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tommysversion · 1 year

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Playing Rough [ Joel Miller x Reader 🌶️🌶️🌶️ ]

Combining two requests from anons: Joel smut ft spanking, and Joel doing filthy things to you with that knife handle.

(CW for dark character, mentions of graphic violence, degrading language, inappropriate uses of a knife handle, dom/sub undertones. Please consume responsibly!.)

You know, deep down, that Joel isn’t a good man. In saying that, you aren’t sure there are any truly good men left in the world. He’s not a monster, and that’s enough. He’s loving when he wants to be, protective and jealous when he needs to be. Honestly, he would scare you a little, if you didn’t know without a single doubt that you mean the world to him.

Lately, though, you’ve been seeing a darker side to him. You know he’d do anything to keep you and Ellie safe, have seen him do terrible things to anyone who might have hurt you. Maybe that should scare you, seeing him torture and beat men to death, seeing how easily he can stab a man to death without blinking. It doesn’t. If anything, it does the opposite, and you’ve honestly had some questionable thoughts about him doing things to you with that knife.

Which leads to now.

The last thing Joel expected when he came home was the sight before him. He was still on edge, rifle slung over his shoulder, knife tucked into his belt. He still had blood spattered across his face. Maybe that was why everyone had given him a wide berth when he had practically swaggered back into town. They may not like it, but the good people of Jackson knew that he would keep them safe.

He pushed open the bedroom door, half expecting you to be asleep or sitting in the window, reading. You’d seen him coming up the street, had other ideas. You knew what he was like, after he’d spent time hurting people. He needed an outlet, and you knew it. Still, didn’t mean he expected you to be sprawled out on the bed, waiting for him.

“Shit, baby.” He stopped only to close the bedroom door behind him, eyes not leaving your body.

“Welcome home?” You wriggled on the bed, stretching out, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your form.

He smirked, slowly approaching you, toeing off his boots, tossing his jacket aside and starting to unbutton his shirt. He didn’t bother with his jeans; he might be much older than you, but his stamina was impressive. Impressive and insatiable.

He spread your thighs, settling himself between them, callused fingers circling on sensitive skin. You knew you were already dripping wet for him, knew he could see it glistening on your skin.

“Did you miss me, darlin?” He nuzzled into your throat, inhaling the scent of you, “spend all day laying here getting yourself ready for me?”

“Mmhmm,” your fingers find his wrist, drag his hand closer to your wetness, wanting desperately for him to just touch you. He likes seeing you like this, so needy and desperate for him.

“That’s not an answer.” He goes to remove the knife from his belt, set it aside.

“Leave it.” You tell him, in a half whisper. His dark eyes glitter at the comment, amusement and arousal fighting in his head. Joel isn’t stupid, but he certainly isn’t thinking with his brain right now.

“Are you sure about that, darlin?”

“Very sure.”

“Interesting…” he presses the palm of his hand flat against your wetness, thumb teasing at your clit. “Didn’t know you had such a dirty mind, baby.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really? How many times have I begged you to fuck a baby into me, Joel?”

He smirks, that slow, predatory smirk of his that does things to you, unspeakably horny things.

“I can think of a few times,” he concedes, “still hasn’t taken, has it?”

Not to your knowledge, no.

“Always got more time…” you tell him, grinding yourself into his hand, eyes on the knife in his other hand.

“That’s very true, got all night…” his thumb circles again, almost absently, his other hand moves to you, to trail the blade of the knife carefully between your breasts, down your stomach. He flips it in his hand, holds it by the base of the hilt, blade pointing to him as he teases the hilt around your wetness.

You lean closer into it, drawing another smirk from his lips.

“And here I thought you weren’t as depraved as I am.” He laughs softly, leans in close to you, close enough that he can finally kiss you. There’s a roughness to it that you like, the way he doesn’t pretend to be gentle. He doesn’t have to hide what he really is from you, not anymore, and it’s almost relieving.

He hums, almost absently, biting down on your lip before pressing a soothing kiss to it, still trailing the handle of the knife around your folds, coating it in your slick.

“So fucking wet, baby…” Joel considers you for a moment before he slides the hilt of the knife inside you. It’s not long enough to reach your sweet spot, given he has no intention of letting the blade cut you, but it’s enough.

He starts to move the hilt of the knife slowly, mimicking the slow, lazy thrusts that he tends to start with whenever he fucks you, watching your expression become hazy with lust.

“Joel…” you draw his name out into a long whimper, wriggling closer to the knife hilt. You know what he’s done with that knife; you’ve seen plenty, and imagined far more. The fact the he’s using a tool of violence to fuck you? It’s not lost on either of you.

“Feel good, baby? This what you wanted?” He turns the handle inside you, watching your pupils blow wide, encouraged by your whimpers and mewls.

“Mmhmm…” you reach for him, pull him close into another kiss. He’s happy to indulge you for a moment, but something about fucking you with the handle of the knife he’s used to kill at least a dozen men has him riled up.

“Gonna take this out now, darlin…” he turns the knife hilt once more, drawing another soft whimper from you, “got something better for you…”

You wriggle again. “Please…”

“So good for me, baby. Get on your knees for me.” His voice is low, heavy, as he pulls the knife hilt from you slowly, watches you turn over onto all fours for him.

He doesn’t always expect perfect obedience from you. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he has to admit, it makes him even harder and ache even more for you to see you so damn eager for him. He can see how soaked you are, how needy you are, as he sets the knife aside and unbuckles his belt.

You look at him over your shoulder, eyes heavy, lips parted, watching him as he unzips his jeans, frees his cock and strokes his lazily as he returns to you, pulling you close against him, stroking himself along your soaked cunt.

“Look at you, baby… gonna take me so well.”

You move closer to him, trying to get him inside you as quickly as possible.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he slides against you again, callused hands taking hold of your hips, pulling you flush against him. Those same hands caress your waist for a moment before sliding down to take a handful of your ass, one hand moving to guide himself inside you.

He’s not slow, not careful. Not this time. He slides into you in a single deep, rough thrust, to the hilt almost at once.

You cry out, but don’t move away from him. You want this; want him, no, need him, to be as rough as he needs to be. And Joel? He can be rough when he loses control.

One hand remains on your waist, the other twisting into your hair, pulling your head up as he slams into you, again and again, relentless, his hips colliding roughly with yours.

You don’t fight him, don’t remotely want to fight him. It feels too good, every inch of him filling you, hitting your sweet spot. Without his hand holding you up, you’re certain you’d collapse onto the bed, unable to hold yourself steady.

“C’mon, darlin, know you gotta cum… can feel you soaking me like a filthy slut…” Joel‘s hand leaves your waist for a moment, lays a sharp spank to your ass. You cry out, back yourself up against him, getting him deeper inside you.

“Fuck, Joel…” You gasp; the spank stings, but he’s not done. He lays another one to your stinging ass, alternating sides, not once does he ease up on his brutal pace, still slamming into you.

“Cum for me, darlin.” He leans down to almost growl it in your ear, hand rubbing soothing circles on the reddening handprint on your ass. You can’t help it; you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, know he can feel it too.

“Stop trying to fight it, baby, I can feel it… you feel so fucking wet, darlin, I know you’re close…”

He won’t admit it, but he’s close too. The thought of filling you again, fucking his seed into you until it takes… he groans, a strangled, involuntary growl.

