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pedgito · 4 months

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MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Teacher’s Pet

Chapter Summary: First day woes and a difficult semester ahead, you find solace in your caring, attentive creative writing professor who shows you just a little more attention than everyone else, or so you think. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, dream smut, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality.

note: thanks to @planet-marz1 for the last minute beta.

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There’s a deafening silence that surrounds you when you step into the lecture room, not nearly as big as your other main course classes, it’s intimate. Close. If you kicked a foot out from the chair you were sitting in you could touch the professor’s desk.

Part of you wonders if you were the only person taking this class, sitting for a few minutes alone, not another person in sight—until one files in, then another, until there’s about ten of you seated sparsely in the small space. It’s mostly bare aside from the few books shoved away on a nearby shelf, antiquey books that, no doubt, had a thick layer of dust.

The problem with the class was that you weren’t sure if it was ever going to be a real thing—applying you had the expectation of who your teacher would be, what you could expect from the coursework, and just how manageable it would be amongst the rest of your classes. But, there was little known now.

All you did know was that they had to find a replacement quick, which they did, and you were sure that a sign of their lacking punctuality was a great start, tucking your chin over the bag placed on your desk as you waited in silence amongst simmered voices, feeling starchly out of place.

You didn’t know this place—it was new, Austin. You moved clear across the country on a whim, wanting a new start in a place you’ve never seen before. You’d plucked a community college out of the bunch, not worried with the semantics of applying to some big, ivy league school. You wanted something manageable, something attainable. This seemed like the easiest option, unsuspecting and unknown, you could slink by and go about your life peacefully.

That is what you wanted, after all.

Until you meet Mr. Miller.

Joel could’ve pursued music, or carpentry, or about a billion other things he was skilled at—yet somehow, teaching seemed to be the easiest option. It gave him the familial feeling of caring and guiding that he did enjoy, molding young minds and helping them bloom. He worked at a local high school in Austin for years—fifteen good, long years.

But, he too needed a change. His life was slowly crumbling in on himself.

He sees the job opening on the last weekend of summer, still teetering with the option of returning to his teaching job at the high school—it isn’t as manageable as it used to be, finding that in his older age that dealing with the behavior and arguments with ill-managed kids was more of a hassle than it needed to be for the pay he was receiving.

So, fuck it. He applies.

He gets a call the following Monday and he’s officially added to the staff by the end of the week—and of course, he’s never stepped foot on the campus until his first day. So, he’s lost. Joel realizes how unprofessional it looks, scrambling with his bag as he throws it over his shoulder and haphazardly adjusts his tie, hoping that his hair wasn’t too askew and wild, despite the wind flying through his hair in the chilly bite of the autumn weather.

Things couldn’t have been off to a better start.

There’s the slightest trickling of a thought that you should leave, give up that this class might be an ultimate failure but then he’s walking through the door. You knew his name, but that was as far as your reach extended. Mr. Miller. J. Miller, to be specific.

James. Justin. Jonathan. It was all a mystery to you.

You find that his appearance is less than prepared, mostly disheveled and he seems breathless as he offers a subtle nod of awkward acknowledgement as he slings his bag onto the desk. Thankfully, he seems to understand that there was a tinge of urgency with him being late and he quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of papers.

Class syllabuses. He hands them off silently to the person on the farthest side of the room and hoping they would get the idea, pass them off until they reach the final person. It’s crisp, stark white paper covered in a boring black-inked text. Nothing seemed out of the norm—different methods of writing you would try over the course of the semester and specific assignments that would pop-up throughout. You enjoyed the predictability of it. Though, there is a significant surprise when your professor begins to speak, pulling your attention to the front of the room.

He’s gathered himself rather quickly, assuming he’s had his fair share of time in the field.

He writes his name out in clear, dignified letters on the board.

Mr. Miller, the screech of a solid drag as he underlines his name.

“I know I’m not who you all were suspecting.” He begins, placing the chalk down, hand wrapping around a balled fist as he cracked his knuckles, walking slowly until he can lean against the edge of his desk, soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“And I’ll admit, I’m new to this,” He waves vaguely around the room, “I’m used to public school and the shittiness that comes with that—so I hope that if I can take this seriously, you all can extend that gesture too.”

You notice how comfortable he seems in group settings, relaxing his broad shoulders as he crosses his arm, glancing around the room casually, never lingering for too long.

“I won’t pester you too much today, given I already wasted some of your time,” Someone snickers softly toward the back of the room and Mr. Miller cracks a subtle smirk, seemingly embarrassed but not offering anything to pick at. “But, I’m willing to answer any questions you have while we have the time today.”

Questions flow in easily: what the semester would consist of, more elaboration outside of the syllabus, some of Mr. Miller’s favorite pieces of literature—part of you expects him to inject the usual ‘around the room introduction’ scheme, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into the more engaging questions asked, answering as freely and as interested as he can.

He loves Robert Frost, which makes sense. You’re not sure why, but it is predictable.

He is predictable. Sipping on a large mug of what you can only assume is coffee, the smell permeating toward you with where he’s resting against his desk, only a foot or so away. You haven’t managed to catch his gaze yet, which you’re partly thankful for. It allows you to study him, examine his expressions—admire…No.

And while he can continue his talk about favorite authors for days—the class draws to a close sooner than you expect, and you move lazily as most of the class disperses at the first opportunity with it being their final class of the day.

You’re throwing your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice, addressing the only other person in the room.

You.

“Intimidating?” Your face screws up in confusion, head tilting his way as your eyes connect for the first time. “Oh, uh—sorry, I’ve just been doin’ this a while. I can tell when someone is anxious in class.”

And, while it wasn’t necessarily anxiety—it was more the idea of adjusting. This was new, this place wasn’t familiar and you were just trying to settle in. Mr. Miller seemed like the guy to have deep roots planted into these grounds, familiar with this town like he’s been here his entire life.

He has, but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” You answer indifferently, shrugging your shoulders, “I think your radar might be a little off.”

Joel chuckles softly, tapping his fingers against the leather cover of his bag as he leaned the tops of his thighs against the edge of his desk, “You know—you didn’t partake much in class discussion just now.”

You weren’t sure where he was driving his point, gradually stepping toward his desk, fingers wrapped around the straps of your bag, pulling against the tight material of your shirt as it stretched over your breasts, “And you were about—fifteen minutes late, too.”

Touche. He nods, lips pursed together.

“Just, fair warning—class discussion is a good chunk of your grade, participation and all that. I want you to feel comfortable enough to join in so…however I can help with that.”

Your eyebrows knit together, thoroughly thrown off by his forwardness—or well, so you assumed. He quickly realizes his misstep.

“No—not like…I mean, if there’s anything that you like or are interested in that you want covered over the semester, let me know. I don’t want it to be so focused on stuff that only appeases a few people. Alright?”

You think on his words, chewing at your bottom lip quietly.

He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s standing on the edge, waiting impatiently for your response—but when you do, it feels like he can breathe. Joel didn’t want to fuck this job up and he already felt like he’s stepped off on the wrong foot.

“Alright.” You confirm simply, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He nods in response, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Have a good day.” He bids kindly, waving at you haphazardly as you left.

And now the day felt even weirder than when it started.

The first few weeks of class are actually…a delight. You find yourself looking forward to them as the weeks grow on and drag out, slowly making your way through the day and finding that Mr. Miller’s was the only class you could successfully relax in, not so pressure to participate because it was as equally engaging on both ends.

Mr. Miller liked to talk and argue just as animatedly as most students who had a point to prove—and you see why he must’ve been hired on a whim, the ability to charm and wit himself in and out of any scenario he wanted. It was…mesmerizing in a way that intoxicated you and infected your body and mind. He had you locked in every time he opened his mouth, finding your eyes dragging along the planes of his face and his well-kept appearance now that he arrived on time, sharp. Never early, never late.

He was as punctual as they come, slowly littering his classroom with more and more personalization. More literature books, smaller books of poems, packets of some of his favorite script writings and a few non-fiction pieces he thought to be intriguing.

But, the most interesting thing you notice is the small tan line around his ring finger. The advantage of the small classroom allowed for such details to be revealed, alongside knowing when he had taken a certain morning to do a fresh shave of his facial hair or spill a small spattering of coffee against his shirt, dull brown staining the white, crisp button-up he usually dawned alongside the occasional navy blue or black.

So, he was married—you assumed. He just didn’t wear his ring.

The more you indulged in him, the more complex he seemed. The ever mysterious J-something Miller, finding that no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t seem to find any information on him or an inkling of what his first name might be.

He must be a private person—no socials, no good deeds leading to news articles about him, or anything of tangible evidence to allow such information to seep out to the public. He was good at hiding, integrating himself in places he might not belong. He was a natural chameleon, much like yourself.

And you’d like to think you were good at writing considering you were attempting to pursue a career in it, mostly focusing on the aspect of screenwriting and film, not entirely sure what you were after but knowing that was where you wanted to go. You were great at convoluting things and empowering your far too creative imagination—often dangerous. You were never lacking in ideas, but your first assignment is a struggle.

It was something pertaining to non-fiction, a boring topic that Mr. Miller wanted to be intrigued by—he wanted something so mundane to be eye-catching and page-turning. Hanging on the edge of his seat, as he’d said so menacingly.

So, here you were, writing about the monogamous lives of certain breeds of penguins and they’re mates—whatever the fuck that was all about. It’s like he picked obscure topics for this very reason, the difficulty and the need for assistance. He wanted to help and you learned that quickly.

You could’ve been stuck with global warming, so it wasn’t all that bad.

Mr. Miller is leaning against an empty desk as he’s talking to a student a few desks away—yeah, the unlucky one who snagged the global warming topic. His expression is sour, tapping his pencil against the desk rapidly as Mr. Miller talks quietly, nothing that you can make out. He travels around the room gradually, eventually landing on you with a raised eyebrow, seeing that you had some, if not very little outlined.

He looks amused, knowing how you were pulling an absolute fat nothing over this topic. You could sit there and lay out the facts, but that’s not what he wanted. He wanted it to be explained in a way that held you close and dragged you along. It all came down to wording, at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to prove you were a decent writer, you still had a lot to learn.

“This is so stupid,” You gripe, looking up at him briefly before you continue to stare daggers into the notebook you were scribbling in, “—pardon my language, but what the fuck is this topic?”

Mr. Miller chuckles deeply at that, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll let that slide but try not to make it a habit,” He comments, acknowledging your foul language and understanding the frustration, “—it’s meant to challenge you. The obscurity of it. It’s not complicated, but you don’t want to just write a research paper.”

“Isn’t that…exactly how non-fiction works?” You ask curiously.

“You’ve read biographies, right? Auto-biograhpies and all that?”

You nod quietly.

“And I’m sure some of that caught your intention, right?” He asks and you respond with another nod, though meeker than before. “Non-fiction work is just as important as story-telling. Do some more research, explain why monogamy is sacred to them, explain their mating patterns, the behaviors—are you following?”

“Yeah—because some penguins mate for life, right?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking him such an obscure question. “At least, I thought they did.”

“Most do.” Mr. Miller nods, “If you find yourself learning enough about the topic and actually finding some interest it won’t come out so…bland. Just look into it and write something you’d find intriguing to read, don’t stress over it that much. It’s just one assignment.”

It eases your worries slightly, but still, the frustration stuck.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Thank you.”

Mr. Miller offers a soft pat to your forearm as he nods silently in acknowledgment.

You were determined to make that assignment your bitch. Plain and simple.

Class discussion days are much easier. You switch between a certain selection of poems to snippets of scripts that Mr. Miller has pulled apart for the class to dissect and mince the words, learning how to write screenplays in a way that was both descriptive but directive and still managed to somehow keep the flow. Poems always seemed a little silly, but it was nice to debate the meanings and nuances of it all, always finding that you preferred to sit back and hear the thoughts of others until Mr. Miller decides he’s had enough one day—two months into the semester when he finally calls on you directly.

It was something he didn’t do often, but you find yourself going wide-eyed. He was always so polite to you, even when he’d catch you staring or lingering on his form for a moment too long, like he knew what you were thinking.

He was tall and—as was glaringly obvious, broad. His shoulders were immense and large as he extended his hands out and talked animatedly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks stretching over taut, tight muscle as he planted a foot in a nearby chair or stretched his stance out slightly as he stood—often finding it hard to stay still the longer class drew on.

You pull your attention to him, an innocent gaze glazing over your features.

“Why don’t you read the next poem?” He asks curiously.

“Oh—um,” Your eyes flick toward the poem book held tight in your grip, flitting to find the the place where the class last left off, so distracted you find yourself scrambling, but Mr. Miller is quick to lean over without much show or way of embarrassing you, pointing out the spot where the class last left of, blunt nail scratching against the paper as you follow the trail of his finger, you clear your throat and start:

“How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.”

The point was to interpret the words and form an explanation for why they were used, what they were trying to explain, but you lose any sense of thought when your eyes drag up to meet Mr. Miller and he’s staring right back, allowing you all the attention in the world.

Like no one else in the room existed. It was all a delusion in your own head, something you weren’t privy to then, but you believed whole-heartedly in the moment. He was just allowing you the floor and sharing you the same attention he had with everyone else.

At least, that’s what he tried to do.

Mr. Miller clears his throat to subtly bring you back down to earth when he notices your mind fleeing from your body, asking an easy, “So, what do we think about this one?”

No one answered, staunchly disinterested as they stared at you, waiting for a response as you were the only one who had avoided participating all day.

“Uh, it—it sounds like the love isn’t being returned,” You start slow, dissecting the words in your brain as Mr. Miller nods, “but that person is willing to show up and offer more to make up for it, maybe even to their own…undoing, I guess.”

“There’s really no right or wrong,” He addresses the class as a whole but pointedly acknowledges your observation, “and that’s the best thing—you’re allowed to think as individuals and come up with your own conclusions. Good job.”

The final part is directed at you. It makes you feel warm, gooey—like you were being given a star for good behavior or gentle praise under the guise of friendly language.

You despise how hard it is to stay focused some days with how often Mr. Miller likes to pick on you and point you out—but he sees potential there. Real potential. Not to say that it isn’t within the rest of the class, he just sees…more. And it intrigues him in a way that feels dangerous, but he wants to ensure that you are given the proper support needed, even if that means a little extra attention.

It was harmless, after all.

Your first big assignment comes three months into the semester.

It’s a simple writing assignment but tactful and heavy, given a week to complete it before you were due to turn it in for a final grade. A collection of self-written poems, the outline for a possible script idea for a scene, and a small creative writing assignment that must include some kind of supernatural element. You appreciate the Mr. Miller never allowed things to lay stagnant with his work, always giving you something to think about.

And everyone loved him, that much was blatantly obvious. He was, easily, one of the hottest professors at the college for someone his age—you could only assume he was somewhere in his late 40s. But, there remained the unknown of if he was married, something people debated often, but you examined in the privacy of your own mind.

There was no indication of another—no pictures lingering on his desk as his classroom continued to collect belongings, no screensaver on his phone or laptop (because yes, you were observant) that gave you any idea of what his partner looked like. And he never mentioned anything outside of his own interest in literature. The curiosity with no discovery was only slightly disappointing, because despite that, Mr. Miller showed his attention toward you like you were the only person in the room.

And maybe it was like that for everyone, but it felt special to you. There was always a little extra to give to you that he didn’t offer to everyone else.

You turn in your assignment a few minutes before it is due, well into the late hours of the night.

Mr. Miller, unbeknownst to you, smiles when he sees the notification on his computer as he sits in his office at home, scrolling down the deep troves of porn in the darkened space, quickly clicking away to another browser as he hears the door creak, his wife poking her head through the crack with a smile.

“Hey, it’s late—you comin’ to bed soon?” Tess asks, eyes ringed with a deep exhaustion.

