, your fingers trailing down the side of your whiskey tumbler.

Chicago. Single. Textiles. Reading.

Your answers are brief and spoken in a soft mutter.

"Just you here?" Tess prods. "No family?"

You don't enjoy talking about yourself or the life you had before. You think of the grainy photograph in the album you keep. Your throat feels tight.

"What do you read?"

This is the first question Joel has asked you, the first thing he's said that doesn't sound dragged from him. Habitually your eyes go to the speaker, moving from Tess ' s face to Joel's. He's studying you, that much is obvious.

"Anything I can get my hands on," you answer truthfully. "Austen, Steinbeck, Bradbury ---"

"You have some Bradbury don't you, Joel?" Tess interrupts looking at Joel. "I thought I saw some when I was cleaning."

"Yup, Austen too." Joel nods and his dark eyes capture yours once more. "You can borrow 'em if you want."

You shake your head. "I don't want to bother you with -"

"Isn't a bother if I'm offering," Joel says flatly. He talks in a way that makes you feel uncertain of his mood. Is he irritated? Amused? It's hard to tell when you refuse to look in his eyes. Tess brushes a piece of lint from his shoulder and Joel flashes her a ghost of a smile. You wonder what they must have seen in their time together to have Joel of all people so domestic.

"Sure," you nod. "I'd like that."

"Lemme check upstairs," Joel says. "I might have a few packed away."

At this he stands and leaves you and Tess. You wait until the creak of his footsteps is overhead upstairs before you look back at Tess.

"See, he's not an asshole all the time," Tess says smiling over her glass. You smile back shyly.

"What's his deal?" You try to act unaffected, as if her reply doesn't really matter. "Until you, I don't think I'd ever seen him smile before."

Tess looks uncertain of if she should share. She doesn't know you at all and by the looks of it to her, neither does Joel.

"Joel's seen a lot," she finally answers. You nod, knowing that's the best you'll get and perhaps that's for the best.

She doesn't tell you more, but you already know. You've seen the photo in Joel's room. You've seen the haunted look in his eyes. But you don't want to ask more because learning more about Joel, caring about him, seems like a bad idea. It makes things harder.

"It's nice to see him happy," you offer without thinking. You surprise yourself with that.

You hear your name being called from upstairs.

"Sounds like he found those books," Tess smiles. "I gotta pop out to grab some stuff for dinner. If you're still here when I get back you should stay and eat with us."

You give a noncommittal noise in reply. She exits just as you go to the staircase, looking up nervously. You know what and who waits for you there.

Don't be so pathetic.

You're at the top of the stairs within seconds, carried by trembling legs. Joel's in the doorframe of the second bedroom, his shoulders almost as wide as the door.

He glances over at you at your approach, his hands full of paperbacks. A cursory look tells you there are some gems in there.

"Got those books for you," Joel murmurs.

You nod, thinking of how strange it feels to actually be having a genuine conversation with him. Your mind draws a blank on what to say to him next.

"Tess went to get some stuff for dinner," you finally offer, desperate to fill the silence between you.

Joel doesn't reply to this and you wonder if he heard you or is purposefully ignoring what you said. You come towards him with your hand outstretched for the books.

"Thanks very much," you say, feeling as if your breath is stuck in your chest. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"No rush."

As you reach out your hand your eyes drift over to the bathroom door, your heart skipping a beat. Memories of Joel's frantically stroking hand over his cock assault you.

Joel seems to notice where your gaze has travelled because he straightens his spine, his dark eyes darting to your face.

You aren't ready for the way his strong body presses you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. The books fall from your hands and thud onto the wood floor below. Your hands are on his chest, holding him back.

"What are you doing?"

He doesn't reply with words. Instead his hands are fumbling with the buttons of your jeans.

"No," you say, even as your eyes fall shut. Joel's mouth is trailing open mouthed kisses up your neck.

"Yes."

You hold in a shuddering moan at his rasping singular word, sharp and huffed hot in your ear.

You have the passing thought that this is almost the very spot he fucked your mouth. The very spot he changed you.

But now this is the home he shares with Tess. Tess who has been nothing but kind to you. Tess who makes him smile.

Your opened jeans are being pushed down and he's pressing his mouth to your neck, his tongue slipping out over your pulse point to taste you.

His wide palm is slipping down under the band of your panties. You know he's working quickly because neither of you know how long until Tess gets back.

"Joel ---"

You let out a sharp whimper as one of his fingers breaches you, slipping over your clit and curling inside. Your hands go to his shoulders, gripping him there for balance.

You can feel him watching you, his dark eyes fixed on your face as he feels how wet you already are.

"We have to stop" you say in a sigh, even as his finger slides in and out of your dripping cunt. Joel moves his mouth to your neck as his fingers tease and slide. His hip is grinding against your thigh.

"Can't."