“Joel…” your hands fist into the sheets of the bed as your entire body tenses, then goes limp. You can feel every nerve in your body, as if you’re on fire, as you tighten around him, soaking him.

“That’s it, baby, take it…” he breathes out, trying to delay his own climax, but unable to for much longer; he’s almost forgotten how well you handle him being rough with you, and the image of you being fucked with his knife… that’s doing things to him.

Growling, he pulls you up against his chest, holding you tight as he slams into you, once, twice more, before he presses as deep as possible, moaning and cursing into your ear, biting down on your shoulder as he reaches his climax, grinding into you to keep every drop of his seed buried inside you.

“That’s it…” Joel soothes, kissing the bite mark he’s left on your shoulder, “such a good girl…”

You gasp, trying to catch your breath, glad he’s holding you so you don’t collapse.

“Feel good, darlin? I’ll take your inability to speak as a positive.” Joel grinds against you again, a low groan leaving his throat. You feel so damn good, so tight around him, so warm… he groans again, feels himself throb once more inside you before he pulls out of you slowly.

“Baby,” he turns you to face him, pulls you into his arms, kisses you slowly, “you did so amazing for me…”

“I love you,” you tell him, and he smiles at you.

“I love you too, darlin. Love you too.”

#my writing #Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller x Reader #dark!joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x oc

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ohraicodoll · 1 year

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Be Still

(Gif Credit Joel-Miller) Joel Miller x fem!reader The Last of Us (Show/Game) 1.4k Words (3rd POV) Summary: It takes her a while to see what’s happening to him. Joel is having a panic attack. (I’ve never written so fast but had to after watching ep 6!!)

It happened twice before she realized what it was.

At first she worried it was a heart attack. That Joel was having a heart attack in the middle of the forest and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t a knife wound or gunshot, nothing she could patch up and stitch together. She hadn’t been a doctor in any life, was more skilled in killing than healing, and they didn't have medicine to give him. His age had never been a thing she cared about or was too concerned with. The world wore them down equally, harshly, and he always seemed to defy the number. Was stronger than anyone his age like through his rage he could defy his body. It wasn’t a heart attack though. She could see the bright whites of his eyes, the way they unfocused and his breath would hitch under the press of his hand against his chest. The shallow breaths coming in and out in frantic off-kilter beats. It wasn’t the cold like he tried to play it off as, wasn’t his age or at least not entirely. Panic attack. Joel Miller was having panic attacks and was trying his best to hide them. They’d started after a few close calls. Ellie getting hit or her almost getting her head shot off. Running from a small horde that had built up inside a locked shop they’d inadvertently let loose. The more close calls they had, the more she could see his anxiety build up. And now it was flooding over, manifesting in a way she was startled to see in the man who always seemed like an impenetrable fortress. He was never afraid. But that was fear in his eyes as he rubbed his hand over and over against his chest, staring at the infected at her feet sporting a new bullet hole. So close. It’d been so close to her. Had dropped out of the second floor window of the cabin they stood outside of. And she hadn’t reacted fast enough but he had. Her eyes took in the way he stared, the hollow blank gaze, the twisting of his lips as they shook. Panic. There was panic and fear there. “Ellie, go clear out that shack and start laying out camp for the night,” she ordered and tried to keep her voice steady, not wanting to give away that anything was up, “We’ll clean this up and patrol the grounds real fast.” The teen sighed audibly and tucked her gun away into her pocket overdramatically, not noticing Joel’s silence as she walked towards the small open shack a dozen yards away. The house the infected had come from was dilapidated, all the windows broken and looking like it was sinking in on itself. Not the safest. As soon as the girl was a good distance away and out of direct view, she walked towards Joel slowly as if approaching a skittish animal. His breath was a wheeze in the silence and he almost jumped when her hands reached out and touched his cheek. “Sit, come on. Nice and slow, just sit on the ground,” she coaxed him, cupping his face and drawing his attention away from the dead body. His eyes were glazed but he sank to his knees, hard and crunching the dried leaves. He was still upright, not allowing himself to fall onto his heels and sit completely, so she followed his lead. Knees to knees, her breath mingled with his and one hand went over the ones clutched to his chest, “Come on, Miller, I need you to take deep breaths in and deep breaths out. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” He was shaking, fingers digging into his shirt like he wanted to try and claw his heart out. His beard was rough against her palm, the silver hairs catching the dying light. Joel looked so lost. He never looked like that, was a constant pillar of confidence against the world. Unshakeable. To see him look that way, scared for the first time in a long while, had something twist inside her. His breaths were still shallow, lips quivering, so she mimicked the routine. Loud breaths in, deep sighs out, “You gotta breathe for me, Joel. In and out, real steady.” Awareness was slowly seeping into his eyes and her fingers slipped between his, clutched in his grasp. He focused on her and started to breathe, swallowing heavily. They were broken, stuttered gasps but he was trying. Her hand stayed on his cheek and she could feel each attempt, see the color and life come back to him. “There you are,” she whispered with a gentle smile, one that was usually reserved for Ellie. Joel never liked things gentle, rejected softness, so she had never offered it. Everything between them was rough, brutal, from the way they fought to how he would smash his mouth against hers during those tiny moments of privacy.

They had hated each other and then…they didn’t. But it was never gentle, wasn’t love or even affection.

She didn’t expect to be the one to keep him from breaking apart. His breathing was getting steadier, more confident. She almost smiled wider, “Okay. Go over the supplies we have in the first aid kit.” A furrow appeared between his brows, the first hint of Joel coming back, “What?” “Just do it, Tex,” it was a command but stayed coaxing, soft even as his fingers gripped her own so hard her bones protested. His eyes flickered all over while he struggled to think and her forehead came to rest against his, “Five things then in the kit.” Their matched breathing warmed her and with a stutter, Joel started listing things. Gauze. Tape. Needle and thread. Scissors. Tweezers. “Technically, that’s six,” she smirked and was pleased that by the end of the list, his breathing was back to normal and he was no longer shaking. “You can’t have a needle without thread. It’s one item,” Joel huffed roughly, not much humor in the comment. Silence took them over and neither moved. She knew his knees had to be hurting against the cold hard ground because hers were starting to, but she didn’t want to be the first one to pull away. She’d stay kneeling there all night if it was what he needed because somewhere along the lines of months they’d all been traveling, Joel had become one of hers. Not only Ellie, but this gruff older man who bit off her head yet gave her the bigger pieces of jerky and would sometimes stop her to kneel and tie her shoes for her. He took care of them both. In the dark he shared his favorite bands growing up and in the light acted like the sight of her made him angry. And now holding him after seeing him deal with a panic attack, she wondered how much of what he felt was hidden under layers and layers. If she’d ever actually get to know Joel and not only what he wanted her to see. Because he wasn’t unstoppable, wasn’t fearless. He was petrified. Slowly, she leaned forward and grazed his nose with her own. The prickle of his mustache and beard against her skin drove tingles across her skin, his breath warm against her lips. He didn’t stop her, didn’t shove her away and walk off even after she’d witnessed a vulnerability. Instead he leaned forward and met her lips with his, the barest of touches. More a press than an actual kiss. It was the gentlest thing she ever felt from the man and it seemed to do more than all the times he tasted her skin and pressed his tongue against her. She pressed harder, kissed him deeper, and tried to pour out everything she knew he would reject out loud. You’re okay. I’m okay. I’ve got you. His hand gripped hers but softened in answer. They wouldn’t talk about it. She knew as much not to push that. But he didn’t try to play it off and instead let her keep that secret of his and take on its burden. It was one of the few things they shared and she would guard it, guard him as fiercely as that little girl.