Joel nods, scratching at the side of his face, blinking tiredly.

“Yeah. In a bit,” He excuses, “Just tryin’ to catch up on these assignments and then I’ll be done.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Things had been rough since the affair—finding that Tess had been sleeping with her boss at her law firm for a few months, something she swore meant nothing, despite how long it dragged on in secret. Joel forgave her, mostly. They were managing, attempting the idea of marriage counseling, but he still couldn’t bring himself to put his wedding band back on, despite how proudly she wore hers still.

He had his own reservations on the matter and while he was trying to work things out, he wasn’t sure they could ever resume the same rhythm they had before, thinking that this was something he had for life, slowly crumbling and falling between his fingertips.

This was why he needed a change of pace, something different.

And maybe he was stupid for entertaining the obvious affection you showed toward him—he definitely was, but he does it anyways. It was playful, so meaningless and harmless that he didn’t even think twice about it. He could see you craved the attention and while he couldn’t be bothered to save that energy for Tess anymore, he could try to offer it to you.

Because you—you had so much potential. It was refreshing, seeing so much of his younger self in you, drive and dedication. The willingness to question stuff without fear.

He clicks on the email notification with your assignment, opening in a separate browser as he rises to lock his office door quietly, before returning to his other browser as he sat and unbuckled the thick leather belt around his waistband, a dignified zip that echoes throughout the confines of the office, reverberates and reminds him of his own loneliness.

And he shouldn’t picture your face as he finds himself aching and fucking deseprate into his fist, soft gunts muffled behind clenched teeth. But, he does. And he loves it.

He’s so fucked.

The comments on your assignment come a few days later, curled up in your bed in the small apartment you rented out, scrolling desperately to find out any further information on Mr. Miller but coming up with absolutely nothing. What a fucking ghost he was.

You’re curious, though—so you quickly switch to your emails to check his response and what your grade ended up being after how hard you worked to make sure it turned out perfect. Better than perfect actually. You hoped that with his obvious relationship woes he would appreciate the angst and underlying meanings in your poems, a bunch of bullshit you couldn’t relate to but hoped, on a whim, that he might.

‘Way to press on the idea of heartbreak, well done. Very expressive and real. Thank you for pouring those feelings into your work, though I hope no one has ever broken your heart that bad. Wonderful job.’

And he scores you a 90/100.

Which—whatever. You could accept it. Still, you wondered if those lingering ten points lied with him and his own bitter dealings. You’re fingers are curled around the laptop, ready to close when you get another notification blaring through your speakers.

You lift the laptop to stare at the screen, seeing an email come in from an unknown sender—though, the name grabs your attention immediately. First name, last name, followed by a series of number you can only assume is a birth year—not the school email Mr. Miller had previously sent you a response from.

You perk up, legs crossing over each other as you take a peek at the contents of the glaring email, seeing that it had links to a few books, followed by:

‘I hope you don’t mind my emailing you like this. But, I have a few pieces I think you may enjoy and would help with some of what you’re trying to convey in your writing. You have a beautiful way of expressing feeling and you should harness that. Let me know what you think. :)’

In hindsight, Joel should’ve never sent it. But, there was an urge there he couldn’t fight.

Maybe it was out of spite for his life and his wife betraying him, his urge to try and do some real good for someone, seeing that potential in you no matter how inappropriate it may be to go around school ruling and message you from his private email.

But, now you had a sliver of information. A peek into who Mr. Miller—Joel Miller, was.

It sends you down a spiral, searching and scouring for any information available online.

You find out that he’s 48…or 49, not entirely sure of his actual birthday. Only going off the year designated in his email. And that he’s a published author, but nothing of significance. He used to be a high school teacher and he was…or is, married. It’s all vague and unassuming, but it has your mind stirring. Wondering what was so interesting about him, what part of him had crawled into your mind and refused to get out.

And him messaging you on a private email—complimenting you with unnecessary eagerness, even when it wasn’t needed. You can’t be this delusional. There’s something there, even if neither of you have spoken on it explicitly.

The faint touches and smiles traded, the hard-gazed looks and glances over his shoulder as he does a sweep of the room, always spending just a smidgen of extra time over your desk when you ask for help.

It makes you feel special. And that’s exactly what you need.

You fall asleep that night with a wild idea in your head, wondering just how brave you could be in this situation. It burrows into your mind and seeps into your dreams:

You’re pressed against the edge of a desk in a dark office, the solid wood pressed flat against your cunt as you lean forward and capture the lips of the person in front of you, a shaky breath coming from their mouth.

“Want that pretty mouth ‘round my cock.” He says—your heart skips, nearly stops.

You don’t know why you’re surprised to hear Joel’s voice, but it clears your mind and his hazy face finally comes into view in all of it’s intricate detail, right down to the soft crinkle of skin around his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away to look at you, lips puffed from the kissing and seeming so innocent as he spoke in such a depraved manner.

Delicate fingers drag along the shape of your lips, stopping at your cupid’s bow before he’s pressing two fingers inside, grabbing the hand relaxed at your side and pressing it over the front of his slacks, the hard line of his cock pressing against the zipper.

There’s no other word to offer than intimidating, his size morphing any idea that you might’ve had–which, you did. His slacks are well-tailored, form fitting, and if he stretched just the right way in class you could see the head or outline of his cock press against the fabric for a split second….and you observed. A lot.

“Wanna stuff your mouth, huh?” He asks, eyes rolling back as his fingers press down on your tongue, quickly pulling out as he grips your face, spit spreading across your cheek, gasping at the suddenness of his movement. “Think it’ll fit?”

He sounds so condescending, eyeline over you but downcast on your figure from where your perched against his desk, idle hand exploring the soft, plush skin of your thighs as he drags his fingers along the full expanse of your cunt and it sets your whole body on fire, like you’re feeling everything dialed to an impossible level, every nerve in your body coming to life.

You shake your head meekly, gasping when he yanks you forward suddenly.

“Guess we’ll have to train that filthy mouth then, won’t we?” His eyebrow quirks up salaciously, earning a less than subtle grin as he presses his fingers into the wet spot of your underwear, not breaking the barrier but allowing you to feel the pressure.

And just as you feel yourself grabbing onto something tangible, hands gripped in the lapel of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, you’re startling awake with a gasp.

You could feel your imagination mixing with reality, falling lazily back against your bed as your chest heaved hurried breaths, palms pressed over your chest in an effort to calm down, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was hot, too hot to feel comfortable anymore.

Your lip pulls between your teeth, chewing thoughtfully at a bad idea.

You reach blindly for your laptop laid out near the end of your bed, opening the device with a swiftness, squinting at the blinding screen that burned at this time of night.

Nearly two in the morning—this was pointless.

But, you hit reply on his email anyways and slowly type out a response.

‘Thank you for noticing, Mr. Miller. It’s greatly appreciated and I will definitely look into those sources and give you a full, detailed review. :) I appreciate you thinking of me as someone so esteemed. I would love to talk more about literature, if that feels appropriate.’

The lines were already blurred. He’d blurred them. You were just smudging them a little more.

You never said that starting fresh meant you had to stay on your best behavior. Because really, there was nothing innocent about what game was developing between you both.

It was a game of chess and you felt a million moves ahead, nearing a checkmate—and you would do anything to have Joel Miller in the way you craved. Anything.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedrostories #professor!joel miller #miller's girl #my writing

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divinehedons · 9 months

Text

illicit affairs.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader

word count: ~5.8k (OOPS)

summary: the moment you graduated from college, you enter your young adulthood and begin a secret, messy situationship with the texan contractor next door.

warnings: this is an EXPLICIT FIC! minors and ageless blogs, DO NOT INTERACT or i will liberally use the block button! explicit, unprotected p-in-v sex, big age gap (r is in their early twenties, joel is in his mid-40s to early 50s!), oral sex, wet dreams, ass play. joel is an unintentionally selfish lover so expect some(?) angst and miscommunication.

note: much of this fic was pieced together with wildest dreams and the titular song, illicit affairs playing in my head. circe is in her swiftie era and i'm not sorry :'D nonetheless, i sincerely hope you enjoy and reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

You swore you could recall the day you met him easier than it is to breathe air.

You, wearing your graduation robes, glorious, and brand new with a college degree. Months later, he'll tell you the first thing he saw was the flash of skin from your leg, leaving him mesmerized until your father knocked on his door. Your dad, bless him, who invited the Millers for a spot of lunch to celebrate with your special day.

Him, in his best t-shirt (at least the least wrinkled), urging Sarah forward with a nudge to the shoulder, standing in your living room with a sheepish grin. "So you're the missin' college kid?" You laugh, moving to shake his hand firmly after having met his daughter.

"I guess that's me." You tell him your name, listen to the way his tongue traces each syllable. He says it again, squeezing your hand. It was then and there that you felt it— that shocking zap of electricity passing between you so firmly, that which you could only interpret as the barest inkling of desire.

You can still picture the glint in his eye. The slight raise of the brow. A silent question. You're just a sneaky little minx, aren't ya? Back then, you smile playfully, pulling your hand away to turn back around.

You see the end before it even begins. You see heaven tinted with the colors of hellfire.

"Pleasure to meet you, mister Miller!"

—

You dream of him after that meeting. Flashes of skin, you and the shape of him tangled between the sheets, his large hands cupping your warm cheeks, chuckling down at the sight of your bright red mouth. You dream of his thumb smearing your lipstick while those warm eyes take you in.

You dream of him between your legs, the scratch of his beard glorious against your shaking body. You dream of his chuckles vibrating against your thigh. You dream in flashes. Him pinning your hands above your head in one. Him leading you by your waist atop of him in another.

When you wake, you feel your cunt soaking and needy. You try and touch yourself to soothe the wanton need.

But it's not enough.

It's not his large callused hands. It's not his bulging arms. It's not him and it's not enough.

Fuck. You're down bad for Joel Miller and you only met him once.

—

The summer that follows was filled with stolen glances. You, taking your morning walks just as Joel and Sarah drive off for her summer job and his work. Joel, watching you whenever he comes home too early to see you enjoying a swim in your pool. Then ensued what to him was a moral digression, a moral challenge.

Does he dare desire someone as young as you? Someone a few measly years older than his own kid. Does he dare to encroach that wretchedness for something so pure and sweet and so fucking brand-new?

Take that weekend, for example, with you bent over his kitchen counter while you helped Sarah with painting her nails, the oddly familiar scent of nail polish barely distracting him from you and the knowledge that he had to squeeze past behind your bent-over frame to get a beer for him and Tommy in the garage. He'd asked for you to come because he needed someone to keep Sarah distracted and away from the garage. With a promise of recompense one way or another once they had it done.

Didn't know you're a real softie, mister Miller.

Call me Joel, kid. You'll make me feel all ancient an' shit.

At the end of it all, regardless of how everything turned out, you both agree it was the spark that eventually fanned out to a flame.

You, ass plump and presented despite your awareness, and his own clothed crotch passing by you and providing a minute second of contact. Contact that, if you dared confess, was nowhere near capable of satiating your curiosity about the much older man. You try to hide a sharp breath between your lips, pretending to pay him no mind as you gently blow on Sarah's nails.

"You have a really good eye for color," you commended the girl, smiling at him with a giggle just as Joel disappears around a corner.

Joel who hands Tommy his beer and, seeing how flustered he had gotten, clicks his tongue. "That girl again?" Was it that clearly written across his face, the insatiable desire to have you?

"Shut up," he'd mutter, sipping from his bottle before moving to get back to their weekend project. A shelf for Sarah.

When he tells you his side of the story, it goes like this: the sound of the hammer beating the wood, rhythmic, consistent, patient.

Thud, thud, thud.

And right after: it's the sound of your headboard hitting the wall while your parents are away for a date, Sarah on some sleepover with friends. His thrusts the same, insistent, rhythmic pattern, your same plush ass moving against the force of his hips, your whining little mouth crying out into the empty house.

He doesn't know how he got you. But, by Jove, he'd be a goddamn fool to say that he didn't want this. But the one thing he wanted to be certain of was that you wanted this. That he didn't imagine the tension between you.

"Tell me you love this, baby doll." He grunts, pulling out to flip you over on to your back so he can see you. "Tell me I'm not makin' you miserable."

You reached up to him, tangling your fingers into his hair and pulling him closer. You catch eyes, and you see he means it. Sees that he'll stop if you said nothing. Or if you asked him. That, despite the intensity of his thrusts, the same softie you saw that one weekend ago is right there. Vulnerable and willing in your touch. You can't afford having him stop. Not when you're so close. Not when he's all you've dreamt about since you came home. "Don't you dare stop, Joel..."

It's all the confirmation he needed. He looks at you with a look of recognition and you immediately understood. The man himself was memorizing every part of you; every mark and quivering muscles. He kisses you, and you understand him even without words. A part of you wanted him to confirm it. To say he'll remember you— legs spread and moaning for him, pleasure coursing through your veins only brought about by him.

You want him to tell you he'll dream of you for the rest of your life.

The same rhythm follows him into the dark night, only characterized by streaks of the color of your hair, your skin, your mouth... it's all he hears in his head, apart from your moans.

Thud, thud, thud. The iambic beat of his heart, pressed against the palms of your hands. I am, I am, I am.

It's the words he does not dare tell you. Words punctuated by the rhythm of his thrusts where you want him most.

Yours, yours, yours.

—

He does not catch you on the Fourth of July weekend that follows. Your parents tell him you're meeting friends and hearing from jobs you applied to. That you've been a nervous wreck, only placated in seemingly random moments of peace, coinciding with the first time he wound up in your bed, heaving as his bones creak from history gone by. So he spends it the only way he knew to, in that primordial existence he lived before you came into his life in broad strokes of color. He spends it drinking cold beer, watching Sarah, and ignoring the sticky stares handed to him by single mothers that barely held a candle to your beauty.

The fireworks are things he does not hear without you there. He smiles for Sarah, reminds her not to get too rough in your parents' pool, periodically bringing her food to make sure she was keeping herself fed.

Later that evening, with Sarah finally in bed and his world finally exhausting itself of so much celebration, Joel hears your car pull up, the racuous noise of a friend of yours as you try and lead them into the house. From behind his curtains in his dark room, he hears your explanation over the loud laughter of your companion.

"She had no way of getting home safe, mama," you tried to explain, much to your mother's understanding as she and your father helped your friend inside.

Joel sees the slight tilt in your step. The slight unsteadiness. His own pretty girl, tipsy around people he doesn't know, and it fills him with an indescribable sense of envy. It's a sensation that oozes through his very veins, sludging until it completely covers him; like the hands of a murderer marked by his prey. He tries to resist it, that ancient calling of his very veins. Or, alternatively, he tries to resist letting his cock take control of his very being.

You were young and you deserved to experience the world. You were young and you never told him you belonged just to him. He shared some of your nights, yes. But it didn't mean he automatically became the king of your heart.

He paces his bedroom, back and forth, repeatedly, again and again and again. Count to twenty, take a deep breath.

And just like that, he feels like a teenager again. Sneaking out of his house and into yours.

When he finds you, he recognized the surprise on your face. The sudden, hushed, What are you doing here?

"Just missed ya today, 's all," he says softly, immediately pulling you into your own room, quietly shutting and locking the door behind him. "How's your friend?"

You giggle softly, evidently still a little affected from alcohol. "You didn't see her when you passed the couch?"

He smirks, stepping close to you, finding you adorable as you stepped back, chased by him until the back of your thighs hit the very edge of your bed. "D'you think I have eyes on anything else when you're around, baby doll?" You peer up at him and see the utter desperation in his gaze.

You hum thoughtfully, tilting your head to the side. "You missed me, daddy-o?"

He chuckles, moving closer to press a kiss to the very crook of your neck. He doesn't answer. He dares not confess the vulnerability you've seared like a mark on his skin. But he did. And he showed you that he did.