He's added a second finger, stretching you. You bite his clothed shoulder, the pleasure making you feel boneless.

Joel groans, his thumb curving around your clit and you see stars.

Stop it. Stop this.

"Joel," you gasp, your hand going to claw at his wrist. "You need to stop."

But he can't stop; he's so intent, so desperate. His shoulder dips and his fingers are curling, coaxing those desperate moans from you. His thumb taps your clit, circling and tapping again when he sees your quiver after the first.

"I need to hear it," he repeats, his mouth pressing wet kisses to your jaw. "I need to hear you."

You want to ask him why. Why this crazy frenzy? Why can't he be content to having Tess and leaving you alone? He has everything and you have nothing. Why does he need more?

You know why he's doing this. The show you put on for him in the window. The way he'd come after watching you get fucked by another man. A man who wasn't Joel.

"We can't do this," you say, but it's for nothing.

"You'll let that boy fuck you but not me?" Joel growls. Your entire back is arched and you're riding his hand shamelessly. You're eyes are half open, watching him wet his lower lip with his tongue.

"We can't do this," you repeat.

"We are," Joel grunts.

You whimper as the orgasm slowly starts to approach. Your thighs begun to tremble, trapping his palm there as you ride his hand.

"Look at me," Joel demands through shallow breaths. Your eyes are trying to focus on his face, on the parted mouth and lust-filled eyes.

Lust you don't deserve. Lust you've taken.

Guilt overtakes you. You shake your head, trying to extricate yourself from his grip. Your jeans are still around your knees, stopping you from moving from him smoothly.

"Let me go," you whisper, thinking he's understood as he withdraws his fingers. Instead he's using them to pull your panties down and release himself from his jeans.

You see his hardened cock spring free, beautiful and sun kissed in color. The tip is rosy and straining towards you. You've seen it before, tasted it, but you know he has no intention of using your mouth right now. Joel looks down at his cock as his hand comes to hold it.

"Look what you do to me."

You watch as with one wide hand he guides the head of his cock to your entrance, moving the tip to graze along your slit. Your brows knit together in painful pleasure.

"It's wrong," you insist, slamming your eyes shut as you think of Tess. You shouldn't be allowing Joel to box you in against the wall. Shouldn't tremor in anticipation as he takes his cock in hand again and drags the weeping head against the seam of your cunt.

"Just the tip," Joel murmurs against your ear. He's so convicting, so sweet as he suggests it. As if he's not asking for much. "Just a little bit. See how it feels."

You shake your head weakly. "We can't."

"Mhmm we can,"' he croons softly.

Even as you sigh soft words of denial, your cunt leaks at the thought of him sheathing himself within you. His cock is gliding along the lips of your cunt, pressing up slightly.

"We shouldn't."

"Just a little," Joel assures as the tip of him breaches you, twitching. You inhale sharply, the bulbous head of his cock stopping just barely past your entrance.

Joel is watching you, moving his face back to see your reaction. When he sees the way your eyes are shuttering he smiles before pulling back out slowly.

If you stop right now you think there is a chance you can salvage this moment. That you can live with the guilt because you stopped it from progressing too far.

But then Joel shuffles forward, pinning you to the wall tightly. It makes you breathless, tilting your head back in order to catch your breath.

As you do this Joel is slotting himself between your thighs and you feel the head of his cock breaching you once more.

"That's enough," you pant, trying to shake him from you. "You said just the t---"

"A little bit more," Joel reasons and you cry out as he slides into your cunt another inch before he stops, his forehead pressed against yours. "F-fuck. So good."

"No more, Joel," you beg in a whisper, even as your hips begin to shift for him. "We can't."

"Just a little longer," Joel tells you as he withdraws.

Your hands are on his shoulders hoping to push him away, but there's no power in your limbs. Then he's inching himself in further, whispering against your temple when you try to close your legs.

"Shhh shhh, just a little more. You can't expect me to stop when it feels this fucking good." He lets a soft groan out against your jaw when he pushes into you again.

He slowly fucks you like this, braced between Joel and the wall in the home he shares with his girlfriend. He groans lowly in his throat each time he pulls out and then with aching slowness inches his way back inside you. He does this over and over until you are both shaking with need.

You're too weak to stop this pleasured dance, you can't stop taking him inch by inch. You need him to be the one who stops you from yourself.

“Please,” you beg.

"You can take it," Joel tells you in a soothing tone, brushing the hair out of your eyes. He watches you grit your teeth, your eyebrows saddling as he drags his cock from your cunt. As you struggle in silence, his hips snap up, jolting you and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

"Fucking knew it," Joel groans against your throat. "Knew you were fucking m-made to take my cock."

You want to stop.

No, that's not accurate.

You want to it to stop feeling so fucking good.

He's pushing himself deeper into you and you scramble to find purchase.

"S-stop, Joel."

He stills inside you and he presses his forehead to yours before he withdraws sharply.