Even after she broke their kiss, gave him a small smile and helped him get to his feet so they could go check on Ellie, he didn’t let go of her hand.

#raicodoll writes #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #tlou #the last of us #tlou spoilers #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x feral reader #series: feral #oc: red #this stuck in my mind hard #def as someone that deals with panic attacks

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starry-eyes-love · 8 months

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My Journey to You | Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Summary | (Post Outbreak) For the past year Joel Miller (age 52), You (Female Reader age 27), and Ellie (age 14) have been searching for Joel's brother Tommy. Recently someone had told you that he had settled in Jackson, Wyoming and now that is where you three are headed. Somewhere along the way, you have fallen hard for the broody, quiet, and sometimes grumpy man named Joel Miller. As the two of you navigate the wilderness together you also have to navigate your feelings for one another in the presence of a teenage girl named Ellie. Survival in the wilderness does not come easy and neither does a relationship with Joel Miller. The question is, can you survive the journey?

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader. Ellie just is a travel companion and a teenager who is often difficult to deal with.

Fic Warnings | 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Smut, language, unprotected sex, no use of Y/N. See each chapter for specific warnings

Fic Notes | Welcome to my first ever Joel Miller x F!Reader fanfiction. I hope you all like it, as I am enjoying writing it.

No longer doing tag lists, turn on notifications to see when I post new stories.

Chapters

Prequel: Just This Once

Ch 1: Frozen Desire

Ch 2: Blood & Pain

Ch 3: Even Tough Hearts Break Under Pressure

Ch 4: Please, I Need You

Ch 5: Woodland Fun

Ch 6: You're Forever Mine

Ch 7: A Silent Promise to You

Ch 8: A Christmas Story

Ch 8.5: Dance With Me

Ch 9: Blood Within Me

Chapter 10 (in progress of writing)

going to be more than 10 chapters, unknown total yet.

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heartfullofleeches · 1 month

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Miller [Streamer Yan] and Vtuber Darling that's a regular 110% human being just like them :). Darling's model is pretty average, yet cute looking, but it's their gimmick that really pulls people in.

"Ah, I'm a little thirsty. Excuse me while I drink water with my human mouth... which I have only one of."

"Do you like when I play horror games? I. Like. Them. Too. But I prefer the ones where the main character befriends the monsters at the end :)"

"Oh... Is that really what people look like instead?... I. Am full of meat too. We have so much more in common than I thought."

Quite the oddball, but their chat finds their behaviors adorable. Miller does too. They're over the moon when Darling accepts their friend requests and even more thrilled when darling mentions Miller is their first companion and streaming buddy. They've never been able to make friends before and was lonely because of it, but since they've gained a following it feels like they're never alone.

There are a few hiccups on the day Miller and Darling first stream together. Static drowns out darling's voice when they call and Miller can faintly hear what sounds like...purring? in the background. Darling apologies for the strange sounds once they're finally able to get through to Miller - their pet cat was happy they finally made a friend.

Miller is crushing hard from day one. They've never seen darling's face, but if they're half as cute as their voice they might be too far out of Miller's league. They've tried scrolling through darling's social media pages for photos of them, but all they were able to find was old selfies taken in the worst lighting imaginable... Pretty blurry too.

Darling likes Miller too. They feel as though they can trust the streamer. Trust them with anything.

"Mill...er? I. Have a confession."

"I'm all ears- Lay it on me, baby."

"Can you promise? Promise. Not to be.. Afraid?"

"Afraid? Who'd ever be scared of someone like you? You don't really scream serial killer from the conversations we've had so far."

"If that's is the case... Join the call. See. Me. I. Trust you, Miller."

Call? Oh, darling invited them to a video call. It's crazy that it's the first one after all the time, but Miller respects their privacy....a little. Miller can't see much of anything when they join in. Small, white lights greet them shrouded by the darkness of darling's room as their end connects. Looking closer, Miller realizes....

Those are eyes.

"I'm. So sorry for deceiving you.... and everyone else. Miller.... Thank you for being so kind to me. I couldn't lie to you anymore. I'm sorry. I understand. If you hate me now ...."

"Hate you?.... I'm trying to figure out when our first date is-"

"Ah?"

"You like pork chops? Steak? I remember you talking a lot about meat in earlier streams. I like a person who can really eat, y'know?"

Are they.... flirting? Darling is vaguely aware of the practice. Miller can see them right? Why are they acting so nonchalant about their appearance?

"Hm? It's still you, isn't it? A few more eyes or rows of teeth don't change the fact you're one of the chillest people I've met online. Cutest too. Even now.... So, when can we meet up?"

Miller is strange.... but Darling is strange too. They're happy they met them.

Miller: So you're telling me you've been this sexy monster person this entire time?

Vtuber Darling: i... suppose?

Miller: And you choose that boring ass design as your avatar?! Actually that was probably better for me personally - weeds out some of the competition.

#Miller my oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere streamer #monster reader

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delborovic · 2 months

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Vampires are friends ♥

Val of course. Very Lost Boys inspired- her aesthetic has always been Lost Boys/Terminator crossover

#vampires #vtm #vampire the masquerade #brujah #blood & syrup #ttrpg #val miller #originals characters #my ocs #blood tw

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months

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✨ Look for the Light Masterlist ✨

Decided to do a mood board for my fic “Look for the Light” 🩵 It’s on A03 as well and has a playlist. This one is a slow burn, action packed, twisty ride. I hope you enjoy! Their relationship is absolutely canon 😍 This is my very first fic, and I put my entire heart and soul into it and have been working on it for six months. I am so over the moon with how well this story came out and am just so proud of it 🥰 This is forever my baby, and I cannot wait to continue my writing and more Joel fics! I hope you enjoy this beautiful work of art I have put together. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 😊

- Rating: Explicit (18+ only MDNI)

- Word Count: 187,394

- Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him? (This fic is in both Aly and Joel’s POV)

- Tags: Angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, attempted sexual assault, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, unprotected p in v, gratuitous smut, joel x fem! reader, original character, protective Joel, anxiety, ptsd, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, younger female/older man, grumpy Joel, death, violence

This is me trying is so Joel coded, and I got a lot of inspiration in this story from this song 🩵

Chapter 1: Introductions

Chapter 2: Escaping

Chapter 3: Knife Practice

Chapter 4: Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

Chapter 5: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 6: Panic Attacks and Blue Eyes

Chapter 7: What You Say Goes

Chapter 8: Thunderstorms and Heartbreak

Chapter 9: Safe, In My Arms

Chapter 10: Bow and Arrow Lessons

Chapter 11: Vacancy in a Cabin

Chapter 12: Taken

Chapter 13: David’s Territory

Chapter 14: What Town!