He pushes you down, falling to his own knees, legs thrown over his shoulders pushing your skirt up, your shaky breaths feeding directly into his ego. It's so easy to want you.

So he takes. With his tongue, with his cock, with your mouth happily taking his length down your throat. When he fucks your mouth, his hands cover and pinch your nipples, growling softly, trying not to risk being caught with a daughter so beloved, and him, the depraved devil defiling you.

"Gonna swallow all of me, baby? Yeah? Good fucking girl..."

You whine against him, squealing as you feel him lean down over you to pay attention to your needy cunt. Both hands, spreading your folds open with his tongue tasting everything he can take.

"Together, baby. Sounds good?" You hum against his skin, your legs beginning to writhe from the concentrated build of pleasure he orchestrated.

So he counts you down. His hips stuttering, your toes clenched, and his hands pinning you down.

Three. His body covers yours as his hands pull your legs back, the back of your thighs exposed to the cool evening air.

Two. You dig your nails into what you could of him, anyway to pull him closer. The taste of his skin on your tongue, the desperation of you trying to hold on to your orgasm to be his good girl.

One. Warm spurts of his cum shoots down your throat as the blinding flash of pleasure takes control of you. You don't know what it was about Joel. You don't know what it was about yourself either. The next time you opened your eyes, you caught a glance of his beard, completely soaked just as you see, too, the last spurts of your fluids, dampening the sheets beneath you.

You make up as lovers do, with him staying in your bed, your frame snuggled into his muscular form as you feel yourself drift in and out of sleep. "We should be more careful, darlin'," he whispers to you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You hum sleepily, pulling the sheets over your head.

"Says the man who sneaked into my room for a quick fuck," you say with a chuckle. You do not see the slight frown on his face. You do not comprehend the tug on his heartstrings at your words. "What, you wanna start texting?"

He groans, quietly climbing up above you so he can watch your features in relative silence. "Too old for that and ya know it, doll." He smirks, huge hands cupping your face gently, rolling soft, careful circles against your cheeks before he pinches them lovingly. "You're just a little fuckin' baby, aren't ya?" You giggle softly, trying to be quiet in a house full of sleepers.

"Isn't your window right across from mine?"

That makes him raise his head. Gently, moving away from you as naked as the day he was born, he crosses your room to peer out from behind your curtains and into his own quiet house. His open window from when he lost control, his own curtains dancing in the wind. He didn't even notice. Perhaps there was salvation for the devil after all. If a god was capable of blessing him with the sheer luck of having his window across yours...

"Why don't you hang that pretty lil dress of yours by the window if you want t'meet up, yeah?"

"Ah, yes. Joel Miller's very own cum rag."

He smirks, looking back at you as he leans down to press a final kiss on your forehead. "And I'll hang that shirt I wore when I met you if I want the same, yeah?"

It's thrilling to think about. Thrilling to think that you can share a language in windows. Like spies. You've read spy novels as a kid. It was always so fascinating, the hidden messages in invisible ink, the necktie knots that mean one thing or another. Discreet meetings, longing and wanting in every gaze.

No one else will understand. But you and Joel will.

You feel your heart flutter, reaching up to mess his hair just as the older man turns away to dress himself again in the shirt and shorts he had worn before. "You're lucky it's summer. You wouldn't have to make an excuse why you're burning bright red and sweaty." He manages a chuckle, looking back at you with a wink.

I'm good at secrets, kiddo.

He leaves, and you hide the way you feel the pit in your stomach as he quietly shut the door behind him. He moved noiselessly, while you lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Joel Miller has fucked you twice and yet, you're still just that.

A kid, a baby. Fresh-faced doll girl he has to check in on in the evening after a night out.

Waste not, want not, you began to think. I feel wanted. Am I also being wasted?

—

Joel dreams, sometimes. He hasn't dreamt for years before you came into his life.

That night, as he walked home in silence, cloaked by the dark of night, he feels the bed calling to him. The white noise of his fan calls to him as he strips, sinking into the sheets. The smell of you sticks to your fingers as he groans.

You, you, you. Naughty little minx, you.

Sleep had never been easier.

And just like that, his dreams bring him to you in some skimpy number, swimming through your parents' pool, making your way to him in clean, smooth strokes. You flash him a smile, pool wet and cheeks sun-kissed.

Hello, you.

You, willing vixen and goddess divine. You, willingly approaching his wide open arms. You, pressed with your front against the pool wall while Joel dreams of pulling your bathing suit aside and be so close with you.

That night, he dreamt of fingering you in the pool, your breathy, wanton moans escaping in a soft, steady stream of heavenly music. His breath, warm against the back of your ear, your neck marked up by his mouth, a visual he could never truly dare away from his dream world. It was too risky, too obvious. But in his dreams, he marked you, sucking skin between teeth and biting almost teasingly.

In his dreams, he could push the limits, too. He dreamt of his thumb, brushing over that tight, puckered backdoor. Dreamt it made you whine. Dreamt that you moved closer to him.

"D'you know, angel... that I want to be the only one who can ever have all this?" he whispers, free hand taking your chin to kiss your moaning mouth with a breathy chuckle. "Fuck... this little darlin's been so deprived, hasn't she?"

And in his dreams, he owns you so completely. Every hole claimed, stuffed full, and leaking. In the morning, he'd wake with the scent of damp mushrooms, boxers damp, and cock hard, the image of you fading away to the sound of Sarah moving in the kitchen.

Outside of his dreams, his life moves forward. And it does not stop.

—

He called for you more than you did him. It's easy to figure out. It's easy to pretend to be picking something up from the mall. It's easy to disappear for ten minutes before meeting under the peach tree in the parking lot. Sometimes he drives you to a motel. But there are times, like today, when you run into his arms in the early afternoon Texan heat, where he's immediately pulling you to the back of the truck, beard prickling against your warm, sensitive neck.

"Joel," you start, trying to pull away from him. "I came to talk to you—"

He plants a chaste kiss to your mouth, Shit-eating grin as he slips two fingers down your shorts to feel you getting wet through your underwear. "This pretty lil thing right here says otherwise, baby doll." He pulls back, fingers brought to his mouth to take a taste. "Fuck. Just so fuckin' sweet for me..."

It knocks the wind out of you. The news on your tongue dies away as you watch him, skies of hellfire colored in his eyes. With a shaky breath, you nod slowly.

"Haven't seen you all week, daddy-o." It's enough. It's crumbs that feed the insatiable man that just cannot be fed.

A goddamned beast, precious and divine.

"I know, I haven't been takin' care of the prettiest girl there is." He kisses your cheek, sitting across the backseat of the truck, pulling you to his lap with your legs straddling him as he grits his teeth eagerly. "Been so deprived, haven't ya, baby?"

Despite the arrogance, you were inclined to agree. In Joel's absence, consumed by his work, by his family, and you distracted with your efforts of making it into the professional world, you had to rely on yourself for pleasure. But your fingers were too small, too short, and cannot have the same impetus as that of his touch. And the very smell of him, the very presence... you were drawn to him, salivating and hypnotized like a moth to a flame. So you come forward, singing. "It just wasn't the same without you, Joel..."

He growls, cussing as he barely pulls his pants down to free his own wanting cock. A desire unquenched by his fist in the darkness. And it's easy. So fucking easy to rub his thumb in circles on your clit, making your cunt openly weep for him, as well as making it easier for you to welcome him.

"Take it, baby. Take it for yourself, c'mon," he whispers, and you do. His very own Jezebel, entrancing him with the way you rose up, bracing yourself on his shoulders while his left hand grips your hips, his right hand guiding his cock for you to sink down on. He lets out a pleasured breath, jaw clenching just as a moan emanates from you. You're warm and tight like a vice around him. He's stretching your willing walls in such a familiar way you almost think you feel at home.

Freely, he kisses behind your ear, marking the skin there where it's concealed just right by your hair. His hands assist your movement just as you began to rock back and forth over his cock, grinding your hips and squealing at the sensation of not just your cock filled to the brim, but the sparks of pleasure from how his skin brushes against your own clit.

"Fuck, baby. What d'you think your dad would say if he found out you're fuckin' his buddy in the back of a truck like a lil slut, yeah?"

All you do is respond with moans, whines, noises that show how desperately close he has you. Right on the brink of an electric glow, powered only by the desperate need to peak, to find bliss. He clicks his tongue, moving to cup your face with both hands while he thrusts up into you, watching the way your eyes roll back from need, making him growl as he presses one hand on the expanse of your jaw, making your cheeks puff up and your lips part willingly for him.

Just then, he chuckles at the portrait of depravity before him. "Such a noisy lil mouth on ya, baby. So fuckin' loud for me, yeah? Does daddy have to be the one to shut you up?"

You squeal, eyes brimming tears. "S'all for you," you whisper, hands pressed against the seat to balance yourself, chasing your release in intermittent bursts of energy. Just then, two beefy fingers from the man who has such a hold on you plug up your mouth, immediately turning your breathy whines into quiet hums, throat constricting around his fingers. He fills you up so well, even with just his fingers, and it makes you weak in the knees.

"That's it. Just needed something to suck on, didn't you, baby?"

Just then, he turns the pleasure to its very limit. His own hips, speeding up his own thrusts from below, his warm breath heating up your face, his free hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing the sides with a dark chuckle. His eyes, two shades darker, makes you quake, your noises multiplying when you reach the very peak of pleasure. His own moans intermingle into the humid air, groaning needingly against you.

"That's it, baby. Come an' cream f'me. That's it, that's it..."

The permission granted to you makes you feel alive. Driven by a purpose, your orgasm comes as bright and clear as day. Spots of sudden brightness momentarily blind you with a gush of happy hormones. You scream against his fingers, the vibration from your noise making him smirk proudly down at you, so willing and filled by him and only him.

Good girl. Good fuckin' girl f'me, baby...

You both come down from the high with him nestled deep within your cunt. Your head, leaned against his shoulder while he tries to regain his breath from the effort you both gave.

The words return slowly.

"Y'want me to drive you back?"

You peer up at him, lashes fluttering softly. "Are we being obvious now?"

He smirks, kissing you again, brushing your cheek gently. "God, kid. The mouth on ya."

With that, you begin to slowly pull away from him, reaching for your underwear the dress yourself. To suddenly feel his cock that once filled you pull out, manage a quiet shudder. The sudden emptiness as stark as the sudden urge to leave.

"I..." You breathed in sharply. "I wanted to tell you I got a job."

The silence between you is thick with tension. You don't know what to say next. And neither does he. "Oh!" You look to him with longing glance, just before you check yourself in the mirror with a shaky breath. "So you'll be busy..."

You shrug, breathing in sharply as you try and make yourself seem less dishevelled. "I guess."

You give him one last look, one last chance to try and read him. Only to find his walls built up, features unreadable. You knew for yourself that one word from him and you'd lay down your guard. You'd let him drop you home. You'd let the world know you like him. But, without any indication of him wanting anything but your body, your cunt, or your mouth, you think of it as a shame.

And to think you had been driven to ruins by wanting him. So instead, you sigh, opening the truck door.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Joel."

—

taglist! @captainmads2092 @dev1lm4n @yrbxdyisnxthing @csarab615 @jessie8605 @buttstrawberry @reallyidontcare @jbb-98

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel miller x f! reader #dbf!joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction

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flightlessangelwings · 4 months

Text

Modern Day Hero

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count-4.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), oral (f receiving), praise, riding, pre or no outbreak (can be read either way), single dad Joel with Sarah (no Ellie), neighbor!Joel, fluff, mutual pining, flirting, romance, only one bed, reader is a YA novelist, protective!Joel, reader is hinted to be more curvy but can be interpreted any way, happy ending, no use of y/n

Notes- Hi @miraclesabound it's your @pedrostories secret santa!!! I took a slightly different direction instead of full on fantasy au but I still incorporated some fantasy in here! I hope you like it cause this was very fun to write!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

A knock at the door jolted you out of your thoughts. The screen looked like a bright blur in front of your eyes as you adjusted them to the world around you. You didn’t even realize it, but hours had gone by since you looked away from your screen, too engrossed with the story you were working on to notice the passage of time. Another knock called your attention and you stretched your neck and arms as you stood up from your desk.

“Coming,” you called out to the front door.

You groaned as you moved your legs for the first time in hours and you made a mental note to take a break for a bit once you finished with whoever was at your door. As you swung it open, your breath caught in your throat as you came face to face with your neighbor.

“Joel,” you breathed… Your handsome neighbor who you secretly had feelings for.

Joel gave you an apologetic smile, “Hey,” his exhaustion was apparent in his voice, “Sorry to ask ya so last minute,” he gestured to Sarah, who stood next to him, “Would you mind watching her for the afternoon?”

“Hey!” Sarah greeted you excitedly.

“Hey Sarah,” you replied back with a sincere smile, “Come on in! My favorite houseguest is always welcome here,” you winked at her, “I’ve got some snacks in the kitchen, go help yourself.”

Sarah’s face lit up as she hugged her dad goodbye and skipped inside. Joel mumbled a soft, “Be good,” to her before he turned to you and let out a heavy breath, “I owe you one,” he sighed, “I hate to put ya out like this but this job came up and I need the money and…”

“It’s no problem, Joel. Really,” you cut him off, “Trust me, I understand,” you nudged his shoulder playfully, “Go make that money, big guy.”

That made him laugh and Joel’s eyes darted down to the ground for a moment, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he met your gaze again, “I mean it, though. I owe ya, sweetheart.” With that he hurried over to his truck and drove off.

The nickname took your breath away and your mouth hung open as your brain short circuited for a moment. You stood in the doorway and waved him goodbye as you watched him drive off. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you imagined that you were more than just neighbors… friends. You imagined that he kissed you goodbye and promised he wouldn’t be home too late. You imagined that you would make him dinner and you and Sarah would wait until he came back home.

But he wasn’t yours to have. You and Joel had lived next to each other for a couple years now. Over time, you became friends and you were more than happy to watch Sarah any time. Some nights, you all would hang out together and watch movies, and you always stuck together at neighborhood block parties. But it was never more than that.

You let out a heavy sigh as you closed the door and went inside where you found Sarah on your couch with a manuscript in her hands.

“Is this the new one you’ve been working on?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you sat down next to her, “It's the rough draft. I haven’t gotten a chance to look at my editor’s notes yet.”

“Can I read it?” Sarah asked, batting her eyes like the way her dad sometimes did.

Grinning, you nodded, “How can I say no to that face?” you laughed softly, “Let me know what you think.”

Sarah’s face lit up as she buried herself in the book. Ever since she found out you were a young adult novelist, she always eagerly awaited the next book you had for her to read. Joel definitely appreciated that you made her so interested in books and reading too. Plus, it helped that Sarah seemed to enjoy the same fantasy stories you liked to write, so having a young perspective helped you. You were sure that your writing improved when she started reading your novels and giving you input on them too.

Yet another reason to be grateful for your neighbors.

“I’m gonna go fix us something to eat while you read. Make yourself at home, Sarah.”

She always did, kicking off her shoes at the door and settling onto your couch, “Thanks!” she replied from behind the book, which she was already clearly engrossed in.

“I’ll start with some hot chocolates I think,” you said, more to yourself than to her, as you busied yourself in the kitchen.

Hours passed and the sun set long ago, yet Joel still wasn’t back. You had made you and Sarah dinner and sat with her for a bit before you went back to working on your next novel, the sequel to the draft she was reading, in fact. It was well after midnight when a knock at the door startled you and made Sarah bolt awake from where she fell asleep on your couch.

“Must be your dad,” you told Sarah as you went to answer the door.

“Hey,” Joel sounded tired, “Sorry I’m so late.”

“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” Sarah teased as she gathered her things.

“Now that hurts,” Joel feigned heartbreak, “Let’s go, baby girl.”