"You really want me to stop?" he pants, his gaze locked on yours, as he waits for a response. "Tell me, pretty eyes."

Even as he says this he grinds himself in your inner thigh, leaving a smear.

You know he'll stop if you say so. He’ll be furious but he’ll stop.

Your palms are on his chest, but instead of pushing, you're winding your fingers in the flannel and holding because you feel empty, so painfully empty without him inside you. Your eyes meet his, blazing.

"Don't stop."

A smile blooms over his normally stoic features and with an aching slowness he slips back into your cunt, moving deeply as you cry out, your arms wrapping around his neck and your hips thrusting against his.

"Oh that's my good--- Good fucking girl," Joel slurs slowly, languidly, drunk on your cunt. He bottoms out within you at an achingly slow pace, his forehead pressing against yours.

My good girl.

His good girl.

You feel pathetic for preening at the thought. Especially when you know it's not true.

"That's my good--- girl taking me," Joel whispers against your mouth without actually kissing you. "Mmm -- Fuck. This ain't gonna be a onetime thing, baby. Not when you feel this good."

You feel your nipples tighten at the acknowledgement that this won't be the last time he fucks you. Thoughts of fucking him all over Jackson city cause your hips to stutter.

But then the guilt is back, etched in your features.

"Joel," you whisper even as your thighs part to better accommodate his cock. "Joel, we gotta stop."

He shakes his head. He urges your head down until your eyes go to where your bodies join.

"Look how good you are, for me" Joel whispers, forcing your gaze between your bodies. "Just look, baby."

With a small moan you watch him pull himself out of you completely, his thick cock soaked. It twitches eagerly, his lower abdomen taut before slipping back into you.

"Keep watching," Joel encourages softly groaning when he withdraws again. He does this a few times, murmuring praise and filth as he encourages you to watch him. He pulls out of you gleaming with your slick coating him.

"You see how much you want it?"

Joel has you clinging to him, your hips already shuffling to him, missing him inside you. He lets you press until the head is inside you, grazing your clit.

"Uh huh," you whimper.

"But you need it deeper, don't you?" Joel murmurs, bobbing his tip along the seam of your cunt. "You want me to stretch that pretty pussy wide."

You nod because you no longer have words.

"And I wanna give it to you," Joel says, the tip of his cock still teasing your clit by grazing it. "Wanna give you everything. But no more trying to stop me. No more pretending like you don't want this. 'cuz we both see how much you do."

You nod breathless, your eyes fixed on his. His voice is light but his eyes are intense. His cock is still curving against the lips of your cunt, grinding there.

"You open your legs for me and you take all of my cock. You come for me," he says this all with the blunt focus of a man who knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it. "Then you get down on your knees and swallow my come while I fuck your mouth. Understood?"

"Yes, Joel."

There's no hesitation in your voice, only desperate compliance.

"You're gonna take everything I give you? You're gonna be good for me?"

"Yes, Joel."

It's all he wanted to hear. He smirks sedately widely before he shifts and positions himself at your entrance. He presses your right thigh back against the wall, opening you up lewdly. You're making small begging sounds as he lines himself up. He watches you without blinking before sliding up into your sex, his pelvis slamming into yours as he does. He's bottoming out, and because you're so fucking wet there is no resistance. And now, fully surrendered you relax and welcome him deep.

It's perfection. A blissful fullness that makes you moan long and low as your clit pulses.

"Better than I imagined," he groans in your hair as he begins to thrust. "H-- fuck. Fuck, I knew it would feel good but .. f- Fuck this cunt is perfect."

You want to cry out that it's his cock that's perfect, but all you can do is feel. He's so thick and he fills you so perfectly. Joel is murmuring in your ear.

"Fucked that boy in the window to make me jealous. But I know it was me you were thinking of. Wasn't it?"

You nod, your body bouncing against his. He braces you.

"He didn't make you wet like I do."

"Nuh uh," you mumble, unable to sound articulate when Joel is fucking you like this.

"Because this cunt is mine," Joel tells you plainly. "She was meant for my cock. Only my cock."

Your hips stutter when he says that, your abdomen quivering at his possessiveness.

"You like that," Joel marvels and his hips increase in tempo. "You like hearing that she's mine."

"Joel," you whine both in need and in embarrassment.

"It's okay pretty eyes," Joel chuckles. "It's okay."

You can't help but let out a sharp moan, covered in its infancy by Joel's wide hand because at that very moment the door swings open downstairs and Tess's voice reaches you both.

"Joel, you still home?"

Fear consumes you and you go to pull away from him but he keeps you still, cock warm and twitching within you. Your heart is clamoring at this, terrified at his reaction, horrified that you'll be caught.

You consider your next moves. Will he help you escape out the window? Will he pretend he really was just giving you the books? Will you have to walk by Tess knowing her boyfriend was just inside you?