Chapter 15: Held Hostage

Chapter 16: Stay With Me

Chapter 17: Your Hand In Mine

Chapter 18: Slow Dancing In a Burning Room

Chapter 19: Back to the Lodge

Chapter 20: Taking David Down

Chapter 21: Burn It Down, Burn It All Down

Chapter 22: Liars

Chapter 23: Finding Ellie

Chapter 24: Welcome to Jackson

Chapter 25: Slow Hands

Chapter 26: You Are In Love

Chapter 27: Bubble Baths and Sweet Affections

Chapter 28: Guitar Lessons and Heart Strings

Chapter 29: Complications

Chapter 30: Protecting What’s Yours

Chapter 31: This Love

Epilogue : Proposal

Epilogue Pt II: Wedding Day

Soft - Extra little piece I wrote about Joel being in love

Trailer for my series 🥰

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shittybundaskenyer · 9 months

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cherries and strawberry wine <3

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur #arthur morgan x oc #oc: stephanie miller #lemonade #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #a little something something #i did this like two weeks ago i just forgot about it #steph is having some thoughts while getting reacquainted with arthur hehe #steph and arthur my beloveds

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hier--soir · 1 year

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under the night | six

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] language, being held captive, angst, serious violence, torture, injury, blood, discussions of murder, threat of sexual assault [DOES NOT HAPPEN], very brief discussion of religion/the bible, idk if you think i missed anything please let me know word count: 6k part five | series masterlist | main masterlist

Clink, clink.

Maria was drinking a cup of earl grey tea. The bergamot has a calming effect, she’d said, would you like a cup? Her spoon swirled in the teacup, bumping against the china every so often as she mixed in a sugar cube. The cup was pretty, a cream colour with pale pink gerbera flowers painted along the porcelain. Clink, clink; the spoon knocked the side of it again, the woman still unsatisfied by the granules of sugar visible in the dark liquid. It was the only sound in the room, bar the soft pattering of rain on the roof, as the four of them sat silently around Maria and Tommy’s dinner table.

Joel huffed in frustration as she finally lifted the spoon from the liquid and placed it gingerly on the saucer, before raising the cup to her mouth and taking her first sip. She sighed happily, relaxing in her chair as she savoured the taste.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking around the table.

“Oh, we can talk now?” Joel snapped, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “You’ve got your fuckin’ tea and now you’re ready?”

“Joel,” Tommy warned his brother quietly. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“Well, she could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said spitefully in the woman’s direction. “It’s been days, and you haven’t ordered any searches, haven’t questioned anyone.”

Maria raised her hand to stop him, “It’s a delicate situation.”

“No, Joel’s right,” Cal spoke up. The bags under his eyes were heavy, hair greasy and slicked back off his forehead; the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept in days. “You run things here, and I always thought you did a damn good job of it too. But she’s gone missing, and you’re just sitting back and waiting? For what?”

“Things are returning to normal here,” she said lowly. “People are calming down, and I don’t want to raise any alarm bells if I don’t need to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel all but snarled.

“It means that I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to leave,” she levelled at him, one eyebrow raised accusatorially. Clink, clink. He flinched as she dipped her spoon back into the cup, tapping it against the rim. “Ellie told me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand forming a fist below the table. “Told you what exactly?”

Maria gave him a conspiratorial look. “She told me about being strangled, Joel. She came here a few days ago, upset after hearing the news, and we talked. Ellie worries that she might have left out of guilt… and I must admit, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”

“Wait,” Cal’s eyebrows raised in alarm, eyes darting between Maria and Joel. “What the fuck are you talki-“

“No one was fuckin’ strangled,” Joel ground out, doing his best to stay calm. “Ellie wasn’t hurt. And she wouldn’t fuckin’ leave us; there’s no god damn way she’d even think to go outside those gates alone.”

Joel’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace at Maria’s insinuation, shaking his head jerkily. The last conversation he’d had with you played on his head in a constant loop, the image of your face distorted in despair, the feeling of your guilty tears on his neck – it tormented him. Kept him awake all night, and on edge all day. The idea that you might have decided to leave, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, or fear, or… or because of something he’d said. His chest tightened at the thought. He’d told you not to stay at the house if he wasn’t there, hadn’t he? That’s why you’d gone home alone that night, instead of coming back to him. It won’t happen again, is what you said. Joel mulled the words over in his mind endlessly, searching for a hidden meaning in your tone that he might have missed; a plan to leave him.

Tommy watched the three of them silently, the corners of his mouth downturned in dismay. To see Joel be so distraught was hard for him. Ellie had confided in Tommy that Joel had hardly spoken for the past three days. That he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She kept a close eye on him and didn’t pry; simply sat quietly in whatever room he resided in, and just kept a watchful eye on him. Tommy couldn’t thank her enough for it. He’d watched his brother experience so much loss, so much heartache, and he cringed to realise they were witnessing it happen to him all over again.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” Cal broke the silence, his voice cracking on the last word. He reached up hastily to wipe the corner of his eye. “We made an agreement when we first got here. If either one of us decides we aren’t happy, then we leave – together. No questions asked. She wouldn’t break a promise.”

Joel glanced at the younger man, absorbing his words with a blank expression. It still unnerved him sometimes; to gain further insights into the tightknit bond between you and Cal, but he pushed all negative feelings down, knowing the he was right.

“She’s still in Jackson,” Joel said with a tone of finality, straightening his shoulders.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Maria asked. “I’ve already asked so much of our community, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“Some fuckin’ community it is,” he muttered. “Women gettin’ stolen out of their god damn homes.”

Tommy gave him a look that said, not helpful. Joel ignored him.

“We question them – all of them,” he asserted. “Ransack every fuckin’ house in this town if we have to. She’s here somewhere – whoever’s doin’ this can’t keep her hidden for long.”

Maria nodded slowly, sparing a short glance in her husband’s direction. “We’ll question people then. If we go to the right ones, someone is bound to spill something.”

Tommy stared at his brother, taking in the way he stared intensely at the woman. “You can’t be a part of it though,” he said softly. Joel’s head snapped in his direction, eyes narrowing.

“Tommy,” he glared, only to be quickly interrupted.

“You’re too high strung, both of you are,” Tommy said, glancing between Joel and Cal. “If you’re out there knockin’ down doors, you’re just gonna scare people off, and somebody will get hurt. We can’t risk you two causing a scene.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Cal grunted, hand smacking down on the table.

“You won’t be,” Maria said firmly. “Someone needs to be waiting if she shows up. So wait. If she shows up at either of your homes, you’ll be there.”

“You’re fuckin’ delusional if you thin-“

“Stop,” Maria interrupted softly. “Have either of you taken a moment to consider it might already be too late? It’s been three days… Do you really want to be the ones to find her if she’s…. I’m trying to keep you both separated from this, for your sakes.”

“I’m not fuckin’ listenin’ to this,” Joel grunted, pushing his chair from the table and stalking towards the front door. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he turned his head to the side, staring back at them from the corner of a tear-filled eye.

“She is out there somewhere, alive, puttin’ up a goddamn fight. And when I find her,” he spoke with his back to them, voice dangerously quiet. “I’m going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this. And you two won’t be able to stop me.”

Joel didn’t need to look at him to know that Cal agreed.

The curtains were always the first thing you saw. When your eyelids managed to crack open, to break through the dried blood that crusted over your eyelashes, you would always notice them first. Large, bundled drapes that reached the floor, covering the walls, concealing the windows and any potential natural light. It was so dark all of the time, and so time had lost meaning. You couldn’t tell how many hours, or days, had passed. All you knew was that the curtains, made from a dark fabric, with pictures of small birds sewn onto them, were the first thing you saw every time you opened your eyes.