You snorted softly as you bid Sarah goodnight.

“Can I finish your book tomorrow?” she asked before she left, “I think this is my favorite one you’ve ever written!”

The compliment genuinely warmed you, “Of course,” you told her, “And then you can read the second one when it’s done,” you winked at her.

Sarah’s face lit up as she hugged you and bounced over to her house.

“She really liked them books of yours,” Joel commented with a grin, “I’m glad she’s been reading so much, though.”

“She’s a good kid,” you said, “How was the job?” you asked.

“It’s money,” he replied.

“That good, huh?”

Joel scoffed. His frown furrowed his brows for a moment before he looked you in the eyes and his face softened, “Thanks again for watchin’ her so late.”

You smiled back at him, “It’s no problem,” you replied in a hushed tone.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Joel reached for you, as if he wanted to hug… or maybe even kiss you, but he stopped himself. Instead, he just nodded and patted your shoulder before he went home to his daughter, leaving you in your doorway dumbfounded.

It was the middle of the night a few days later. Feeling accomplished at finishing your edits for the novel you let Sarah read, you crashed fairly early. You had been working hard on this novel, and it was quickly becoming your pride and joy. So you let yourself rest for the first time in weeks. But, as fate would have it, you wouldn’t rest for long.

A loud crash jolted you awake with a gasp. You sat up in bed, listening if you could figure out what the sound was, when another hiss and pop startled you. Quickly, you got out of bed and ran towards the direction of the sound, which sounded like it came from your basement.

To your dismay, when you turned on the basement light, you saw what the commotion was. A pipe burst in your basement, and everything was flooding. Panic coursed through your veins as your hands shook. Nothing like this ever happened to you before, and between your overwhelming emotions and your panic, you had no idea what to do. And it was the middle of the night, who would you even call?

You grabbed your phone and dialed the only number you could think of.

Joel’s phone rang on his bedside table, causing him to wake with a start. He groaned for a moment before he realized it was a call, and he reached for it with dread as his first thought was of his daughter, “Hello?” he answered with a low gravelly voice.

“Joel?” your voice was on the other end, sounding meek and scared.

He breathed your name as he sat up, “Everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to call in the middle of the night,” you stumbled over your words, “My basement is flooding and I don’t know what to do…”

“Hang on, I’ll be right over,” Joel replied with no hesitation.

He rushed over as fast as he could, and Joel was thankful you were right next door. He burst in your front door and immediately gathered you in his arms, “It’s alright,” he cooed, “I’ve got this.”

You stood in a daze, unsure what to do as Joel got to work. The first thing he did was turn off your water, stopping the rushing water. Then he called the emergency line and let them know what happened and got to work draining the standing water. When backup arrived, he helped them, taking the lead for you.

“Hey,” Joel was suddenly in front of you, his hands on your shoulders, “That’s all we can do for now,” he said, “The water’s all gone but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here until it gets cleaned out,” he paused, “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight and I’ll help you finish this tomorrow.”

Your eyes went wide as your mind raced, but you also couldn’t turn him down, “Ok,” you whispered.

Joel kept you at his side as he led you back to his house. You were sure he was telling you more details about what happened and what he did to fix it, but you didn’t absorb any of what he said. All you could think about was his large, strong hands on you and how he jumped in to help with no hesitation. It made your heart pound in your chest that it took you a moment to realize you were standing in his bedroom.

“What?” you asked, realizing that he said something important to you.

Joel just smiled softly, “I said Sarah’s out at a sleepover tonight so it’s just us. But I don’t have a spare room, so you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” you replied quickly. When he looked at you confused, you clarified, “I mean… I don’t mind…” you felt your skin heat up and your head spun.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You paused for a moment, “Sorry to put you out like this…”

“Now don’t you start that on me, sweetheart,” Joel interrupted you, “You ain’t putin me out at all.”

The care in his voice made your heart melt. You swallowed hard and nodded before you looked at his bed, “What side can I take?” you joked to cover your nerves.

Joel grinned.

You settled in easier than you thought you would. You felt safe with Joel, there was no question there. But, after imagining what it would be like to be in his bed for so long, it made your heart pound to actually be here. Letting out a deep breath, you tried to calm your racing mind. The bed dipped as Joel got in on the other side, and you each laid with your back to the other.

The two of you laid together in silence before Joel broke it, “So,” he sighed, “Sarah told me about that new book you wrote…”

You pressed your lips together as your heart pounded in your chest, “Did she like it?” you asked in a hushed tone, suddenly nervous.

“She loved it,” Joel let out a soft laugh, “Where’d you get the idea for it?”

“Oh,” you breathed, “It just comes to me I guess.”

An unspoken question lingered in the air: “Who did you base the hero off of?” You were sure Sarah told Joel about each character, and you were sure that the hero would feel familiar to him…

Instead, Joel decided not to ask, as much as the question nagged at his mind. He let out a deep breath before he murmured, “Night, sweetheart.”

You felt a flutter in your chest before sleep took you. As you slept, you dreamt of the plot of your novel, only you were the main character. In your dream, you were a princess, the daughter of the king. You and your family were well respected and beloved by your people. You dreamt of the balcony in the castle that you described so vividly and you looked out over your kingdom on a beautiful, sunny day.

Then, you were out in the streets of your kingdom. In disguise, you loved to secretly mingle with the people as equals. Their craftsmanship always fascinated and inspired you, and you loved to wander the markets. That was where you met him: the blacksmith. Joel Miller. He worked diligently on the sword in his hands, and you watched him as he formed the most exquisite sword you had ever laid your eyes on. Even the knights in your royal guard didn’t have weapons this grand.

Following the plot of your novel, you and the blacksmith with Joel’s face met and quickly fell in love. He soon discovered that you were the princess, but it didn’t change his feelings for you. Nor did his status mean anything when it came to your heart. As the two of you fell deeper in love, the novel’s villain, the evil wizard that worked for your father and secretly tried to steal his throne, tried to steal you away. The blacksmith Joel- your hero- fought against all odds to rescue you, and the two of you rode away to your happily ever after in the sunset…

Suddenly, you woke up with a weight across your body, and for a moment you were confused. But a snore from Joel reminded you of your current situation. You held your breath as you fully opened your eyes and adjusted to the low light of the moon through the window. You still stayed on your side, but Joel had rolled over in his sleep and slung an arm around you.

Your heart pounded as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. He groaned in his sleep as he clutched you tighter, and it made you gasp. Not out of discomfort or fear, but from the yearning in your heart.

The noise you made must have woken Joel, who was accustomed to always listening for any sign that Sarah needed him, and he woke up with a low grumble. It took him a moment to realize what he did in his sleep, and once he did, Joel shot awake.

“Shit,” he muttered as he pushed himself off of you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s ok, Joel,” you whispered as you turned over and faced him. I don’t mind, you thought to yourself but didn’t voice out loud.

He looked flustered, even as sleep clung to his features. As you took in the sight of him in the moonlight, you noticed the mess of his hair and the softness around his eyes. And it only made Joel more beautiful to you.

“I uhh,” he started, unsure of what to say to break the tension that hung between the two of you.

“Joel…” you started, also unsure of what to do. Part of you screamed to confess your feelings, but the other part was scared of what that would mean. “He was you.”

“What?” Joel asked as he shifted to sit up in bed.

“The hero of the story, the blacksmith that falls in love with the princess and saves her,” your voice was meek as you confessed, “I based him off of you,” slowly, your eyes turned to meet his.

Joel whispered your name, “Listen I…”

You stared deep into his eyes as he struggled to find the right words. Joel’s gaze darted around the room until it landed in your face, and instead of voicing it with words, Joel turned to action. He scooted himself closer to you and cupped your face in his large hand. It was warm, and you let out a breath as you leaned into his touch.

Joel pulled your face close to his until his lips hovered over yours, “You know you can stop me, right?” his voice was low as he whispered against your skin.

“I know,” you replied in just as soft a voice as you made no move to stop him.

A smirk lit up his face for a moment before he closed the small space between your faces, taking your lips with his in a soft yet heated kiss. You leaned into him as you reached out and clung to his shoulders and parted your lips to deepen the kiss- an invitation he eagerly took.

Things quickly heated up from there as Joel groaned into you, kissing you passionately. All the tension from the unspoken emotions melted away as your tongues tangled together. Neither of you needed the words spoken out loud- the kiss told more than enough for both of you.

Joel gently pushed you down onto your back as he climbed over you, all the while never breaking away from your lips. You moaned into him as you let him take control. The feeling of Joel on top of you was even better than when he held you in his sleep. Before you even realized your movements, you bucked your hips into his, signaling you wanted… needed more.

“I got you, baby,” Joel groaned softly into your ear as he kissed his way down your neck, tugging at your clothes as he did so.

“Joel…” you moaned as your eyes fluttered shut and inch after inch of your skin was exposed to him.

“Shit baby,” Joel growled as he slipped his own t-shirt off, “You’re gorgeous,” his tone was low as he pushed his sweat pants down, freeing his cock.

Your eyes snapped open as you saw Joel, bare before you. Your lips parted as a heavy breath escaped your lips and you drank in the sight of him. The moonlight highlighted his features perfectly, and he looked more handsome than ever.

“So are you, Joel,” you breathed as you tried to push yourself onto your elbows and reach for him.

He took your hands gently and guided you back down onto your back, “Let me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escaped your lips as he settled between your parted legs, wriggling himself down your body and kissing every inch of skin on the way. Joel took his time, gently kneading and kissing your breasts, worshiping your body as he made his way to your pussy.

You quickly turned into a moaning, whimpering mess as Joel’s tongue ran along your nipple while his rough hands cupped your breasts. Already, he made you feel so good, but the more he kissed your skin, the more your need grew. Thankfully, though Joel didn’t rush, he still knew what you wanted and he broke away from your breast with a pop before he knelt down between your legs.

He paused and looked back up at you for a moment, and his cock twitched with desire as he saw the lustful look on your face. Your mouth hung open to let the heavy breaths out, and laying naked in the moonlight you never looked more stunning to him.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he groaned before he dove into your body.

You couldn’t even answer when you felt his hot tongue on your folds, licking and sucking at your pussy with fervor. Any thoughts vanished and all you could think of was Joel and how good his tongue felt. Your head dropped back and you screamed with pleasure, your hands clinging and clawing on Joel’s bare shoulders.

Joel slurped loudly as he let himself go. Any inhibition was gone the moment he tasted you, and instantly he was addicted. And the sounds you made only added to the moment. Joel only got harder and harder the louder you cried out. His hands grabbed onto your thighs, kneading your soft flesh as he kept them parted wide.

“Fuck… Joel…” tears filed your eyes as your body felt like it was floating.

He groaned into you and only licked harder and faster at your clit, determined to send you over the edge. As much as Joel wanted to talk you through your climax, he couldn’t break away from you even if it were for his last gasp of air. No, Joel wasn’t going to break away until you came into his mouth.

Joel didn’t have to wait long, though, and with just a few more precise flicks of his tongue, you came hard, screaming loudly. One hand flew into his hair, tugging at the thick locks while your legs shook on either side of him. Joel’s hips bucked against the bed on their own, field by your moans and screams as you rode out your climax on his face.

With a loud gasp, Joel finally let go of your pussy. His hands stayed on your legs as he watched you come down from your high, his eyes blown dark and wide with need. Heavy breaths from both of you filled the room as Joel stared at you.

When you finally opened your eyes, you let out a sharp breath before you froze under his gaze. Joel never looked at you like that before, though you imagined that look on his face a hundred times before.

“Joel…”

He pounced forward, taking your lips with own, cutting off whatever you were going to say. Both of you moaned into each other as you clung to the other in your feverish kiss. Joel took the opportunity while you were lost in the kiss to flip your bodies over in one swift movement. You yelped into his mouth as you suddenly found yourself straddling him, looking down on his handsome face.

“Are you sure?” you asked in a whisper, feeling nervous about being on top of Joel.

“I’m sure, baby,” Joel groaned as his hands caressed up and down the sides of your body, “Let me see you ride me, baby.”

The twitch of his cock against your body made you whine, and any insecurities you had disappeared. Placing a hand on his chest, you leaned forward and took his cock with your free hand. Joel’s eyes went wide and he let out a low groan as he watched the moonlight highlight your pussy as you hovered over him.

Joel moaned your name as his hands went to your hips, giving them a squeeze before he helped guide you onto his length. Your eyes met his for a moment before you looked back down, watching as you slowly sank down on the thick length.

His eyes never left you, and he gritted his teeth as the tip of his cock entered your body. Your heat engulfed him, and he couldn’t help the groan he let out as more and more of you wrapped around his cock. You hissed as you adjusted to the stretch, but Joel murmured encouraging words in a low tone to help.

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ me so good like that,” Joel growled, “Fuck you’re so beatiful…”

As your hips met his, you let out a loud gasp as he filled you more than you had ever been filled before. “Fuck… Joel…” you moaned as your eyes fluttered shut as you slowly rocked your hips back and forth.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Joel’s grip tightened on your hips. Caressing your body, Joel’s hands moved back to your ass, squeezing it even harder and making you moan. “That’s it, baby.”

You blinked your eyes open for a moment before shutting them again. All you could do was moan; words failed you. Slowly at first, you lifted your hips a bit before lowering them again, causing you both to gasp. Joel grunted as you repealed the action.

“Fuck…” you moaned as you picked up your pace.

Leaning forward, your hands landed on Joel’s chest, gripping his pecs as you rode him faster and harder. Already sensitive from having cum once, it took you no time to feel the tingle build from the base of your spine as Joel’s cock entered you over and over again.

“Joel… I’m gonna…”

“Fuck… Me too, baby,” Joel’s hands ran up your sides to grab you and yank you down.

Crashing your lips together, Joel thrust his hips up into you from below, matching your rhythm as your climaxes quickly built until you both exploded at the same time. He swallowed the moan you let out as your body trembled overtop of him and your inner muscles squeezed his cock. Joel grunted as he gave one last harsh thrust and came right after you, spilling himself into you as he held you tightly.

With one last heavy breath, both you and Joel flopped down onto the mattress in a heaving, sweaty mess. You rested on his broad chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat against your ear. Neither of you moved for several moments, just savoring the connection you still had as your breathing returned to normal.

“Hang on, baby,” Joel broke the silence as he wrapped his arms around you once more, “I got you.”

You whimpered as he slid out of you, but you never left Joel’s embrace. He settled you next to him, much like you were before. Only this time, you faced him, and Joel held you with intention. The two of you slipped into place as if you had been together for years. It just felt right… for both of you.

“Joel,” you whispered as sleep started to take you, “I…” you let out a soft snore before you could finish your thought.

Joel grinned as he kissed the top of your head and whispered to your sleeping form, “I know, baby,” he spoke lowly, “Me too.”

Sarah let herself in with her key and bounced up the stairs. Fully expecting to find Joel alone, she burst his door open and loudly announced, “Dad, I’m home,” before she froze in her tracks. She was taken by surprise to find you in her father’s bed, snuggled close in his arms.

Joel gasped awake and shot upright, “Sarah!” he glanced over and made sure you were covered as you too woke up with a gasp, “What are you doing home so early?”

“It’s noon,” she replied with a mischievous smirk, “It’s about time you two had your own sleepover.”

“Sarah…” Joel chastised her, but she already left the room.

Joel collapsed back down onto the bed with an exasperated sigh, “Shit,” he mumbled before he turned to you and met your gaze. The two of you stared at each other in silence for a moment before you both burst into laughter. He pulled you close and placed a soft kiss on your forehead before leaning you down onto his chest.

“Guess we should get up, huh?” you asked with a soft giggle.

“Yeah,” Joel agreed as he reluctantly let you go.