But Joel doesn't seem as concerned as you. You realize belatedly that Joel doesn't seem to care about this turn of events at all. In fact it's the opposite. His pupils have blown wide and his hips stutter.

"Be down in a minute," he calls gruffly, but his eyes are on you as he does. "Just finishing something up."

You try to pull away, but that only seems to excite him. He leans forward until his mouth is grazing your earlobe.

"She's gonna hear you," Joel warns, his lips grazing against your cheek as his hips start to increase in tempo. "Gotta keep quiet."

Is he seriously considering fucking you against the wall when Tess is here?

"She's right downstairs," you whisper barely audible.

"Then you better be quiet," Joel orders softly. He's already started thrusting shallowly again. "Show me how quiet you can be, pretty eyes."

"I-- I can't . . ."

Without ceremony Joel thrusts back deeply into you deep, sealing his hand over your mouth. It's a good thing he does because you don't know you'd be able to be quiet. Not when his cock feels so good, not when his free hand slips between your bodies and his fingers find your clit.

"Shhhh," Joel reminds you as your eyes roll back and the sounds from your throat explode into his palm.

You're trying to keep calm, but the way he's playing with your clit as he fucks you against the wall is too much. Everything feels too much.

"Don't pretend you don't love this," Joel whispers against your temple. "You mouth lies but your cunt doesn't."

You hate the truth in what he says. That fucking Joel while Tess is downstairs oblivious makes you so turned on its hard to see straight. You want the illicit thrill of being caught to sicken you, not turn you on.

He moves his hand from your mouth, sliding it down until his wide palm is gripping your throat to hold you in place while he thrusts.

"Taking me so ... Mmmm ... so well."

His eyes rove from your face to where you join and back again. The sight of holding you by the throat as he fucks you is turning him on, you can see that in the darkening of his eyes.

"I'm scared," you reason quietly even as you guide his cock to your center after he withdraws. "What if someone ---"

"Don't care," Joel grunts as he thrusts up in earnest squeezing your throat as he thrusts. "Don't care if someone catches us. Need to fuck you."

You believe him. And yet you both remain as quiet as possible, your ears still straining to hear the sound of Tess cooking downstairs.

"Come for me," Joel tells you, immune to the concept of fear. "I want you drownin' my cock."

"I can't," you whine so softly you're not sure he heard. "It's too much."

There is a small creak of floorboards underfoot and you stiffen.

When Joel stills you feel a mixture of relief and overwhelming disappointment. You think this is when you both come to your senses.

But Joel withdraws just so he can cup your sex possessively with one broad hand, the other still curled around your throat.

"This is mine," he rasps lowly against the shell of your ear. "She gets wet for me when I say and she comes for me when I tell her to."

Fuck if that didn't go straight to your pussy. His tall frame looms above you, his dark eyes boring into you. He's still dressed above the waist and for some reason that makes him feel so much more intimidating.

He waits, his brows raised until you manage a weak nod.

His fingers begin at your clit again, teasing and coaxing. It feels so good you're having trouble remembering to be quiet, so you bite your lower lip to stop yourself.

"There she is," Joel grins. His cock slides up into you again and it takes everything in your power not to faint against the wall. He feels so fucking good.

"See how good things can be when you just let go?"

You nod, your hands lacing behind his neck. And suddenly you can't stop kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Deep appreciation for the perfect way he fucks you overwhelms you.

"You never have to worry," Joel assures you in a tone of soft honey, his lips pressing against your cheek. "I'll always make sure you come, pretty eyes."

"I know," you breathe against his jaw. "I wanna come for you, Joel."

"Course you do," Joel muses.

"I wanna make you feel good."

Joel whispers a sigh in your ear. "This perfect pussy makes me feel so fucking good."

"I wanna make you come, Joel."

His dimpled smile flashes at you. "Yeah?"

"Tell me how," you beg in a broken whisper. "I wanna know how to make you come the way you like."

"Fuck," Joel groans lowly, his eyes shuttering. His free hand covers your mouth again because you start whimpering again.

You think he might remain silent because he starts to pump into you, reddened cock sliding out to graze your clit and then slamming back deeply into you.

"After you come then you're gonna get on your knees for me," Joel is gasping softly against your temple. "Just like that first time... I'm gonna fuck--- gonna fuck that sweet mouth."

"Yes," you whisper under his palm, your eyes glazed with lust.

"And you're gonna take it," Joel's forehead is dotted with sweat. "You're gonna take it all. Because it's yours.. and when I come down your throat you're gonna thank me for it. You're gonna sit there like a good girl on your knees and thank me."

You're nodding like you're able to listen attentively, even as your brows knit together when his cock slams into you.

"Then you're gonna unlock that bedroom window so I can come and fuck you properly whenever I need to."

When your eyes crack open in surprise at this suggestion you see Joel's face is unguarded, his eyes shut and his head tilted back as he fucks you. It's that sight that causes you to come harshly.