Sparrows, the thought whispered through your mind. Little sparrows sewn into the curtains.

A small metal table was positioned in the corner opposite to where you laid on a thin mattress, arms tied to a pipe protruding from the wall. Sometimes your eyes flickered to it, trying to glean what was on it, but it was futile because of the distance. Candles were placed sporadically around the edges of the room, providing a vague yellow light to the space which allowed you see these things. But no natural light meant not knowing when the sun rose and fell., so you learned to rely on a different schedule. Twice a day he would bring a meal into the room, and you did your best to note the time passing, but even that provided little relief. Dehydration and pain had you dropping in and out of consciousness, and you rejoiced in the respite that sleep brought. Sleep brought quiet. Waking, however, brought with it a stark reminder of where you were.

An unpleasant stretching sensation resided in your arms. The muscles burned from hyperextension from constantly stretching behind you to the wall, your hands numb from a lack of blood flow due to how taught the rope around your wrist was pulled. But no matter how uncomfortable, you never turned your back to the door. That way he couldn’t enter the room without you seeing him immediately.

The throbbing in your foot, and the smell of metal was always what you noticed next. Blood stained the lower half of the mattress, and you did your best not to look down. But the smell was overwhelming, and you knew you had to see how much blood you’d lost. Your right foot was caked in dried blood, and the sight of one of your toes missing was enough to make your stomach curl every time, as waves of violent nausea rolled through you.

“That’s fine,” you whispered hoarsely, attempting to convince yourself. “Never used that one anyway, can live without it.”

Talking to yourself helped. Although your thoughts were often delirious and half-baked, hearing your own voice out loud brought a certain sense of calm.

And you’d formed a routine. Where every time you woke, you calmed your breathing, and forced yourself to decide how you were going to behave. How to survive another encounter with him. You’d chosen violence the first time, and you came to sorely regret it.

He’d been watching you that first day; waiting for you to stir. It had been dark, but you still saw him instantly. Cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress you laid on, dark beady eyes bearing down on your skin like weights. The itchy burn of rope against your wrists wasn’t as noticeable at first, for you were distracted by the thick wad of material in your mouth, placed there to keep you silent. When your brain had fully woken up, you’d glared at him in a wide-eyed panic, moaning urgently against the cloth between your teeth, tears brimming in your eyes. No, no, no, no.

“Shh,” Lincoln had murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “It’s okay, shh.”

Tentatively, he reached down and tugged the cloth out of your mouth. You sucked in sharp panicked breaths, staring up at him as the feeling of white-hot terror spread through your veins, all the way from your neck down to your feet. It was him. All along, all the women, it had been him. This embarrassing, weak man, who’d had you fucking fooled. You’d thought him a creep, but not this. Never this.

“Breathe,” he’d whispered, stroking your cheek with his fingers. Heaving sighs tore out of your mouth, and you turned your head in his hold, brushing your nose along the palm of his hand. His eyes shone with appreciation at the gesture, and he smiled. “You’re here with me now. It’s just you and me.”

Holding his gaze for a split second longer, you sank your teeth into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, attempted to pull back, but you bit him harder, deeper. The taste of metal filled hit your tongue, but you didn’t let go until his other hand struck you across the face, knocking you back.

He'd hit your left side, and the all-too-familiar buzzing soared through your ear, exacerbating the pounding in your skull. “You cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. He glared down at you, cradling his wounded hand against his chest.

And then his foot was slamming into your ribcage. “You stupid,” kick “fucking” kick “cunt” kick. The breath left your body, and you curled in on yourself on the thin mattress, wheezing, until he gave up.

“You won’t do that again,” his reedy voice called out from behind you. “Do you understand?”

Your back was to him, eyes clamped shut as you tried desperately to regulate your breathing. A stabbing pain burned in your right side, flaring every time your chest expanded with a breath. His hand came down on your shoulder, flattening you on the mattress.

“Speak,” he had snarled. “You will answer me when I talk to you, SPEAK.”

Your bloody lips stayed sealed in defiance, glaring up at him. Slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn upward, lips stretching open to reveal a faded set of crooked teeth until he was grinning down at you. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching into his pocket and walking to the end of the mattress. “You want to see what happens when you disobey me in my house? I’ll show you what happens.”

It had been quick.

Flashes of it were burnt into your memory, but the feeling of the moment evaded you when you thought back on it. Him kneeling on your shins, saying “Do as I say, or I’ll clip your wings, little bird.” Pliers in his hand. The feeling of the cold metal on your foot. The smell of iron. A pinkie toe on the floor, by the mattress, in a crimson puddle.

Your hoarse, tormented wails had filled the room so suddenly that Lincoln was cursing while he stuffed the rag back between your lips, muttering something about people hearing you.

He had loomed over you, torso pressed against yours, gritting his teeth and laughing. Put his hands around your neck and whispered of the stories he’d heard about you, that he’d wondered about you since the day Tommy introduced him to you. “I think that was the moment I decided,” he said. “The moment I knew you were going to be mine – it was the very first time I saw you.”

“I wanted to know what he saw in you,” he’d jeered, breath hot against your neck. His hand gripped your throat, squeezing your windpipe intermittently, only ever letting up when your eyes started to roll back and the pressure inside your skull from a lack of oxygen started to become unbearable, only to increase the pressure again once you’d had a few seconds to breathe. “I’d always thought you must be a good lay, if you’ve got big bad Joel Miller whipped like a dog. Realised pretty damn quick I’d have to find out for myself.” Your arms fought tirelessly against the ropes that bound you to the wall, limbs thrashing beneath him, trying to inflict any sort of pain on him.

You frantically mouthed the word no around the rag, lungs heaving in search of oxygen. The last thing you saw before you passed out was his haunting grin.

And you were smarter after that.

Lincoln was hard to read. When he came to the room next, he acted as though the altercation had never happened. And so you followed suit. You listened when he spoke, and answered accordingly. You ate the food he slid across the floor to you. You held in a disgusted reaction when he gestured to the candles around the room one time, and said, “Romantic isn’t it? Candlelit dinner for two?”

In the quiet moments, your mind would float away, and you’d allow yourself brief moments of respite, imagining that you were somewhere, anywhere, else. In your dreams, you were with Joel. Safe in his home, in his bed, playing scrabble with Ellie on his porch while he kept score. You tried to remember the way his laugh sounded, or the way his hands felt on your skin. But everything was warped, the memories unclear. Your brain lacked clarity, and the pain distracted you. And Lincoln could tell where your thoughts went in those moments; you almost feared he could read your mind. As if your brain was splayed open before him, and he was pecking at it in curiosity.

“No one will find you,” he’d say softly. Never nastily, but in a tone that was matter of fact. “They aren’t coming for you. It’s just you and me now, sweet girl.”

You would blink away the tears in your eyes and try not to let him see how afraid you were that he was right. Your memories with Joel felt so hazy, and the last time you’d seen him he had been devastated. He feared what you’d almost done to Ellie, feared how out of his control it had been. Maybe it’s for the best, the thought raced through your brain. Maybe they’ll be happier without you.

Those thoughts were the hardest to shake. And they cut deeper than any injury Lincoln could ever inflict.

One night, when it felt like almost a week had passed, Lincoln entered the room holding two plates.

“Dinner time,” his thin voiced called, and a chill ran down your spine. Slowly, you pushed yourself into a seated position, cringing as pain shot through your side.