As you both dressed with your back to each other, your glance over and your breath caught in your chest as you saw Joel’s bare back in the sunlight. He must have felt your eyes on him, or he wanted to sneak a glance at you too, because he looked over his shoulder right after you did. Smirks lit up both your faces as you went back to dressing.

“Hey Joel,” you broke the silence this time.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks,” you spoke in a hushed tone, “For everything.”

Joel finished dressing and walked around the foot of the bed to take you in his arms once more, “You aint never gotta thank me for anything, baby,” he murmured, “I’ve always got you.”

You smiled and closed your eyes contently, “I picked the right man for my hero then… blacksmith.” you snickered at your modern day hero.

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel rolled his eyes playfully as you both took your first steps to the bright future.

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

before - part one

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

it’s summer in austin, and you and joel meet for the first time.

a/n: the joel miller brain rot is real and your advocate is here to help! masterlist will be up shortly, special thank yous and shout outs to @psychedelic-ink @allfoolsinluv and @gnollengrom for letting me scream about this fic in your dms 🤍 I have thought of little else for the last 48 hours

word count: 3.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI - this part is not explicit but other parts will be, masterlist has further warnings, but no real warnings for this part except a lot of fluff?? and banter?? and I’m obsessed kthanksbyeeeee

✨I no longer have a taglist - if you’d like to be notified of new works/chapters, follow @friskito-library and turn notifications on!✨

You meet Joel Miller long before the world implodes.

It’s 2001, you’re fresh out of college, relocated to Austin, Texas where your parents have taken over an old hardware store that once belonged to your grandfather. Nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the time being, you spend most of your time in the store, stocking shelves and chatting with customers, learning the different things the store keeps on hand, what has to be shipped in special order. It’s not much, but it’s something to do; you’re just happy to be back with your family after four long years at college. Sure, you came home for holidays when you could, but it wasn’t the same.

It still isn’t the same, not really.

The house you live in is foreign to you, not the same roof you grew up under. The people are the same, your parents clearly happy to have you back, your little sister overjoyed to have someone in her corner again. Austin is nice, the weather warmer than you’re used to after four years in Michigan, but it’s a welcome change. Summer seems to go on forever, and your weekends are spent basking in the sun, finding new places to explore, wandering the shops that neighbour the hardware store and beyond.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re stood at the end of one of the aisles, fixing a stubborn display of plaster tubs that won’t stay upright, when you hear the bells over the door chime, announcing the arrival of a customer. You don’t stray far from the display, calling out a good morning! and returning to your work. Your sister is perched behind the register, flipping through an old magazine, and you hear the tell-tale squeak of work boots on the linoleum, the sound now all too familiar to your ears.

The boots move in your direction, but you pay the sound little mind until it grows closer. Most people who come into the store know what they’re looking for, and your parents had been careful to keep everything in the same aisles and shelves they’d been on for the past decade, so as to not disrupt the regular customers. From the corner of your eye, scuffed, dark boots step a little closer, and your eyes drag over from the display, taking in the man before you.

You try really hard not to let your eyes linger everywhere, but it’s hard. He’s…well, he’s hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, patchy facial hair that really shouldn’t work as well as it does. Long legs covered in dark jeans, a t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days and is straining against his broad shoulders and thick arms. It’s a classic look you’ve come to associate with every guy who works construction in Austin, but right off the bat, you know there’s something different about this one.

“Hi there,” he says, his southern drawl not as intense as some other folks you’ve talked to, but still there, coupled with a little quirk to his lips, an almost-smile that makes you instantly desperate to see the full thing.

“Hi,” you breathe out, curling your fingers around the metal shelving in front of you, abandoning the plaster display.

“I’m lookin’ for a quarter-inch drill bit,” he spits, nearly stuttering the request out. You’re stuck still for a moment, absolutely enamoured by the man before you. And it makes your own lips twitch, the way his cheeks flare red and he drops his gaze after a moment, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m also assuming you work here but I now realize you don’t have a name tag or anything so I’ll just—”

You clap a hand over your chest dramatically. “Shoot. Must have left the stupid thing in the back.” He lifts his head, eyes going wide, the almost-smile returning. “Follow me.”

He follows you like a little lost puppy a few aisles down from where you were standing. He’s taller than you, by nearly a head, those broad shoulders almost blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. You may or may not let your hips swing a little harder as you walk.

“Any specific brand you’re looking for?” you ask over your shoulder, coming to a stop in front of the pegboard that holds bits of all sorts of sizes. “Or just a quarter-inch?”

“As long as it fits in my drill,” he answers, and you turn to the board, scanning for the right size. You can feel his eyes lingering on you, and you’re basking in it. When you find the right one, you pluck it off the hook and hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your jeans after he takes it from you. “If it doesn’t fit, just bring it back and I’ll make sure you get the right one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he looks between you and the little package a few times, tapping it against the flat of his palm. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then your sister calls your name and your head snaps up.

“Come on up to the front when you’re ready,” you say, feeling a little bold and touching his arm as you step past him, “and I’ll cash you out.”

He watches you walk away, too.

“I need coffee,” your sister declares as soon as you’re within view of the front counter. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, stepping behind the register, righting a cup of pens that’s fallen over. She slips down from the stool, flipping her magazine shut, and brushes past you, just as a now familiar deep voice reaches your ears.

“Thanks again,” tall, dark, and handsome says, approaching the counter with the drill bit and a tub of plaster from the display you’d been fixing in his hands. Your sister steps around him as he walks up, and turns to look at you over his shoulder, her jaw dropped, giving you two thumbs up. Your cheeks flare with heat, but you ignore it, taking the bit and the plaster when he sees them on the counter. “Are you new here?” he asks, and then rubs his hand up the back of his head, turning sheepish again. “Here being Austin, I mean. Haven’t seen you around before.”

You can’t help but grin back at him. “New-ish. Moved back at the beginning of the summer after I finished college. My parents took over this place after my grandfather died, and I can’t afford rent in the city, so here I am.” You ring up his purchase, tell him his total, and he fishes for his wallet, digging in the front pocket of his jeans. “For now, anyway.”

He presses his lips together as he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to you. “Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”

You punch in the right amount, letting the register drawer hit your hip as it shoots open. “Maybe you will.” You hand him his change, and as you press the bills and coins into his waiting hand, you offer your name with it.

“Joel,” he says by way of answer, and your chest puffs a little with the knowledge. “Miller. Joel Miller.”

Your grin widens. “Well, you have yourself a good day, Joel Miller. Hope I see you soon.”

He takes the bit and the plaster and takes a step backwards, walking directly into a display stand holding rolls of bright green and blue painters tape, sending it toppling to the floor. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, and you step around the counter, dropping to your knees, catching the tape as it rolls in a million different directions.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him earnestly, righting the stand and getting back to your feet. “Now I have something to do.”

“You sure?” he asks, straightening, his cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t worry about it, again,” you laugh, gesturing towards the front door. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

“See you,” he replies, tacking your name onto the end, and you have to ignore the way the sound of your name on his lips sends a prickle up the back of your neck.

You watch as he walks out the door, the bell ringing again as he departs, getting into a pick-up truck that has definitely seen better days parked at the curb. He scrubs a hand over his face as he starts the engine, and then turns and looks at you through the glass, lifting a hand in a wave before he pulls away from the store. You lift your hand to return the farewell, and your sister walks through the door a moment later, two coffees in her hands, pushing one into your grip even though you said you didn’t want one. You sip it anyway.

“Who was that?” she asks, bumping her hip into yours.

“Joel Miller.”

He comes into the store nearly every day for a week. Always looking for something new, another drill bit or packages of nails and screws, a hammer, rolls of tape. He’s a carpenter, you learn, and goes bright red when you hint that must mean he’s good with his hands.

Your conversations are always brief, but sweet. He asks what you went to school for, admits he never got past a high school education, laughs when you tell him he seems to be doing pretty well for himself despite that. He shows up one morning with coffees for both you and your sister, and a box of doughnuts, earning a squeal from your sister and a bright thanks Joel from yourself. One afternoon, he’s in a hurry, having run out of drywall screws, cursing that he left his wallet at the job site, and you wave him off, all but pushing him out the door with a new box.

Then Monday rolls around, and you find yourself watching the door, waiting for the bell to signal his arrival. Every time the bell does ring, you jump, stepping out of whatever aisle you’re in, checking to see who’s walked inside.

“I’m sure he’ll come by tomorrow,” your sister says when the clock hits two and there’s still no sign of him. “He’s probably just busy.”

“I know,” you say, brushing it off best you can.

The rest of the day passes like molasses, the minutes ticking by so slow you’re half sure the clock on the wall is broken. You even go so far as to check the batteries, earning a laugh from your sister. You curse yourself for flinching every time the door opens, doubly so when your father arrives to take over for the evening and you jump so hard you drop the stack of sandpaper boxes in your hands. “Sorry, honey,” he laughs, helping you pick up the boxes. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” you reply, putting the sandpaper on the right shelf before heading for the counter to grab your bag. “See you at home!”

Your father waves without looking, but calls your name before you can walk out the door. “Someone’s at the house, just so you know. Your mother’s home, of course, but I hired a guy to look at the back porch, asked him to fix the light in the hallway too.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to fix that yourself,” you joke with a smile, “since you own a hardware store and all?”

He just waves you off. “Get outta here.”

You laugh, pushing the door open, the bells jingling above your head as you step through. It’s just before dinner time, the sun starting to hang a little lower in the sky. The inside of your car feels like a sauna when you slide into the driver’s seat, and you blast the air conditioning, turning up the radio loud enough you can hear it over the noise. It’s a quick drive from the store to your house, and you’re too distracted by the song that’s playing on the radio to notice the rusty pick-up parked at the curb.

If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.

Your mother is sitting in the kitchen when you walk through the door, calling her hellos, and you dump your keys and bag before bee-lining for the bathroom. The house is all one level, one bathroom shared between the four of you, and you flick on the light, turn on the shower, strip down quickly. The warm water is a balm for the long day, the tension that had been sitting between your shoulders melting away beneath the spray.

You wrap yourself in a towel afterward, collecting your clothes from the floor before flicking the light off again. You’re still humming the song from the radio as you open the door, wiping a drop of water from your cheek and—

“Joel?”

“Shit!” he mumbles, dropping the screwdriver in his hand. He’s standing right outside the bathroom, balanced on a step-stool. Fixing the light; you remember what your father had said. You’re instantly flushed, starkly aware of the fact that you’re basically naked except for a towel, dripping water and your underwear is basically dangling from your hand. “I’m sor—fuck!” The stool wobbles and out of instinct, you grab for him, planting your hand on his stomach. He’s reaching over his head still, and the bottom of your hand meets bare skin, his t-shirt riding up slightly.

“You good?” you ask, pressing your lips together as he balances himself. You move your hand, carefully bending your knees and picking up the screwdriver from where it landed on the floor. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking it from you, jaw working as he chews the inside of his lip. His cheeks are as red as your whole body feels. “Sorry, I’m—”

“I should go!” you say quickly, and side-step him, bolting out of the bathroom doorway and straight into your bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Your clothes tumble to the ground as soon as you’re inside, clapping a hand over your mouth as the towel nearly slips off of you. “Oh my god.”

You open the store by yourself the next day, your sister claiming she has the flu, your father with a golf game he can’t miss, and your mother with ‘far too many things to do around the house’. You don’t mind it; it’s usually quiet in the mornings, with the exception of the week of Joel, where he’d shown up at nine o’clock nearly on the dot each day.

Once your father got home last night, you’d all but interrogated him. Turns out, Joel had stopped by the store late the night before, walking in just before closing, and he and your dad got to talking. When the subject of the creaky back porch and the broken hallway light came up, Joel had offered his services, and your father had accepted.

A minute after you’ve flipped the sign from closed to open and unlocked the door, a now-familiar pick-up truck pulls up to the parking spot outside the curb. You inhale sharply, nerves and embarrassment in your gut, and you turn away from the door, heading towards the counter, you back to the door as it jingles open.

Joel Miller calls your name. You nearly freeze, but continue your steps until you’re safely behind the counter. You hear his boots squeak on the floor as he approaches, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head until he’s standing right in front of you, saying your name again.

“Morning, Joel.”

“About yesterday,” he says instantly, a hand reached into the space between you, landing in a loose fist on the countertop. “I had no idea that you were—that it would—” He blows out a breath, ducking his head before meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Y’know, I usually make a man buy me dinner before he sees me half-naked,” you say, the line rolling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. Joel balks, and you clap a hand over your mouth, nervous giggles pouring out of you. “Oh my god, that was cheesy, I’m sorry. And it’s okay, for the record. I should have checked the hallway before I walked out.”

He laughs, you laugh, and the idea sparks in your mind. Your hands move of their own accord, reaching for a pen and a scrap of receipt paper. You scribble out your phone number, accompanied by a little smiley face after the last digit.

“Here,” you say, pushing the paper across the counter, nudging his hand with your own. “Why don’t you take this, and maybe we can see each other someplace besides the paint aisle or outside my bathroom.” When he doesn’t answer right away, that sick feeling of rejection crawls up your throat, and you nearly snatch the paper back. “Or we could just pretend it never happened.”

“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, and his voice is so low and inviting you can’t help but lean across the counter slightly. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall and he curses under his breath. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He grabs the paper, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket on his t-shirt. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, nodding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he touches his hand to yours, fingers glancing over your wrist before he pulls away. He steps backward again, eyes not leaving yours. Thankfully there’s no display in his path for him to topple over, but he only looks away when he reaches the door, that almost-smile you’ve been chasing since the first day you met spreading into a full-blown grin that sends butterflies shooting through your stomach. “Bye, Joel.”

“Bye,” he replies, your name a near-whisper afterward.

As soon as the door shuts, the tinkle of bells echoing, you slump across the counter with a squeal. The bells ding again a second later, and you shoot upright, schooling your face into a normal-looking smile and greeting the customer that’s just walked through the door.

It’s nearly ten o’clock that night, when your phone rings.

You’re lounging in bed, a book propped against your knees, Sheryl Crowe crooning out of your stereo. The robotic ring makes you jump, and you hit the answer button quickly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Joel says, and you smile, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Had a long day, and I almost didn’t call, but I really wanted to.”

“I’m glad you did,” you reply, letting the book fall shut on your lap. “What made your day so long?”

It’s easy conversation, the two of you chatting for a good hour. He talks about the job site he’s been working at, his brother that works with him, how his truck nearly broke down when he went to leave, making him late to get home. The call only comes to an end when you’re both making each other yawn, mumbling apologies every time.

“I should let you get some sleep,” Joel nearly whispers, his voice so soft through the phone you barely hear it. “Didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” you quip, rolling onto your side, keeping the phone pressed to your ear. “But I like talking to you, just for the record.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Just for the record.”

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask, faking shock. He laughs.

“Nah, I just like the way you talk, darlin’,” he says, and the pet name makes you shiver. “I’ll let you go.”

“You didn’t ask,” you say quickly, and he pauses, dead air on the line for a moment.

“What?”

“I said you could make it up to me,” you tell him, rolling onto your back, glancing out the window at the moon, big and white in the dark sky. “That was your opening to ask me out.”

Another pause, and you’re holding your breath, chewing your lip.

“Have dinner with me on Friday?”

You hum, beaming into the phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Joel barks a laugh, the biggest one you’ve gotten out of him yet, and you smile harder. “You’re trouble.”

“You’re the one having dinner with me,” you shoot back, and he laughs again, softer this time. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You can tell he’s still smiling. “Goodnight.”

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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buckyysdoll · 7 months

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— 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 —

જ⁀➴ — 18+ MDNI • summary: literally just smut cos apparently i’m back in my joel miller phase (not complaining); • a/n: this is basically a redo of something i wrote before i deleted a lot from this blog; • c/w: FILTH, creamp!e, dirty talk, daddy kink. literally just sex, good luck 🫡❤︎︎

MAIN MASTERLIST

You’re about to come and Joel knows it, wants to talk you through it till you’re soaking his cock.