"Oh perfect -- so fucking good," Joel whispers praises in the shell of your ear as you come. "I can feel that.. So good. My good fucking girl knows whose cock to come on."

He follows immediately, launching his face in the crook of your neck as he releases himself within you. He empties himself into you, pulsing and thick and this shocks you. You give a shuddering breath before pushing him back from you harshly. The motion sends him back a step, his softening cock sliding from you.

"What have you done?" you choke out in a whisper, horrified.

It hits Joel belatedly, the realization that not only has he cheated on Tess but that he also didn't use a condom. His dark eyes widen and blink rapidly.

"Fuck I-."

You don't listen to what he says next. Instead you scramble to pull up your panties and jeans, ignoring the sensation of Joel's seed running down your inner thighs. Terrified tears morph into shameful ones as Joel tucks himself away.

You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to do something that releases this terror and shame from your body.

What the fuck have you done, the pair of you?

Instead you move to the window, throwing it open and crawling out without a backwards glance at him. You can only pray that Tess is too busy cooking to hear as you bound from Joel's roof to your own.

You throw the window to your bedroom open, pulling yourself over the sill with a grunt. Feeling dazed you go into the tub and shower, scrubbing at your flesh until it's raw and red.

Only after you feel your entire body has been scrubbed clean with the antibacterial soap from the commissary do you pull on fresh nightclothes. Despite your thorough washing it's like you can still smell him on your skin.

You go to the window of your bedroom and see the blinds in Joel's home have been drawn. Before you crawl into bed and collapse into tears you stare at the quiet home across from you.

Then you lock your window.

#this was FOULLLLLLLLLLL (😋😋😋)#free my girl tess tho #she can’t bag joel miller in any lifetime #UNLOCK THAT DAMN WINDOW OMFG 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#the possessive phrases sent me spinning he’s sooooooooooooo #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel recs 🥃#not cm

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hotchsdoormat · 20 days

Text

Code Broken (4/5) SERIES dark!Joel x f!reader

Summary: After your last horrible interaction with Joel you run into him months later. Things don't go as expected.

Rating: 18+ (

Word Count: 3.2

Warnings: This is a very dark!Joel fic with lots of dubious consent. Yes, the f!reader gets into it eventually but I believe y'all can see how its dubious. Unprotected p in v sex, coming on v, semi-public sex, desk sex, rough sex.

---------------------

Chapter 4: I will Survive

You barely make it through the night.

You've begun packing, throwing your clothes into a duffel before the sun cracks through the sky.

For the next two months you stay at Trish's. In her guest room that will soon become the babies room. It's decorated in blues and greens and feels peaceful.

You tell her that your home needs repairs. That you need somewhere to stay. Cliff is so kind to you, never making you feel like a burden.

"When do you think the repairs will be done?" Trish asks you one morning, sounding strained and you can tell your visit is rapidly becoming overstayed.

"Funny you mention that, because it's actually finished tomorrow," you chirp happily. "Just found out."

Despite the community's size you haven't run into Joel. You overheard rumors that he has left for a few months on some mission with Tommy, but you never care to check the veracity.

You don't care. You never want to see Joel Miller again.

///

It's April before you do.

He's returned after months away. He looks leaner, his hair longer, it curls at the back. You catch him leaving his house just as your walking up to yours.

You both lock eyes and go still. He blinks rapidly, his mouth parting slightly when all of a sudden you hear Tess call your name and you flinch.

She gives you a short wave which you return weakly before she walks up to Joel with a strained smile.

You dart into the house, feeling Joel's eyes on you the whole time.

////

When you have Trish over one night and she sees Joel walking into his house she tells you that Tess and Joel aren't together anymore.

"She's with some guy across town," Trish tells you as she strokes her swollen belly one night over at your place. "Has been for a while. Does patrols with him."

You realize it only took so long to notice because you willed yourself not to think about that house or its inhabitants.

"Makes more sense to me than grumpy ever did," Trish says with a wave towards his place.

You nod but Trish has adopted a frown and her eyeline is wet. Ever since she's been pregnant she's been more emotional.

"But now he's all alone again."

'"Maybe he deserves it," you answer tightly.

///

In early June there's an unexpected heat wave that has all sorts of insects popping up.

You talk with your coworkers and they tell you the horses will need blankets to keep them protected. Midges, one of the women tell you. Midges are horrible for those baby foals.

You're in charge of delivering them that warm afternoon, your hair sticking to your temples as you round the barn.

Markus is there tethering some of the horses. He smiles when he sees you arrive, waving and ushering you into the large office to cool down.

It’s nice in here, a large desk and window with chairs that smell like fresh pine. They must have been carved here because they are so ornate, so delicate to have been moved from place to place.

"I like your dress," Markus offers with a shy smile as he passes you the metal water bottle he carries everywhere. You take a grateful sip before pushing it back to him.