He placed a plate beside the mattress before tenderly undoing the rope around your left wrist.

“Eat up,” he murmured, taking a few steps back before settling onto the ground and picking up his fork.

You gazed down at the raw red marks around your wrist, basking in your favourite moment of the day – just a few sweet minutes of ‘freedom’. With an aching chest, you saw what rested on the plate. A kind of dark meat, and a small serving of parsnips.

Oh, Joel.

Sucking your lips into you mouth, you willed the tears in your eyes to dry up, desperate not to let him see any sign of weakness.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Lincoln reaching out across the space between you, and then he placed his thumb and forefinger over the big toe on your right foot, squeezing it once in a silent threat. Your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to pull away. Speak.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered hoarsely, staring at the food.

“It’s dinner time, when else would I feed you?” he attempted to joke, hand leaving your foot to pick his fork up again. When you didn’t respond the smile slipped off his face. “You’re in a bad mood today,” he decided. “I suppose I understand.”

He watched you like a hawk, eyes raking over your features, your bloodstained clothes, the way you gazed despondently at the plate before you. “Surely you can appreciate though… I mean, it’s just… delightful, don’t you see? To see someone be brought down to their basest human form. No sunlight, minimal human interaction. You rely on me for water, for food, for company. I am all you have anymore, and it is simply… delicious.”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you shuddered involuntarily, his words making goosebumps break out across your skin.

“I think so,” Lincoln nodded contemplatively. “It’s not inherently sexual though, I’ll have you know.” You stared, and he let out a low chuckle, hands raising defensively. “Not entirely, at least.”

“You’ll get caught,” you sneered, ignoring the way a cut on your upper lip reopened when your mouth pulled open to reveal your teeth. “You’ll slip up and someone will notice. Joel will notice.”

“Only time will tell,” he mused around a mouthful of food. “Never been caught before though, have I? Not with Milena, or any of the others before you. Not even with my wife; although it was certainly easier to get away with it in those days. The world had gone to shit – everyone was going missing; assumed to be dead or infected. It was so easy. Our girls never had a clue. They trusted me, you see? My beautiful little birds. Believed me when I told them she was lost, that she must’ve been infected. I think that’s what I adore the most – the trust. It was hard to come by here, in Jackson. People were so wary, I had to build up their confidence in me. Really ease into things, you know? But some of these women, they just saw what they wanted to see. A few kind smiles, some silly jokes, and they were mine.” Lincoln sighed wistfully, gazing absentmindedly at the curtains. “Do you like them?” he changed the subject suddenly. “They’re sparrows. Sewed them on myself.” Good God, he was still so fucking chatty.

Nausea twisted in your abdomen. Acidic bile burned in the back of your throat, threatening to bring up the pathetic contents of your stomach. “And your daughters?” you hesitated, wary of angering him. “I… I remember you saying they died.”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you noticed one of his eyebrows twitch at the mention of his late children. “I let them go quickly,” he exhaled with a shrug. “Painlessly. It didn’t make sense to make them endure this world anymore. It was a mercy, if anything.”

“Fresh out of mercy then?” you asked bitterly. “If you’re so kind, and so fucking merciful, then why the are you dragging this out? Why won’t you just fucking end it?”

Fork dropping onto his plate with a loud clang, Lincoln murmured your name kindly. “Please understand,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again. You might be my last for a few months… so I’m trying to savour every minute I have with you.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly as you absorbed his words. How long could you possibly survive down here in these conditions? But the truth was, you knew the answer to that. You knew because you’d survived for years out in the open, with less food and less water than this. Here you had shelter, warmth, food, and water. He could keep you alive for as long as he wanted you.

Realising it had been some time since you responded to him you offered a meek smile and said, “Tell me more about the sparrows.”

Lincoln looked at you curiously. Trying not to appear uncertain, you reached forward and scooped some food from the plate with your free hand and began to eat. The action alone reminded you of Cal. Of dark nights, huddled together in dusty broken-down buildings, eating whatever food you’d been able to find out of the palms of your hands. You sniffled pathetically and tried not to think about him again.

“Good girl,” he murmured almost inaudibly, and you fought off a shiver. Swallowing made your chest ache. Based on the swelling around the middle of your torso, you assumed at least one of your ribs was broken. Even inhaling brought a sharp pain to your right side, but swallowing? That was a whole other world of pain.

Lincoln spoke about the birds, told you how they symbolised joy and simplicity, and your eyes flitted around the room, taking in as much as you could in the dim yellow light. And then suddenly, he was turning his head fully to stare at the curtains. His back was almost entirely to you, and your heart stuttered painfully at the opportunity that had presented itself. From this angle, you were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in his peripheral vision. Was this on purpose? Was it a test? Heart pounding, you worked silently to push the remaining food off your ceramic plate and onto the floor. Eyes focused on him, you waited for him to turn back, to check in on you, to do anything – but he didn’t.

“You know in the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “Sparrows represented God’s love and care for his creations.”

You hummed in response, gripping the plate in your hand and edging forward. Sweat tickled your forward, made your skin itch. You wanted to wipe away the fresh blood that had oozed from your lip onto your chin, but you refrained. No sudden movements. He was so close now, and this chance would not be wasted on you.

Do not be afraid, you thought.

Blood rushed in your ears as you propelled yourself forward, smashing the plate down upon the crown of his skull.

Lincoln pitched forward, his face knocking against the cold ground with a sickening thwack. He howled a ragged, guttural noise of pain, but his movements were sluggish, his reaction time too slow. A fiery pain roared in your side from the movement and you whimpered, dropping the jagged shard of the plate that remained in your hand. Gripping his ankle, you cried out at the strength required to tug his body toward you. He was writhing on the ground, trying to fight against the fog in his brain no doubt, but you pulled him still, until he was perfectly close.

He mumbled your name, and you brought your fist down over his nose, effectively shutting him up.

“Stop fucking saying my name,” you growled, angrily swiping perspiration off your upper lip. This was it. If this didn’t work out, if he regained the upper hand, you’d be dead, no questions asked. You’d started this, and now would certainly be your only chance to finish it. God, your ribs were on fire. You hastily dragged a fragment of the plate in a sawing movement across the rope keeping your other wrist tied, and when it broke away, you heaved a painful sigh of relief.

Planting your knees on either side of his body, you straddled his chest, trapping his arms to his torso. You patted down his body, searching his pockets until you found what you were looking for. The pliers were cold and heavy in your hand. Lincoln blinked lazily, gazing past your shoulder at the roof.

You reached down and gripped the sides of his head. “Look at me,” you seethed, before slamming his head back into the ground. He groaned loudly, but his eyes focused on your face. Blood poured from his nose, spilling into his open mouth and filling the gaps between tooth and gum.

“You won’t kill me,” he garbled out around the crimson liquid. “My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Stop talking,” you moved to be beside his body and pressed your knee onto his left arm.

“You won’t,” he was speaking incessantly now, rambling. “I know you, you’re good. You’re so good, you sweet girl. You wouldn’t kill, and that’s why I like you. I could see it in you. You’re too good for this world, I’m trying to help you, don’t you see?”

“Shut up,” you snarled, pushing the pliers down until they were positioned around his pinkie finger. “You think you fucking know me? You have no idea of the things I’ve done.”