He’s held up above you on the weight of his elbows and your legs are curved around his bare hips, from which he drives himself into you over again going deep, hitting deeper every time.

Indeed, every pound of his cock to that spot knocks the bedposts back, hitting the wall; with every scrape, there is only your joined, panting moans. The slap of his skin on your own.

“Joel, I’m getting so close,” you manage, hands clawing at his back for some purchase. His mouth has left yours to kiss its way down your damp, heated neck, nipping at you every inch of the way.

“I know sweetheart, I feel you,” Joel murmurs back, lifting one hand to move to your side. Once there, he shifts up your leg to a new, hiked up angle, and the change takes your breath.

Now he can reach so much deeper that each thrust has your throat dry, working hard for each moan.

It also makes Joel that much closer to release, which has threatened since the moment he entered you. To be honest it doesn’t really take much — not with you — to have him ready to come within minutes.

But still tonight, after such a long day, your warmth caught him off guard. He fought hard for composure.

Now then, he’s groaning with his mouth to your ear, praise murmured, kissing where he can reach. “Fuck, that’s it, that’s it. Just take what you need baby, that’s a good girl.”

You might’ve died right there from the praise if his pounding wasn’t keeping you anchored to Earth. You wanted him to please him, to have him be proud, and that need overrode any other base thoughts.

“Joel please.” Please what? You didn’t know. You only knew that you needed him coming, and hard. With him inside you like this, his release would be what sent you over the edge, and he knew it.

The groans from his throat and his fraying composure were enough to have you soaking and pliant beneath him, but now he looked up, met your damp, crying eyes, and fuck but the sight of you like that undid him.

“I know baby, I know. I know that it hurts, but you’re doing so well.” And it really did hurt — the acuteness of need, the way that he filled you and stretched you completely.

He was so big, so thick inside you that your back was near fully arching clean off the bed, bowing to the rhythm that he set with his hands on your hips, guiding you, softly talking you through it.

“You wanna come for me sweetheart, hm? You can let it all go, it’s alright, I’ve got you.” At his words, you felt the telltale creep up your spine of that thick, sweet tension. The heat.

Your pussy convulsed on his cock, and Joel gritted his teeth, his hands fisted in the sheets by your head. He caged you in with his arms either side, and you knew by the tension in his shoulders — almost.

“Come for me.” It was an order, but spoken so softly it sounded like prayer. “Let me feel you,” Joel ground through his teeth, one hand carding through the soft strands of your hair.

And so he did, he felt you, as you sharply exhaled in a cry as you came. Joel’s body was a tether to the bed, to your life, his thrusts no longer steady, but erratic. Desperate.

He chased his own high, and you tightening on him had his eyes screwed shut, throat tight. Joel bit down on your shoulder, stubble harsh on your skin as he came, fingers still threaded — gripped — in your hair.

And God, those sounds that he made; a sweet litany of “fuck,” and your name from his mouth. They almost had you coming again, and you clenched as you felt his release, that slick warmth.

But then he slowed and eventually stilled, soft spasms of the aftershocks deep in your gut. A fine, slight shake took your body and you saw that Joel, too, trembled with his exertion, his pleasure.

He stayed in you long after your hearts had grown calm, and long after you should’ve cleaned up. You stayed there like that, his cock still in you — cockwarmed — until you both woke up later, and were still so entwined.

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wildemaven · 10 days

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fall apart, again : chapter four | joel miller

pairing: joel miller x ofc!genevieve word count: 3156 content warning: 18+ blog; heavy angst, child loss, talk of death, talking about Sarah, heavy emotions, grief, fluff, vague talk about being with other people while married (but neither know the other was alive/nocheating), reader has a name but has zero descriptive features, reader is wearing some of Joel's clothes, no age given but is within a couple of years of Joel, if l've missed anything please let me know notes: oh look what I managed to whip up! Joel was on the brain and I was thinking of these two so I just let things flow- needed a break from Dave I guess. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her continued support and help as I worked through this— love you!! This writer supports Palestine and does not share or support the views of tlou creator. series masterlist | previous | next

Contentment blooms somewhere deep within you. It fills in every fractured part of you that’s been lost and forgotten for so long. It brings a sense of peace, a feeling that you’ve searched for through bleak and uncertain times.

There’s a twinge of guilt that starts to prick at you, shame at how quickly familiarity has settled in. Less than 24 hours ago, your life had shattered on that hillside. Leaving you broken and left to figure out how to move forward with little hope of ever finding placidity of any sort. Only to seemingly be put back together after stepping foot into this new place, reacquainted with your old life. For it to be ripped apart again.

You decide to focus on the stillness that bleeds through the morning air. Focus on how sleep came with ease as you settled into bed, far easier than it should have— has been for years. Focus on the way the sunlight catches the tiny dust particles that have been floating in front of the bedroom window for the last hour, each one on its own lofty path. Focus on the warmth that radiates from Joel as he still sleeps soundly next to you. His body instinctively found yours in the night— after all this time, he still fit perfectly against you.

Joel. Your Joel. Alive and here with you.

Your mind tries to replay every detail that has led you to this conclusion, replaying that reunion over and over. A happenstance of pure luck that you’re here, laying in the arms of your husband.

A second chance? But why? Even as you will yourself to revel in the beauty of reconnecting with Joel, your heart still fights to grieve— Steve… Sarah.

“Whatcha dream about?” A question you haven’t heard in two decades, Joel’s voice low and laced with sleep as his lips brush over that little spot behind your ear.

It transports you back to a time where mornings together were sacred and unhurried. The sun barely pours through the opening in the curtains, still enough darkness to remain entangled and unbothered by the day's menacing agenda. Joel’s warm body spooning you from behind, his leg anchored between yours, a heavy arm securing you to him.

Whatcha dream about? Was his good morning-love you-how did you sleep? He’d listen intently as you spoke about the wild imagery that filled your mind through the night. Whether it was a silly little blip of a dream or some drawn out story that had you dissecting its meaning far longer than your mornings allowed, Joel was fully invested. Humming along as he absorbed the details, only interrupting in the form of feather light kisses he strategically placed on the little spot behind your ear, the crook of your neck and slope of your shoulder.

In turn, you always asked him the same. What dreams graced Joel Miller's brilliant mind? And he always responded the same, I don’t need to dream when I have you.

“About that one summer, I think Sarah was 8, maybe 9. We decided to have that barbecue, and invited all the neighbors over.” Joel’s nose gently slides over your ear, his forehead resting against the side of your head. “Sarah was in heaven with that slip n slide she begged us to get once the heat finally hit. We had to beg all the kids to take a break so we could fill them up with hotdogs and chips— then they were right back at it again. I remember a few of them cried when their parents told them it was time to leave, but Sarah being so sweet told them they could come back again the following weekend.”

Joel’s arm tightens around you as you talk, soaking in the memory he so vividly remembers. Sitting together on the blanket you had laid out on the lawn, tucked into his side as you both sipped on ice tea while you watched Sarah and the remaining few neighborhood kids, hyped up on soda and popsicles, splashing down the plastic water slide until the sun finally dipped below the back fencing.

“That was the same weekend Tommy thought he was invincible. Made it a whole two slides before he was hollerin’ like a baby and I was drivin’ his dumbass to the urgent care.” You can feel Joel grinning as he recalls his own recollection of that day, little puffs of air hitting your neck followed by a singular kiss— his lips hesitate briefly, lingering just enough to not make you uneasy, but enough to convey the love he still holds for you.

“Yeah— I can’t remember if it was the blonde or the redhead he was trying to impress that time. He got her number either way,” you add on. Joel’s light hearted laugh doesn’t go unnoticed, you smile at the sound as a single tear plunges into existence, rolling down your cheek and falling to the cotton pillowcase below.

Tommy.

“Tommy—“ You gasp, your stomach drops at the notion of Joel losing his brother. Turning in his arms so you're facing him, Joel’s eyes fluttering open at the sensation of you lightly brushing over his patches of grey whiskers . “Tommy. I— he’s…”

“He’s alive.” Joel’s expression is soft as he says it, his heavy lids lifting to take all of you in, grateful that this wasn’t some ruthless dream his mind was torturing him with.

“What— Tommy’s alive? Where is he?”

“Here. He’s kind of in charge— always wanted make a name for himself somehow. Him and Maria actually put this whole place together.” His heart nearly gives out seeing your face light up.

Joel takes advantage of the proximity, really taking in every detail of you in this morning light. He’s not surprised how even as the world shifted into darkness, you still managed to emerge into this season of life so gracefully. Noting how so much of you has changed, in gradual ways he wishes he could have witnessed first hand, but you’re still you— even more beautiful than he remembered.

“Maria— She’s Tommy’s wife?” You ask, softly laughing as your mind begins to connect the dots to when she had mentioned you would be staying in her brother in law's house and elated Tommy had found himself such a strong woman to settle down with.

“Yeah. Maria invited us over for dinner— whenever you feel up to it.

“Mmhmm. Yeah, I’d like that.”

You watch your fingers trace over Joel’s golden skin, still soft but slightly matured with age. Their curiosity produces tiny goosebumps as you reacquaint yourself with each tiny freckle and ridges of his chest.

Joel’s own fingers dance over the hem of the shirt you're wearing. There’s hesitation at first, bloodshed and sacrifice embedded into every creased line, every rigid callus he’s collected. The weight of them is too rough and repulsive to share with you. But you don’t notice the way they’re marked with flaws gained through surviving and enduring. His progress becomes less reluctant as he soothes over the sliver of exposed skin on your hip, resisting his own temptation actively burning through him.

“Did you and Tommy come here together?”

“We went to find you, but the hospital was empty by the time we got there— just assumed, you not bein’ there meant that you were…” Dead. “We left Texas, eventually made our way up north to the Boston QZ— taken in by Tess and her crew— had us smuggling. Tommy being Tommy, was fed up with it, you know how he gets. So he left, joined the Fireflies before finding Maria and settling here.”

It’s condensed. Leaving out how the obscure nature of this world had hardened him into a depleted shell of a man. He knows it will eat away at him, keeping it from you. Though for the time being, it’s a burden he’s willing to carry.

“We kept in touch for some years after through the radio but then he stopped contactin’ me. Tess n’ I decide to go find him— how we got the girl.”

“Ellie?” You pull your head back and settle onto your pillow, watching as Joel’s face morphs through a multitude of emotions as he speaks.

“Yeah, Ellie. After Tess— she was bit— I had to save who I could and keep movin’. We finally made it here, Ellie and I. She’s a spitfire that girl. I was such an asshole to her too, but she never gave up on me— think she saved me more than she realizes.”

“Ellie mentioned her yesterday, Tess. You two were— partners?”

“We— she and I were— we—“ Joel finds it hard at this moment to put an exact label on what they were, especially when explaining it to you, his wife.

It’s evident Joel harbors the same guilt as you. The two of you navigating a new life apart, your hearts seeking refuge in this destroyed world. You can see it, the shame slowly stitching its way into Joel’s features. How it pains him to verbalize it to you. To admit to something that in a different setting, your old life with him, would rip you apart.

“Joel, it’s fine— whatever you both meant to each other. We were apart, not knowing the other was alive. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” You pause briefly. You let your own words sink in. Steve still heavily in your peripheral thoughts.

This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?

Steve’s last moments with you, a premonition of sorts. This is your starting over. Here. Back together with Joel. A man you’ve held in your heart during the darkest of times for so long.

“There was— I wasn’t alone either.” Joel's quiet but lends you his full attention, giving you the impression you don’t need to explain or justify anything either. “He was bit right before we got here.”

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. The room is quiet as you both bask in each other’s touch. The inevitable of what’s been left unsaid hanging over you both like an ominous cloud of dread. Joel is already preparing himself for what you’re expecting to hear. Your heart prepares itself for the inevitable of what you want to know.

You swallow the lump that’s settled in your throat. “Was she here— did Sarah come here with you?” Your fingers stilling over a familiar scar on his shoulder that you’ve traced over a hundred times in the past.

“Eve— we don’t have to talk about this today.” Not really sure if it’s for your benefit or his— perhaps both.

“Joel— please.” Your voice cracks ever so slightly, lifting your gaze to his, tears already burning your lash line.

He falters. Considering the caliber at which you have lost already, his heart begins to construct walls. Solid and impervious to the reality that’s haunted him for so long. Locking it away as he always does, suppressing the pain over and over. But as you look at him with your eyes glossed over, ignoring the subject isn’t an option anymore. Not with you. Not with the woman who gave him his purpose, his life— his babygirl.

“No. She didn’t.” He releases a heavy sigh. “She— it was the first night of the outbreak—“ His voice trails off when he sees you’ve figured out the rest, nodding as your own tears silently overflow.

Joel’s breath hitches. Reliving the incident through your eyes has what is left of his heart shattering against his chest.

Fail her. Again and again.

You feel it in your bones. A hurt so deep it feels unbearable. Beyond any capacity you think you can handle. It splinters and forks out, penetrating every layer of your being.

Joel wraps his arm around you, seeking a closeness he’s longed for in your arms.

You cling to him desperately. Trembling as your hearts fuse together, reinforcing a love that’s managed to withstand lost time. Picking up where you both left off— 21 years ago.

It’s some hours later. Tears dried and breathing settled. The heat radiating from the window warms the bedroom a few degrees above the morning chill.

Shuffling coming from downstairs wakes Joel. Pots and pans clanging about, alerts Joel that Ellie’s grudge against him was short lived, for now at least, especially since it seems as though hunger has struck. He knows he’ll have to face her sooner than later, snuff out any remaining teenage rage still actively smoldering.

A glimmer of light refracts off the window pane, collecting in the tiny diamond nestled in the center of the ring on your left hand that’s resting on his chest.

It draws him in. Like a moth to a lit flame, mesmerized by the sight, needing to consume its beauty wholly. His fingers fidget with the dainty gold band, again struck by how you still felt compelled to hold true to the vows you both shared, evident in the way you're still wearing it.

Joel’s contemplation of the ring pulls you from the edge of sleep. The stammering of his heart, wavering somewhere between a nervousness or exultant leveled rhythm, is the first sound you audibly recognize as your eyes take in the rest of the room.

“You’re still wearing it.” Joel's voice rumbles through his rib cage against the walls of his chest.

“Hmm?” Your sleep addled mind absorbing and deciphering to its best ability.

He lifts your hand, thumb running over your most treasured possession. Your fingers splay out above where you both still lay in Joel’s bed, cotton sheets kicked away, neither of you willing to let go of the other.

“Yeah— kept me going when I didn’t have any reason to.”

The watch still wrapped around his wrist doesn’t go unnoticed. Its face no longer resembles the pristine condition it once had. The arms frozen in place. A time forever displayed as such. The cause of its destruction is not of importance right now— another time.

“Wait— I have something.” It’s all you say before you extract yourself from Joel’s arms. “My bag.”

Joel sits up alongside you, pointing to the corner of the room. Your tattered leather bag slumped on the floor next to the wooden dresser.

Your tired legs carry you to your belongings on the other side of the room. The floorboards cool beneath your feet during the short distance it takes to grab the bag and haul it back to the bed where Joel rests propped against the headboard. The mattress dips as you climb back in, reclaiming the space next to him.

Joel watches as you sift through the opening, in search of something hidden within the bag’s contents, in a spot only known to you.

A small smile breaks across your face the second your fingers clasp around the small item.

“I made it back to the house after some time— had to see if I could find you. It was sitting in its usual spot in our bedroom. It’s been with me ever since.”

Your fingers slowly unfurl, revealing a simple gold band resting in your palm. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Everything stills as you watch Joel take in the sight of his wedding. Find it hard to discern what he’s feeling at this moment. His relaxed features now clouded by sadness and confusion, causing you to second guess your intentions for wanting him to have it back at this time.