"Oh," you thank him, fingering the skirt of the dress with its warm butter yellow color and sweet hand embroidered daisies. You motion to the blankets in your arms.

"Just dropping these off before I head home."

"Perfect," Markus takes some of the pile from you gratefully. "The new babies are gonna love 'em. The midges are brutal this year."

"Happy to help."

Another figure strides into the building, shaking the bag his shoulder as he enters, speaking gruffly.

"Fucking hot out there. Gonna need extra water for the foals. And something to cover 'em with."

It's Joel Miller.

Of course it is.

"Good timing," Markus laughs in Joel's direction before motioning to you standing there with the blankets in your arms. "She just brought a bunch of blankets for them."

Joel stills as his focus moves to include you. He holds himself stiffly, trying not to draw attention to his sudden behavioral anomaly. You're hidden behind Markus, not wanting to be seen by Joel.

"Uh, Nightshade needs to be tied up," Joel finishes lamely, his words drifting off when he sees how close you are to Markus.

"Already done."

Joel glances at the bundle of blankets that are still in your arms then casts a sharp look at your face. You drag your eyes away, forcing them to Markus.

“Thanks for the water.”

Joel moves into the cramped office in the back of the building, his wide shoulders flexing under his t-shirt as he goes. You do your best not to follow his frame as it leaves.

"It's nice to talk to ya,' Markus says, turning back to face you. "Feels like it's been a while. Miss us all hangin' out."

You see Joel stopping at the door of the office, reaching to grab something on the wall. You try your best to ignore him.

Despite the fact that Markus and you aren't dating, you realize it must not look that way to Joel.

"Same here." You feel your pulse picking up a bit. "I'm happy the baby is here safe and healthy. Just not happy that it came so early we didn't have a proper send off party."

"There's always the wedding next month," Markus suggests. "You better save me a dance."

You can feel Joel's glare from here.

"Only if you don't mind being seen in public with the worst dancer in Jackson City," you laugh. Your voice is cheery and you're smiling warmly, but the chill of Joel's glare is going through you.

You make a move to leave, anxious to be away from him. But Markus taps you gently on the wrist, forcing your attention back.

"I wanted to know if you were around for a drink tonight." Markus says abruptly, his voice lowered so Joel can't hear.

He winds rope around his palm and bicep, looking to you expectantly. You're confused at the intensity in Markus' face.

"Should we invite -"

"Just you and me."

His reply surprises you. After the incident in your bedroom with Markus back in December you two haven't been alone together. Haven't spoken about it and that's suited you just fine.

You'd just thought about it as a onetime fling for the both of you. But judging by the way Markus' gaze is drifting down your body he's hoping for a repeat performance. And why not? You're both single, both attractive. Why shouldn't you give into those carnal desires?

"I thought maybe we could hang out at your place after," Markus says softly. "Only if you want."

You feel your cheeks pink at the confirmation. You can see Joel in your peripherals busying himself. You wonder how much he's heard and then decide you hope he's heard it all. Fuck him.

"Sure. I'd love to."

"Yeah?" Markus looks both relieved and excited. "Pick you up at eight?"

"Sounds great."

"Markus!" Joel barks sharply from inside his office. "Last time I checked animals die when they're dehydrated."

Markus ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry Joel! On it!"

You watch him give a pleased smile that rouges his cheeks as be begins filling up the water pails. Markus moves past you out into the stables, the door shutting behind him.

Then it's just you and Joel. He's in the office writing, you can hear the scratch of the old ballpoint. You consider just leaving but you hate how he just treated Markus. And if you don't stop it now, it'll just continue.

You march into his office with the bundle of blankets.

"Couldn't give them water yourself?"

"It's his job," Joel replies.

"You know what I mean." Your tone is cool and even. "Shouting at him like that? Ordering him around?"

"I wasn't. You must be reading into things. You're good at that." He lets the pen fall onto the desk at that. "You're not actually going out with him are you?"

"Why do you care?"

Any amusement in Joel's eyes is gone. "Gonna let him fuck you?"

You bite back a scathing comment and instead you throw the bundle of blankets you've been holding onto his desk. His notes go fluttering everywhere.

"Tell the group if you need more," you spit. "I'll get Mary to drop them off next time."

Joel's cheeks have gone red, his jaw ticking at her clenches his teeth. You knew messing up his desk would piss him off and you're pleased. But his eyes aren't hard, they're impossibly heated and they're trailing over your dress, exposed now that you've dropped the fabric onto his desk.

You can almost hear the sound of his brain buffering when he realizes what you're wearing.

The yellow sundress with embroidered daisies. And you’re taken back to months ago, standing outside the Tipsy Bison with Joel looking uncharacteristically earnest as he spoke.

“Do you remember what you were wearin’ that night?”