His eyes blinked lazily, trying listlessly to focus. His free hand reached sluggishly towards your face, and you batted it down roughly. Gripping the pliers in both hands, you pressed down. The sound of his screams filled the room as his pinkie finger rolled across the floor.

“You want me to come into my home,” you sneered. “Take me, hide me away, and then kill me?” Positioning the tool over his ring finger, you cut him slowly, revelling in the pained sounds leaving his body, the way his blood spilled onto your hands as you worked. “Oh, Lincoln. You’ll have to try harder than this.”

Again and again, you worked with a gruellingly slow pace, removing all five digits. You didn’t notice that his free hand was gripping your arm so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it down. Do not be afraid.

“Please,” he was sobbing, his mouth wide open like a sore on his face, jagged teeth exposed through thin bloody lips.

And yet as he begged, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse, because through the tears, and the snot, and the blood, it wasn’t just Lincoln that you saw. It was that boy, from a decade ago. That boy that climbed on top of you and laughed. Who enjoyed your fear. Who held you down that night, and every night after, plaguing you in your sleep for years. The boy you couldn’t fight. The boy you couldn’t kill. You wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.

A memory flitted through your mind so quickly it almost didn’t register. But his voice was clear in your head. Joel, and the words you’d shared in front of the fireplace at your home so many weeks beforehand.

“I want to be strong, Joel.”

“You are strong.”

You refocused on Lincoln’s face.

“You want to be in control?” you sputtered, vaguely aware of how deranged your shrill voice sounded. “You want women to be quiet little toys for you to play with in this sick game you’ve created? I’m a fucking person! I’m real!” your voice cracked. “You want to kill me, Lincoln? Let’s see you do it without your fucking fingers.” You realised then that you were crying. Soundless tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving clear trails in the dirt and blood that stained your face.

He looked on the verge of passing out, and you tore his hand off your arm, stumbling away from his body. You stepped awkwardly on your right foot and yelped in pain, grimacing at the bloody footprint that followed behind you when you walked. Wrapping an arm around your torso, against your ribs, you struggled to breathe. Running on pure adrenaline, your eyes drifted toward the table in the corner. A pocketknife and a lighter laid serenely on the top of it, and you stumbled toward it slowly.

But a heavy blow landed on the back of your knee, stopping you in your tracks. Your arms flailed as you fell forward, and when you hit the ground, the table came toppling down with you.

“S-stop,” Lincoln was speaking, his speech slurred and disjointed. His bloodied hands clawed at your legs, pulling your body towards him while you thrashed against his hold. Your leg kicked backward desperately and connected with his face, and you screamed at the throbbing pain that shot through your foot.

Neither of you noticed how the table had knocked over multiple candles, or the way fire blazed along the bottom of the curtains. Little sparrows, turning to ash as flames snaked their way up the drapes, slowly engulfing the walls of the room in vibrant red.

You fumbled for the pocketknife on the floor, rolling onto your back just as his weight landed on top of you. His heavy breaths hit your face, blood dripping from his nose and splashing onto your skin.

“Little bird,” he whimpered brokenly. “Why would you ruin this?”

The temperature in the room had risen exponentially, and the pair of you were so close to the wall that it was impossible to ignore now. Wild flames licked at the bare skin of your arm, but you paid the burn no mind, pushing against his face, his neck, trying to get as much distance between you as possible.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he howled, landing a heavy blow across your face. You coughed roughly, blood spitting up from your mouth onto your chin.

You gave up on pushing him back, instead using your hands to fumble with the knife. Lincoln’s good hand gripped your throat, his remaining fingers pressing down on your windpipe. Blood roared in your ears, and you were sweating, and god it was so hot. The air thickened with smoke, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Your hands were so slick with blood that it was difficult to unhook the small blade, but after a few moments you did it. Gasping for air as he bore his entire weight against your neck, you plunged the knife into his side.

A choked sound of surprise fell from his mouth, and then air was rushing into your lungs, and you were coughing harshly, watching as his body collapsed to the side of you.

He was still alive when you crawled on top of him, eyes bulging as he gripped the handle of the blade lodged in his side. You slammed your fist against his broken nose, and both of you cried out in pain. By this point, the fire was roaring through the room, the four walls covered in a beautiful mix of orange and red flames. The heat was sweltering, and so so close that sweat dripped from your nose and chin.

A deafening bang reverberated through the room and you covered your face instinctively. Shattered glass from the windows rained through the air and covered the ground, and moonlight streamed into the room.

Distantly, you thought you could hear voices, or the sound of a door opening, but you ignored it. Impossible. Your fingers wrapped around Lincoln’s spindly neck, and you positioned your thumbs over his windpipe, before pressing downward with all of the strength in your body. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you pushed through it, gathering blood and spit in your mouth and releasing it in a spray onto his face. He flinched back at the sensation, and you grinned messily.

You imagined briefly what you must look like; covered in a mix of blood and dirt, hair matted to your head, straddling this man, and grinning down at him.

“Are you afraid?” you whispered.

You could see the light slowly fading from his eyes, and you pressed harder, arms burning with the effort. A burning sensation exploded in your left thigh, but you ignored it, digging your elbows into his chest for leverage and pushing. In the second you realised it was about to be over, there were hands on you. Gripping you, wrapping around your waist, wrenching you away from him.

The foreign hands were pulling you back, tugging you towards the door, but your eyes were trained on Lincoln, as he gasped for air on the floor, alive. You could hear shouting, male voices yelling so closely, but the words were indecipherable. And then suddenly, you were enveloped by cold, winter air. You were outside.

Hyperventilating, you dropped to your knees on the ground, burying your red hands in the wet grass, and wailed. Thick tears blurred your vision and rolled down your face in hot rivulets.

The relief was short lived though, as those hands returned to your body. Gliding over your back, squeezing your shoulders, touching your face. Your stomach rolled violently.

“Don’t touch me,” you begged, your voice an unfamiliar shriek as it ripped from somewhere deep inside your body. “Get your fucking hands off me, don’t fucking touch me, don-“

“Darlin’, it’s me, it’s me,” you could hear, but you just fought harder, beating against the solid wall of brick in front of you, pounding your fists against his chest.

“I’ll fucking,” you gasped for air, eyes clamped tightly shut. “I’ll fucking kill you, get away from me.”

But familiar hands were gripping your face, holding you tightly, forcing you to look, and when you did, it’s like your body went limp. All the fight in you disappeared.

You mumbled his name, and he nodded furiously, those brown eyes you loved gazing into yours, panic and concern evident in the harsh lines across his forehead, in that deep frown you knew so well.

“It’s me, baby, I’ve got you,” his voice was like a song in your ears, and you closed your eyes and let him hold you, listening to the desperate apologies he whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s over, it’s over.”

part seven

tag list <3

@huffle-punk @n7cje @ghostofjoharvelle @nrmnie @sarahhxx03 @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @missgurrl

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #my writing #under the night

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pedropascalsx · 7 months

Text

Peaches. {Joel Miller x F! Reader}

Summary: Joel fucks you in front of a mirror.

Warnings: P in V, Oral (F receiving), fingering, biting, lingerie, some feelings and very very very slight Dom!Joel in you look hard enough.

Word Count: 1.6k.