“It’s okay if you don’t want it right now— or ever. I know this is all still a lot to take in for both of us. So I understand if you don’t. I just—“

“No— No, Eve. I do. I definitely do want it.”

It fits back where it was intended to be with ease. The metal intense the second it makes contact with your skin, Joel’s large hands cradling your face as he delivers a gentle kiss of gratitude to you.

“Thank you. For keeping it safe for me.” He says softly against your smile. “Forever mine.”

“Forever yours.”

Joel’s moving about, pulling clothes from over stuffed drawers, dressing himself for the day. You're occupied on the edge of the bed, unpacking the remaining items from your bag in preparation to find permanence in this space Joel calls home. He’d mentioned the idea of you living here with him, giving you the option of taking his room for yourself while he camped out in the living room, which you turned down immediately. You had just gotten him back, and you wanted it to stay that way. So you agreed to stay permanently in his room, under the condition that he would be in it too.

The bed shifts when Joel sits next to you, groaning as he leans down to pull on and lace up his scuffed work boots.

“What all you got in there?” Joel’s focus oscillates between you and his hands working at his worn laces, watching you empty 21 years worth of life that’s been crammed into the small space.

“Pad of paper, a few books, some maps, some first aid equipment, a change of clothes that desperately needs to be cleaned.” He listens to you intently, the bag deflating as you pull each item, inspecting it then strategically organizing them on the bed for the time being, glancing over when you hear Joel chuckling as you rattle off one thing after the next. “Some other random things I’ve collected over the years.”

Everything accounted for, you toss your bag to the side. It hits the floor with a muffled thud in front of Joel’s boots. You miss the small folded paper that slips onto the patterned rug that lays beneath the bed.

“This somethin’ of importance?” Joel asks, hold the paper between two fingers.

“Not sure. Might just be some trash.” Taking it from him, promptly unfolding it for further consideration.

It’s a letter. Not one of your own, although it’s directly addressed to you. Your eyes flit over every word. Then once more. And then again. Picking up on key words each read through.

Eve… Genevieve… Jackson… Radio… Joel… Bit… I’ll be waiting for your letter… I love you…

“What is it?” Joel’s hand settles on your thigh, your silence slowly becoming worrisome as you stare at the paper, its edges crinkled in your grip.

“Joel— what’s your job here?” Your voice cracks in the air.

“Patrol mainly. Took over the radio sometime ago. Help out here and there— wherever I can. Why?” His thumb strokes over your leg, a subtle mixture of coaxing and grounding, equally preparing himself for whatever it is that you’ve just happened upon.

Each droplet hits the paper with a sharp plunk.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

The words blurring, squeezing your eyes shut tightly, releasing the tears all at once.

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

“Eve— what is it?”

“You helped guide Steve and I here—“

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character #joel miller x ofc #pedro pascal #fall apart again series #Joel x Genevieve #wildemaven writes #pedrostories #tlou au

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mxigo · 1 year

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forever and ever, amen | part one

SERIES SYNOPSIS: you may not have spoken more than a handful of words to your neighbor, but you still listen to him play the guitar on his front porch from your window every night.

WARNINGS: talks about death, swearing

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: an old work that's been sitting in my folder from this past summer. since tlou aired last night, now might be a good time to finally put out that first part, yeah?

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

When you were little, during the darkest nights when the world was falling apart, your parents would pull out the old record player and your mom’s collection they kept hidden under the bed with a spare battery. They’d dance together in their bedroom, swaying slowly to the music, holding each other so tight you would think they were going to melt into each other. And on the nights where your mom fell asleep before the two of you, your dad would take you up into his arms, and spin you both around to the same records.

Then when the battery finally broke, your dad would pull out the dusty guitar from his closet and sing every song that he knew, just so he could see his two girls dance together. You can still remember the look they would give each other as he sang the song they played at their wedding; an old country song from the 80s about loving each other even when they’re old.

And it’s on the quietest nights that you miss them the most.

Not too long ago, a man and his teenage daughter moved into the empty house across the street from your small, two-bedroom ranch. Tommy comes by quite often to visit them, and after listening in on conversations at the bar, you find out that he’s Tommy’s older brother, and the girl is not actually his daughter. Joel and Ellie, you find out a bit later, are their names. Since you’re not one to go out very often, and when you do, you stick to yourself, you’ve managed to steer clear of them for the time being.

You’re not very good at making friends these days.

It's a cooler summer night, and you decided to savor it by sleeping with your bedroom window open to let some fresh air in. Besides, you always sleep better when it’s cooler.

You layered up your bed with extra blankets and just got yourself snuggled into the sheets when you started hearing the familiar tune of a guitar. Faint, but just loud enough that it sends a punch to your gut when you realize what you’re hearing. The comforting sound of nickel-plated steel robs the breath straight from your lungs, leaving you frozen as you lay in bed.

It takes a second for you to regain control of your body, but when you do, you slowly make your way over to your window, hand trembling as you lift one of the slats of your blinds. You have no idea why you’re even shaking right now. Probably just terrified that you’ve finally lost it and that you’re hearing a figment of your memories. That when you look outside, there won’t be anything out there, and the sound will stop.

You finally peer outside, eyes drawn to the house across the street that has its one porch light on. Your new neighbor has a leg crossed over a knee and is strumming a guitar on his lap. The notes are low and slow, and not anything you recognize. It’s hard to see through the dark and with the dim light, but you can still make out the movement of his fingers as he picks the strings, keeping his eyes closed. He’s clearly practiced, and you wonder for a moment if this is a skill from before or after Outbreak Day.

Another sound makes its way through your window. A low, deep humming underlying the guitar, intertwining with the sound, the whispers ghosting its fingers over your skin, leaving your flesh raised in return. Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to Joel, your heart pounding so loud in your ears that it threatens to down him out.

It's not the first time you’ve heard music since your parents’ death, but it is the first that has sounded so close to how your father used to sound. You’re soon lost in the melody of the unknown song, taken back to when you were a little girl staring up at her parents from their bedroom floor, blissfully ignorant of what was going to happen to her.

You don’t notice right away when the music stops, only when Joel’s front door shuts, and the porch light flips off. You’re left standing at your window in the dark, and when you touch your face, your fingertips come back wet.

The next night, you’re snuggled into the comfort of your bed with a book that you managed to snag when some traders came through earlier in the day. The soft candlelight flickers from your nightstand onto the worn pages, the orange flame dancing in the dark. The book is old, and you’re surprised that something from so long before everything went to shit is still around. A story about a Christian slave girl falling in love with a Roman nobleman’s son sounded interesting, and you haven’t been disappointed so far.

It's late, likely around midnight or so. Your eyes are threatening to shut for the night when you hear it again: the sound of a guitar through your open window. Your heart damn near jumps out of your chest when the sweet sound reaches your ears again.

You waste no time throwing your covers off and stumbling over to your window, pulling the strings just a touch so you can peek outside without having to peer between the blinds. A cool breeze makes its way through the small gap, whispering over your face as you level your eyes with it.

Joel is sitting outside again, guitar in hand, strumming away without a care. He’s humming again, and something about the sound tugs a small smile from your lips. You don’t recognize the song at first, but it isn’t until he starts to sing the chorus that you realize he’s singing Future Days, and your heart skips a beat. Tears well up in your eyes as you hear one of your dad’s favorite songs for the first time in almost eight years.

Those eight years suddenly feel like forever and so short all at once.

You adjust your body so you’re leaning against the wall, still staring out your window and watching the movement of Joel’s fingers as they continue to flutter over the strings. The breeze continues to push its way through the window, sending your body into shivers, but you don’t dare to move from your spot in fear that if you move and come back, he won’t be there anymore. You’d rather sit through the temporary chill than risk missing the rest of the music.

He finishes the song with humming the last few lines but continues to play the melody for a bit longer. You catch his foot moving a bit to the beat of the song. Realizing that he’s going to continue on with the song for a bit longer, you decide to crawl back into the bed now that the candle has burned out as well. Warm sheets greet you once again, pulling a sigh from your lips as you sink into them.

Your ears echo with the memory of your dad unknowingly playing this song for you for the last time. When it was just the two of you left, facing the world together. The two of you found an empty house in a suburb in Chattanooga, with a balcony and a view of the mountains behind it. It was just like the house that your parents would talk about having “once all of this blows over.” That night as you both sat on the balcony, your dad played the same melody that Joel plays now, with you tucked into his side, and your head resting in the crook of his neck. And that same night, you woke to him fighting off a group of hunters the best that he could, screaming for you to run, and don’t look back.

And you didn’t.

Your heart aches painfully at the memory, still hearing your dad’s screams echo in your ears. It’d been a miracle that you made it away from the hunters, but there were moments that you wished they killed you along with him so you wouldn’t have to face the world alone.

It took you a few years of jumping between groups and settlements, most of them turning on each other and burning to the ground, but you eventually made it to Jackson. With your last sliver of energy, you were able to get all the way to the gate before finally collapsing in exhaustion. Tommy happened to be the one that opened the gate, carrying you into Jackson, and into a new life. You only wished your parents were here to share the love and safety that Jackson had to offer, especially the view of the mountains.

It took so long to finally feel safe and comfortable in a place that felt too good to be true, constantly waiting for the shoe to drop and for everything to blow up in your face again. But it hasn’t, and the people continued to make you feel welcome in their community, despite yourself still struggling to let anyone in.

Joel is still playing as you drift off into sleep.

The next evening, Joel, Tommy, and Ellie are playing cards at the kitchen table when Ellie brings up their neighbor.

“Hey, why don’t we ever see our neighbor around anywhere. I don’t even see her when she leaves the house,” she asks, laying down a card. Joel looks up from his hand, eyes landing on Tommy as he waits for an answer. To be honest, he’s curious about his ghostly neighbor too.

“That’s because she hardly ever does leave the house, Ellie,” Tommy answers, laying down a card of his own.

“Why’s that?” Tommy sighs before glancing out the window to your house.

“Well, when you’re alone for so long, it becomes a challenge to assimilate into a space that has so many people. It’s hard to learn how to trust again, especially when you’ve gone through what she has.”

“How long has she been here?”

“A little over six months when y’all got here,” Tommy answers, waiting on Joel to play a card. Joel looks back at his hand, flipping a card out.

“She talk to anyone?”

“As far as I know, I’m the only one she’ll seek out.” A look crosses Ellie’s face, one Joel knows all too well.

She doesn’t ask any more questions about you, but she already has a plan in mind.

There’s a knock on your door about midday the following day, scaring the shit out of you. You’re surprised when you open the door expecting Tommy, but instead find a teenage girl in your doorway instead. She looks up at you with a smile on her face, holding a deck of cards in one of her hands.

“Hi, I’m Ellie. I live across the street. Do you know how to play euchre,” she asks, leaving you speechless. Your eyes are wide, and your mind is short circuiting at the situation at hand.

“What?”

“Well, Joel and Tommy are out on patrol, and I’m bored,” she gives, still looking at you with bright eyes. Your brain is still trying to wrap around the fact that a young girl that you know nothing about is on your front porch, asking to play a card game with her. There hasn’t been anyone other than Tommy in your house, and the thought about having someone new enter your safe space makes your stomach churn.

“Won’t your dad be mad that you’re at a stranger’s house,” you try. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“He’s not my dad, we just traveled together, and what he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” she deflects. You take a breath.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, kid.”

“Why not? It’s just cards. If it’ll make you feel better, we can play out here,” she tries again, gesturing to the two chairs and side table sitting to your right.

It’s just a game of cards. It’ll be fine.

“Fine. Just one game.” Ellie’s face lights up even brighter before she walks over to the unused chairs and table. She takes her seat and starts setting up the game, leaving you to follow her. You take a precursory glance around to see if there’s anyone watching the two of you, and once you find there’s no one, you take your seat across from her.

“So, where’re you from?" she asks, wasting no time. You sigh.

“I thought we were just playing euchre.”

“Well, there’s no fun in cards if you’re not talkin’,” she quips back. There’s a pregnant pause before you answer her.

“Originally from Florida. A small town west of Jacksonville,” you answer finally, and Ellie looks up at you in just barely concealed triumph.

“Is that where you’ve got your accent from? It’s like Joel’s, but different.”

“Yeah, although I’ve lost most of it over the years.” You don’t miss that Ellie throws in something about her pseudo-dad, and you can’t help but wonder what he might sound like.

Ellie hums before laying down a card. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Do you like Jackson?”

“Sure.”

“Do you—”

“Look, I agreed to play a round of cards, not twenty-one questions,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at the teenager, who looks like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. You sigh, setting your cards down on the table.

“Thank you for game, Ellie, but I’m done.” You push yourself up from the chair and walk back into your house, making sure to flip the lock behind you. You can’t do any prying right now, especially from someone you don’t even know.

You’re laying down in bed reading that night when you hear guitar strings again. This time though, you don’t bother getting up to peer through your blinds, opting to just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. You feel bad about how you reacted to Ellie’s questions, but the last thing you want is to make friends with a teenager, let alone one as prying as Ellie. You just simply don’t have the energy for it anymore, or the emotional capability.

You need to protect yourself first, no matter if it’s physically, mentally, or emotionally. It’d been a hard lesson, but you’ve learned that there’s no room for any kind of relationships any more in this world. They will only serve to hurt and cripple you later. There should only be effort to keep yourself safe and survive.

The sound of a door opening brings you out of your thoughts, and Joel’s music comes to a halt. You can vaguely make out Ellie’s voice, and she must make a joke as you hear the both of them laugh over something. Your heart aches at their comfortability, yearning for the same.

But you can’t.

It isn’t until the following evening that there’s another knock at your door. You freeze in your kitchen, hoping that she’ll give up, but your hopes are shattered when she speaks.

“I know you’re in there, and I ain’t leaving until you come out!”

You sigh, steeling yourself for the conversation to come. The door creaks as you open it just a sliver, meeting Ellie’s green eyes. She’s holding the same deck of cards.

“Ellie—”

“I won’t ask any questions this time. I just wanna play,” she interrupts, her face hard with determination. There’s a good chance that she’ll keep her word, but you also don’t want to give her the chance of prying again if she is bluffing. But she’s still looking at you with hopeful eyes, and you can’t help but see a part of you in her, desperate for companionship.

“No questions, okay?” Ellie’s face breaks out in a grin, and she nods. You step out on to the porch, shutting the door behind you before taking your same spot from last night, Ellie already setting up the game.

True to her word, Ellie doesn’t test a single question, opting for just simple conversation about what’s going on around Jackson, which you answer with the occasional hum. As you play deeper into the game, you find that she’s actually not bad company. She’s funny, and wiser beyond her years.

But of course, that all stops when she asks a question.

“Can I ask you a question?” The hand that was about to lay a card stops, hovering over the pile. A mask falls over your face at her words, looking at the girl.

“You just did.” She rolls her eyes.

“You know what I mean,” she defends. You tilt your head in thought, looking back down at the deck of cards, weighing your options. Upon your decision, you lay down your card.

“Just one. And I can choose not to answer if I don’t want to, alright?”

“Sure. Um, do you like music?” Your eyes snap back up to Ellie, surprise written across your face at her simple but loaded question. A smile twitches to make an appearance.

“Yeah, I love music,” you finally answer. Ellie hums before laying down a card, sticking to her promise about only one question.

One game turns into two, and two into three before the sun starts to set behind the mountains. Ellie is telling you a funny story about her and Joel when the man comes walking down the street. He’s about to walk up the steps to the front door when he realizes that Ellie is sitting with you on your porch. Your heart starts to speed up as he walks towards you, panic gripping you.

“Thanks for the games, Ellie,” you say quickly before abandoning your seat to rush through your door, desperate to escape the situation that is bound to happen. A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you’re finally in the safety of your home, your heart starting to calm down.