“No”

“Dress. Yellow with little flowers. You could see your tits through the fabric, hard nipples 'n all. You kept bumping into me, your skin all smooth. I couldn't stay there beside you the whole movie. Not when you looked like that. Not when all I could think about was fucking you.”

You don't have enough time to react. He rises up from behind his desk, stalking in your direction before he kicks the door behind you closed.

"Joel what-"

He large hands go to your shoulders and he brings down the straps of your dress harshly, tugging the top down and freeing your naked breasts to the air. You gasp.

"I was mad at myself for wantin' you so bad. Wanted to punish you for makin’ me want you.”

Your nipples crinkle under his tongue, his hands cupping your breasts, kneading them between licks and sucks to those straining nubs.

Anything you were about to say is erased. Gone from your mind and replaced with the sensation of Joel's mouth on you. He sucks, tongue laving at you as shots of electricity pull through your body, tugging at your navel.

Your hand is at the back of his neck, tangled in his curls, urging him to take more. To suck and taste and lick. You tilt your head back, exposing the column of your throat.

But then he stretches and takes you by the elbow, whirling you around to face away from him. With a sharp movement he clears his desk completely, sending blankets and paper and pens sailing to the ground before bending you over it.

He bunches your dress up to your hips before tugging down your panties.

"You're fucking cruel," Joel grunts and you can hear him fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper. You know he's not going to be patient when you feel his cock being slotted against the seam of your cunt.

"You knew what you were doing," he grunts as he thrusts up into you causing your body to jolt. "You knew the minute you put on that dress."

You moan by way of reply because right now he feels so fucking good. He's got one hand braced between your shoulder blades, holding you down and propping your ass at an angle so you can best take his cock through your swollen and dripping folds.

He feels so right between your thighs and you never want him to stop. You don't care that he's a bastard. You want him, you need him.

"Tried to make me feel bad all those months," Joel is mumbling through hisses of pleasure. "Acted like you didn't want me."

"I didn’t"

"Well she did," Joel growls, sliding his fingers over your clit. Tingles shoot their way through your entire body.

You moan at the desire clouding his voice like smoke. You’re nodding, gasping "Yes" over and over like a prayer.

"You let me taste paradise and took it away," Joel growls as he fucks you. "Ignored me. Let me believe you didn't want me."

"I don't want you," you gasp, your cheek biting into the wood of the table.

“Yeah you do," Joel says as he licks his lips. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here letting me fuck you on my desk with a pussy so wet she's already left a puddle."

"I'm not --"

"If you hated this you wouldn't be tryin' to keep quiet so your little boyfriend doesn't hear me fucking you."

"Not my b-boyfriend," you argue without power behind your words. You don't care about Markus. All you care about is coming on Joel's cock.

"Good ,"Joel rasps, pulling at your hair and causing you to arch back off the table. "Cuz he hasn't been fucking you right. Maybe he needs some lessons on satisfying you because I know how much you love taking cock."

You're trying to formulate a reply but you're boneless, your body jolting with every thrust. He feels so good, his fingers working your clit as he slams into you. He's nudging your feet apart with his boots so he can fuck you deeper.

"Or maybe I'll just get you to make deliveries here every week," Joel grunts into your ear, his hips slapping into your ass loudly. "Then I'll make you suck my cock under my desk while I have a meeting with your boyfriend. How does that sound?"

You're moaning at the thought of it. You hate that this taboo acknowledgement is turning you on so much.

"You like that?" Joel is pounding you harder now, his movements severe. His hips snack against your bare ass as you take his cock deeper. The desk jumps a little with each thrust.

"You like the idea of bein' fucked in secret, pretty eyes? My dirty little secret?"

The pleasure of his words and his cock is rolling you over the edge. He feels so perfectly there filling you so wonderfully. He’s jerked you back to him, his tongue licking at the pulse of your neck.

"You locked your window," Joel rasps, nipping your chin. "Why’d you keep it locked?"

"I was mad at you," you answer through grunts.

"Liar," Joel hisses at you, his cock thrusting in and out, grazing your clit. He forces you back over the desk, bending and accommodating his girth as his hips shifts against the meat of your ass. "Tell the truth."

"I was . .. scared."

"Of what."

"Of you."

A swift palm comes to strike your ass cheek. Not hard, not painful, but surprising.

"Truth," is all he says before his palm rubs over where he slapped. He's pulling you back against his cock, fucking you still.

"I was afraid Tess-"

Another smack to your ass. "Try again."

"People breaking in -"

Another smack. And another one when you try another lie.

"Cuz if I left it unlocked I knew you were gonna use it," you finally admit, your face flushed and your eyes wet. "And I wasn't gonna be able to say no."

"There we go," Joel soothes, rubbing his palm along your flanks. His thumb comes to your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes are on him. "You want me to use it, don't you?"

"No," you lie, your hips moving in tandem with his. You're close, so close to that bliss..