A/N: I had this idea. Fought with myself for ages. Two hours later this is what I had written and it’s the best I could get. I tried and I really hope you like it. Thank you @littlebirdsbookshelf for reading through and offering me support 💜

I hope y’all enjoy! 🩷🩷

It’s striking, the difference in how you usually look compared to right now. Your skin freshly scrubbed clean, bare with the exception of the flimsy material that barely covers the most intimate parts of yourself.

It’s the same colour as the wild peaches you had come across by chance a few months ago, the hot sun beamed down on you as you nibbled happily on the fuzzy fruit. You took so many with you that they began to rot, even over a few long days and nights you couldn’t quite eat enough and the sadness you felt as they turned to mush and rotted in your backpack still gnaws at you on your hungriest of days.

Slowly your fingertips brush against the lacy material, it’s softer than you had anticipated. It’s not the most practical thing you could have picked up, but it was brand new, clean and it stole your attention.

You take a step back and can’t hide the way your breath hitches, even through the layers of dirt and dust that had collected and stained the once ornate mirror; you can’t take your eyes off of yourself.

Despite the lack of material, it hugs your figure in the most flattering of ways. Covering you in a way that shows plenty but still leaves plenty for the imagination.

Lost in your own little trance, where you drag your fingertips across the lace and tease yourself just enough to make you want more; you don’t hear him enter. You don’t know he’s there until you look back up at your own reflection and see him staring with an obvious hunger down at you.

“Joel-,” you whisper, but he quietens you with a firm shake of his head.

“Now, what’s all this?” He murmurs in that addictive texan drawl, before scraping his stubble against your soft skin. “Doesn’t look like essentials to me.”

“I needed new underwear,” you say quietly, your fingertips still rubbing the softest circles on your bra, against your now hardened peaks.

“You still need new underwear if this is what you got,” he says with a sigh, before nibbling your earlobe. “Hands on the basin.”

“It’s soft,” you moan, ignoring his request and continuing to gently touch yourself.

“Hands. On. The. Basin.” He grits out, pulling your hands away from your tits and pushing them towards the ceramic. “We don’t have long, and it’s been weeks since I’ve been able to touch you.”

Your fingers curl around the edge of the basin, gripping on tightly as his calloused hands start to roam your body. Grabbing at anything and everything he can whilst watching you both in the mirror.

“This is so fucking pretty,” he growls into your ear, before pushing his hand into your panties and coating his fingers in your arousal.

He groans loudly at just how soaked you are, before dragging some of it up to your clit. His fingers are deft and talented, drawing the tightest circles against your bundle of nerves and having you seeing stars in no time.

With one hand working your clit expertly, his free hand slips beneath your silky bra and pinches at your nipple. A soft chuckle escaping his throat as you yelp at the unexpected twang of pain.

He knows that you like it though, just a little bit of pain, paired with a whole load of pleasure. Pleasure that his hands expertly draw out of you with ease.

“Open your eyes and watch,” he demands, knowing that you're seconds away from falling off the ledge that he has you dangling over. The speed of his fingers on your clit quickens, as the moans that fall sweetly from your lips get louder and louder, until you fall silent and seize up for a few seconds before you start convulsing and sputtering his name over and over in pleasure.

He takes a step back the moment you can’t take anymore and when your clit becomes much too sensitive for touch and he simply watches you. Your fingers still tightly gripping onto the basin as he had demanded, and your chest heaving up and down as you regain your composure.

In a few moments, he’ll push himself into you and have you biting down on his hand so as not to make too much noise, but right now, he’ll just enjoy looking at you.

He watches you and ignores the way his painfully hard cock twitches as your breath hitches, and your tits move up and down. He ignores the way his hands itch with the need to hold you. He ignores the need to gently console you with the sweetest of praises as your legs begin to steady themselves. He will always make distance where distance is needed, because this is how this works, this is how he keeps your heart protected. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Once your chest is steady, he takes that step towards you again. His hands immediately grab onto your hips as he presses a few rough kisses against your cheek.

“You think you can take me now, darling, or do you need more?”

“I can take you,” you say breathlessly, desperate to feel him close that tiny space between you and feel his skin against yours.

“Keep your hands on the basin,” he orders, despite knowing that you know you’re not to touch him and you won’t disobey that command.

“Yes, sir.” A moan rolls of your tongue as he drops to his knees behind you, his fingertips dip beneath the waistband of your panties and then slowly start rolling them down your legs, before helping you step out of them. Out of your sight, he bunches them up and pushes them into the small pocket of his shirt and exhales. You wait patiently for him to stand, but he doesn’t, instead he pushes your legs apart slightly and lets his breath coat your pussy.

A cry of his name floods the room as he suddenly begins to taste you, his tongue flattening against your folds and dragging slowly from your clit all the way back. “So fucking sweet.” He growls, before diving back in and focusing on your clit.

His tongue laps against it, his groans louder than your cries of pleasure. The grip he has on your hips gets tighter and tighter as you start to grind down, rocking your hips down onto his face as you chase that delicious high. It doesn’t take longer until you’re yelling his name and covering his face with your pleasure. Those pretty little stars he has you seeing, exploding behind your eyes as you feel overcome with pleasure.

“J-Joel,” you murmur, hands curled so tightly around the edge of the basin that it begins to hurt. “Please.”

For someone with busted knees, it almost gives you whiplash at how fast he manages to haul himself up. His teeth gently start to nip against your shoulders as he works on your jeans and pants. Hastily shoving them down, before giving himself a few rough strokes. “Always so fucking wet,” he teases, before dipping his fingers in your slit, gathering some on his fingers and coating his cock with it.

He bends you over slightly, and presses the head of him against your entrance. “You’re going to watch,” he spits out, “It’s gonna be hard and fast and you’re going to watch just how fucking pretty you look when you cum.”

You croak out a small yes, before he pushes himself in. Filling you to the hilt and then waiting a few seconds for you to adjust. “Watch.” He orders, before pulling his hips back and slamming them forward. Hitting that sweet spot inside of you. The room is filled with the sweet sounds of your breathless moans as he grinds into you with the most delicious pace, dragging against your soft walls and hitting that heavenly spot inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter, as your head falls back.

“Watch,” he growls, as one of his hands leaves your hip and comes up and gently wraps around the front of your neck. “Watch or I'll stop.”

Silently you nod in agreement, opening your eyes and looking back into the mirror in front of you. You study his face as he thrusts into you, his teeth are bared and his brow is furrowed in concentration as he watches his cock disappear into you.

“Oh, please,” you yell out as he hits that spot just right, and you feel your walls clamp down hard around him. Arousal dripping out of you and flooding his cock.

“You’re gonna cum.” He says before dropping his head and scraping his stubble against your soft skin again, “I got you. I’ve fucking got you.” His hips pull back and he thrusts in and out aiming for that spot every time, and just as he can feel that you’re moments away he slightly tightens his grip on your neck. “Look at how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.”

And just like that he has you falling apart, watching the way your brows furrow and your mouth opens to form a perfect little ‘O’, as he fucks you throughout your high. ‘He’s right,’ you think to yourself… you look so pretty.

It doesn’t take long until he’s following suit, his balls pulling up tight and he’s pulling himself free and covering the small of your back with thick warm ropes of his cum.

You stay like this for a few moments, both trying to catch your breath whilst continuing to stare at each other in the mirror. He drops his hand down and peppers a rough kiss on your shoulder before stepping back, “Next time, get something more suitable… but you should keep these.”

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