"Fucking liar," Joel growls lowly.

Then he pulls from you viciously and you cry out, immediately missing the sensation. He whirls you around to face him before shoving you up onto the desk. He steps between your parted thighs with your legs on either side of his hips and his cock is slipping into you again. You hold his shoulders, bouncing against him and biting your lip to keep from moaning.

"You walk around in this fucking dress, throwing yourself anyone but me?" Joel is panting as he glares down at you, his thumb circling the pearl of your clit as you arch against him. "I already told you this cunt is mine. No one fucks it but me."

"Not yours-" you're slurring.

"She's mine, baby" Joel assures you, pulling out savagely and then realigning himself up at you entrance. "Just look how she takes me."

You hate yourself for looking, but you do. You look down the length of your body and watch as Joel's beautiful cock slides into you. Its wet and thick and so fucking gorgeous. But it's Joel's eyes, his big beautiful blackened eyes half-lidded and smirking down at you that has you squirming with pleasure.

"Joel," you whimper. "Feels..."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

His voice so soft and smooth. You nod, your body jerking with every deep thrust.

"Cuz this cunt is mine, isn't she, pretty eyes?"

You nod again.

"You gonna let that boy touch my cunt?"

You shake your head.

"Gonna let him fuck your mouth?"

Another shake of your head.

"Use your words."

"Only you."

He smiles serenely at you, his hips shifting and circling. He extends this pleasure, watching your face as you groan out his name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Atta girl," Joel coos.

Your body is tingling as your orgasm hits through you like a warm bath, spreading through every part of your body, making you tremble and whimper, making a mess where the two of you remained joined, Joel’s cock still.

"Oh yes, baby," Joel croons as he watches you spasm on his cock. "Feels so good doesn't it? I always know how to make you feel good."

When you come down he pulls himself out with a long grunt and begins to stroke himself in earnest.

"Where do you want it?"

Still panting you look up at Joel with a dazed smile. He watches you lean back until you're laying with your spine flush on the desk. You spread your legs for him there, putting yourself on full display for him.

He makes a low groaning noise, murmuring about her can't wait to taste you again as you're sliding your palm down your abdomen, your second and middle finger coming to part the glistening lips of your pussy to him. You look up at him through your lashes, smiling.

"There?" Joel chokes out, his eyes fixed on the delicious sight of your soaking cunt exposed lascivious for him.

"Yeah," you say with a sigh, tilting back. "Right there."

"F-fuck-k," he chokes out, his eyes fixed between your legs. "She wants my come."

"She does," you whimper, parting your thighs further.

Joel's hand is a blur, pumping and circling.

"Mark my pussy with your come, Joel." You beg, your hands pressing your thighs open to the desk. "She's yours."

He gives out a garbled grunt as he comes, thick ropes hitting your thighs and cunt, decorating you with his spend as you murmur your desire for more and more.

He's panting above you, one hand still braced on the desk. He watches you laying there looking up at the ceiling with a small smile on your face.

With one of the blankets he cleans you up the best he can, tucking himself away and then he grins, reaching for you and pulling you to sit atop the desk. He's still in the vee of your legs but he brings your dress down, covering you.

You look at him questioningly. This is usually the part where he leaves. The silence. Instead his eyes are warm and one of his hands comes to cup your cheek.

"So perfect," he says moving his face towards yours. You know he's about to kiss you and you tilt away from him. You two don’t kiss. Not really. He looks irritated until he sees the tears gathered along your lash line.

Joel's other hand goes to cup your other cheek and he gently cranes your face towards his.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m horrible,” you whisper, sniffling.

"How are you horrible?"

"Because I don't do things like this," you explain through sniffling. "I don't have sex with perfectly nice guys in windows so other guys can jerk off to it. I don't let strangers fuck my mouth and come on me and then have them go down on me and act don't care if I see them again. I don’t hate someone and then let them fuck me like this. I don't fuck men in relationships."

"I'm not with-"

"But you were and we did."

"It was my fuck up," Joel tells you in a rumble. "Not yours. You went along with it but I never shoulda done it. Not when I was with Tess, not when I knew how I felt about y-"

He stops abruptly seeing that you’re shaking your head, tears beginning in earnest.

"Pretty eyes don't cry, please."

It's the first time he's used the nickname outside of a sexual activity between the two of you and it startles you to staring up at him.

"Please," he all but whispers. He's so close you could count the freckles along his lean neck.

"Stop," you insist, wrenching from him.

Joel stumbles back as you push him from you. You throw yourself from the table and stride from the room out into the barn, slamming the door before he can say another word.

#i gotta buy one of these dresses wtf 😭😭#NOOOOO WAIT #HE WAS SO SOFT AT THE END #the angst pls my chest hurts #my problem is i would fold so fast he wouldn’t even have to work for it #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel recs 🥃#not cm

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