Joel’s footsteps are muffled from the door as he makes it to Ellie.

“Joel,” Ellie whines. “I finally got her to play euchre with me, and you had to come over here and ruin it.”

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I just said I was playing cards with her.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Ellie groans.

“Whatever,” she sighs, her feet stomping down your steps towards her own home. A moment passes that you hold your breath, waiting for Joel to follow her. You have half a thought that he might knock on your door to interrogate you, but that thought is quickly squashed as he soon follows down the steps, his booted feet thudding against the wood.

When the two of them are inside of the house, Joel tries again.

“What were you doin’ at her house?”

“What did it look like, Joel? I’m trying to get her to open up,” she says, throwing her arms up. “I know it sucks not having anyone to talk to.”

“That’s not your job, Ellie. She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”

“That’s not the point. C’mon, you know that sometimes it takes some nudging from someone to finally be yourself again.” Ellie’s words strike something in Joel, thrown back into the memories of how he was before her, when he couldn’t be any lower. He walks into the dining room, pulling out a chair.

“Well, what have you learned so far then,” he asks, and Ellie smirks, taking her own seat next to him

“She’s twenty-five, from a town outside of Jacksonville, so she’s got an accent like you, and she likes music.”

“Well, who doesn’t like music?”

“But she had this look on her face when she answered, like she was remembering something that made her happy,” she answers, looking at the table. Ellie can only imagine what music could mean to you. It’s quiet between them for a while before Joel speaks up again.

“I’m gonna play if you wanna sit outside with me,” he offers, and Ellie smiles.

“Sure.”

They both eventually settle in their chairs outside, Joel strumming his guitar to a Johnny Cash song.

“Well I won’t back down, no I won’t back down,” he starts, fingers gliding over the strings. After spending so much time with Joel, Cash has ended up being one of her favorites to listen to from him. His voice just melts into the music, and Tommy has told her that Joel does sound a bit like Johnny when he was younger.

There’s movement from across the street that pulls her attention from Joel, and she catches something move in your window, the blinds shaking.

She’s watching, Ellie thinks, and she smiles.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us game #tlou #joel miller x y/n

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rhoorl · 8 months

Text

Week in Review (8/27/23)

Back with another week in review (shout out to @trulybetty because her week in review posts inspired me!). Leaving everything under the cut since it's long.

Fics I read this week:

Frankie Morales

Just a Number by @linzels-blog - I love a slow burn, and this is one between Frankie and his new neighbor. The two of them have some insecurities and things they need to work through but I am so hopeful for these two!

What You Do To Me (and Part Two) by @musings-of-a-rose - Frankie and reader met at a bar. She's not used to being to one getting hit on but Frankie is just so sweet. They eventually meet again and he's in all his 😺 👑 glory. 😉

Two more dips into the Catfish Pond by @trulybetty:

Bookstore - This is a follow-up to the two I mentioned last week. Frankie and reader have moved across a few states together by this point.

Hangar - Frankie may have some ulterior motives when it comes to giving you a tour of the base.

Javier Peña

An American Hero by @secretelephanttattoo … I was always curious about what went down with Javi and Katie in S3 of Narcos. This story is now canon for me 🤣!

Señorita by @lavendertales - Reader is Agent Murphy's estranged sister. It's a reluctant friends-to-lovers story.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels

The House by @gemmahale - OFC grew up going to her adopted grandfather’s farm which was located next to the Stateman Distillery. After he passed, she inherited the property. Just two chapters so far and I’m hooked!

Joel Miller

Drip by @trulybetty - Grab the tissues for this one. It does reference events around TLOU2 so if you want to avoid spoilers then maybe pass (for now!).

Compulsory Reading:

The following are the series I have been (trying) to shout from the rooftops. I get so excited when I see a new chapter from these. Unfortunately, some of them are nearing their ends. 😭

Here are the ones who dropped new chapters this week. I still have a couple that I need to catch up on!

Frankie: The Layover by @goodwithcheese, The Pilot and His Girl by @avastrasposts, Shared Breaths by @frenchiereading

Javier Peña: Late Night Texts by @mvtthewmurdvck, It’s Never Too Late by @javierpena-inatacvest

Marcus Pike: Common Grounds by @whataperfectwasteoftime

Mr. Ben: Visiting by @ladamedusoif

Dieter Bravo: Destiny & Deliverance by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

Things I watched:

We're about halfway through Season 3 of The Umbrella Academy. I also caught up on some Real Housewives.

Today Mr. Rhoorl and are doing what we call movie baby swap: One of us goes to see a movie while the other hangs out with our daughter. Then when the first movie is over we meet at the theater to essentially hand her over so the other person can go see a movie 😂 We do this a couple times a month because we both love going to the movies (yay for our AMC A-List membership) and it's some alone time. Today I'm going to see Haunted Mansion and he's going to see Strays.

Fun things from the week:

I had my mid-year review this week, which consisted of my manager giving me a high five as we talked through some upcoming projects 😂 I love her and that exchange is so us. It was a great way to start the week which divulged into madness because #corporate

We took our daughter to her first professional soccer game! Although our team ended up losing, we had a lot of fun and surprisingly stayed the whole time. (Going places with a toddler can be a crap shoot sometimes).

Gotta brag on Mr. Rhoorl for a second because he let me sleep in on Saturday and took our daughter to a playdate. #HesMyFrankie

Speaking of Frankie, I daydreamed about his hair a lot this week thanks to posts like this.

Things I'm excited about:

Although it's going to be a rough work week, I am looking forward to attending Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios for the first time a week from today! (If you don't know, it's a really big Halloween event with haunted houses and scare zones. Orlando completely goes all in for Halloween across all of the theme parks). I've never been before but dammit TLOU for finally pushing me over the edge. 😂

Fic updates:

I had a burst of productivity this week (hours spent on plane were a big help) and published new chapters for both Working Title and Delta Landscaping. I'll give a WIP update later this week for anyone who cares or is curious.

That's it for me! I hope you have a great week. Remember to drink your water and get some rest. (Saying that mostly to myself 😆)

Bonus Pedro for making it this far!

#rhoorl week in review #rhoorl fic rec #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fandom

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lavendertales · 1 year

Note

Hi!! I love your TLOU writings! Do you think there's anyway you could do a Joel Miller (Pedro) x f!reader with a tall reader? For reference Joel is 5'10 or '11 and I'm around 6'2

It can be smut, fluff, whatever you feel. It's just rare to find fanfics with taller readers 😂 (bonus points if they're plus size)

Thank you so much!!!

as a pretty tall person too, I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH. You're so right, it's rare to see fics with taller people, so let us remedy that, shall we?

Lover—Joel Miller x tall, plus size!f!reader

word count: 609

A/N: this is mostly just fluff with a very smitten Joel Miller. hints of smut, though nothing explicit. Nonetheless, as a lot of my works and my blog is 18+,

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @olisgifs

There have been eyes on you since the day you have arrived in Jackson, and months later, there are still eyes on you.

Except now, the eyes that follow you everywhere you go are Joel Miller’s.

And his express something else than the others’; there’s a certain mixture of admiration, awe and desire whenever he looks at you. You’re a tall woman, taller than him even, but he loves that. He loves the way there is more of you for him to adore whenever the two of you are alone. He loves kneading your flesh in between his fingers till it spills from in between; he loves hoisting your legs over his shoulders when he’s fucking you.

He loves every single inch of you, just as you are.

Truth be told, you were astounded at the newfound realization that Joel is borderline unhinged when it comes to you. You hadn’t always had a pleasant experience when it comes to meeting new people, particularly seeing their eyes roam over your tall figure, then dropping to notice the bit of extra weight that your body carried. You were never really bothered by it, you were quite confident with yourself, but sometimes it still got to you.

But ever since you and Joel became an item, any worries you might have had washed away. While he may not have been the most expressive person, and certainly not the most talkative, he showed his care through various acts of service—especially in the privacy of your house.

It was basically impossible to be even remotely bothered by the things that, according to Joel himself, made you an incredible woman.

“You cannot be serious,” you laughed one evening before bed.

“What? You think I’m joking?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Joel’s gaze shifts to your legs, long and teasingly exposed in your gown as you lay beside him. He runs his palm over your calf, teasingly moving upwards to your thigh.

“I ain’t joking,” Joel coos, kissing your cheek, then moving to your jaw. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“My height?”

“That’s right.”

You don’t hide the amusement that your face bestows.

“Not sure how that is a turn on of any sort, but… whatever floats your boat.”

Joel’s kisses go further down your neck, hand touching on your inner thigh now, rubbing the skin there. You smile, closing your eyes and trying to focus solely on the touches, but it only grows your desire more, and you can barely hold your moans to yourself.

“I got so lucky,” Joel mutters in your earlobe.

“I’m the lucky one.”

With Joel, you felt safe and cared for. And you made sure to return his affections tenfold. You enjoyed taking care of him, and you enjoyed seeing that he opened up to you more and putting his trust in you.

“Is it okay if we just watch a movie tonight?” you ask, looking at his face.

Joel instantly removes his hand from your inner thigh, simply caressing your knee. He then pecks your lips and gets more comfortable on his side of the bed.

“Of course,” he tells you.

“I know you probably wanted—“

“It’s okay. What movie do you feel like watching?”

“Well, I heard they’re playing Rush Hour at the cantina.”

“Sounds good.”

These are the moments that always reassure you that you have a great man by your side. In these moments, it’s more than your looks. It’s about safety and comfort, the feeling of coziness that Joel brings to you every single day.

You’ve never felt more confident or loved than when you were with Joel Miller.

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pedgito · 5 months

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Chivalry, Secrets & Hot Tubs (Week One)

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

quick note: i love all the reblogs/feedback and that you're all enjoying this as much as i am <3 and a huge thank you to @swiftispunk for being the best and looking over the first chapter for me, i am completely scatter-brained and forgot to mention this when i posted last monday, so tysm han and pls go check her out if you haven't! & follow my fic update blog (@pedgitos) and turn on post notifications so you don't miss any updates/posted fics!

Chapter Summary: Settling in is easier than you expect, but it does come with a fair share of challenges. A week filled with getting to know one another and some moments shared, your week doesn't end on the best note, leaving you with a choice.

Chapter Warnings: (8k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, domestic shenanigans, Joel being naturally assertive, cooking dinner together, reading is good at encouraging Joel, one hot tub & two stubborn individuals, also...one bed trope incoming

You wake up refreshed, like you’ve been born with a new reverence for life—alright, it might be a bit of an overstatement but it’s a wonder what a decent night of sleep could do and you’re feeling that this idea, playing house with a stranger—though it wasn’t much like that anymore—wasn’t the worst choice. And it reminds you of Joel, having left him in the chair last night, not wanting to burden him but you can only imagine the ache in his bones, his back, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair all night.

You lay for a moment, bleary eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The morning sunshine wasn’t strong here, blanketed out by a stark white snow that covered the ground, it muted out most colors and left a cool, but bright blue that shined through the window above your bed.

It was peaceful. No cars, no buzz of strong electricity outside your window, people and their idle conversation a few floors down from your apartment window. Not even a bird, really. But, there’s a distinct clearing of a throat from the living room that has you stirring in bed, rising lazily as you move with the same enthusiasm.

It was a fresh week. The first official week of your vacation and you were going to start it off on a good note, clambering out of the bed and slipping on a pair of fluffy slippers to keep your toes from freezing off, not bothering to glance in a mirror on the way out—not that you needed to, it didn’t matter. It was early, you were still trying to shed the sleep from your body and you could care less. Plus, it wasn’t like an old t-shirt and sleep shorts was some foreign concept.

When you peek around the corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, you can spot Joel’s head tilting to one side, hand kneading at the taut muscle in the center of his back where his neck starts to begin and then you’re stuck watching as he stretches his arms out wide, working out all of those muscles. Every single one. And you’ve been silent for far too long.

Yeah.

Clearing your throat softly, you approach from behind and keep your distance, announcing your presence like you hadn’t been lingering for a minute or two already.

“Morning,” You greet politely, resting your weight against the edge of the island, taking in full view of a freshly awoken Joel, eyes still puffy from sleep.

He looks very…gentle. Surprisingly, so. It softens his rigid demeanor significantly and you have to silently talk yourself out of glaring at him for too long, “I didn’t want to wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Jeez—you two are getting good at that. Apologizing, afraid to step on each other’s toes.

“Not your fault,” Joel massages his bicep with the heavy pressure of his thumb, looking slightly pained as he rolls his shoulders, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to stay up, so—”

“You didn’t,” Joel quickly shuts you down, “I’m a grown man,” there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there, but Joel continues, “don’t blame yourself for my own irresponsibility.”

It’s too early for this. You force on a fake smile, void of any real emotion at this hour, running on fumes and the smell of coffee. Speaking of—you sniff, eyes searching for the smell like a dog would track a scent, and Joel is already pointing in the direction you should be looking for when your eyes land on him.

“I already finished it off on my own,” Joel admits, pointedly taking another long sip before resting the mug back on the counter, “I can get another pot goin’ if you need it.”

There’s an inclination to let him, seeing him assert himself so easily and offer, but you shake your head, “I think I can handle a coffee maker,” You assure him, meandering around the kitchen in search of the coffee grounds, ignoring Joel’s tracking of your movements, waiting for a moment to interject and point you in the right direction. You spot them a moment before the urge comes with a soft aha!

“I needed to make a drive into town,” Joel tells you after you’ve gone through the steps of starting your own batch of coffee, “pick up some more food, figured you might wanna tag along.”

He’s not asking, only assuming. But to be fair, his assumption is right.

“Sure,” You reply cooly, pouring yourself a hefty cup of coffee to sip on, letting your body take hold of the caffeine, “...how far away is the closest town?”

“Hour and a half.” Joel answers and you almost have the nerve to go wide-eyed on him, but then you remember just how deep into the woods you both were and that it was necessary.

Truthfully, there was a more concerning matter at hand.

“How’s your music taste?”

Joel has the gall to look offended by the question.

“I’m leavin’ in thirty,” Joel ignores you, “don’t think I won’t hesitate to leave you here.”

Okay, noted: Joel wasn’t much the morning person you assumed he was.

Joel immediately realizes how little disregard you have for touching things that aren’t yours when you reach for the makeshift box of cassettes tapes placed in the backseat of his truck—the thing was old, riding on it’s last leg, but it was something Joel would cherish until it was unsalvageable, torn seats, dents, and all.

“Ain’t gonna find anything you like in there,” Joel assures you, “None of that pop stuff they’re always playin’ on the radio these days.”

The tables turn on him suddenly, seeing your face contort into a similar emotion that he gave you earlier. Bewilderment, shock, annoyance. You scoff at the comment.

“Says you,” You retort back, sifting through the different cassettes until you find Joel trading glances between you and the road in front of him, almost worried you might chuck his collection out of the passenger side window, “Joel, eyes on the road.”

Joel enjoys a lot of country, which isn’t a total disbelief. But, it wasn’t something you shared the sentiment on, flicking away a handful of country artists you’ve never listened to and reaching some of the good stuff—older rock music, some classic 80s, and late 90s.

You pluck one out carefully, prying open the cassette case with gentle hands before sliding the tape in, allowing the low hum of the music to fill the car. There’s a brief moment of respite before Joel smirks to himself, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.

“What were you saying?” You look at him pointedly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Joel looks away briefly, biting back a chuckle, “Fine—I’ll give you some credit. Foo Fighters aren’t terrible, but you skipped right over Bruce Springsteen, so…”

You scoff in disbelief, “You don’t get to criticize me with that atrocious collection of country music,” You stare down at the box in thought, eyes brimming with a mischievous that Joel knows of immediately, he’s seen it before. Not with you, but he knows, “you know, maybe I should just do you a favor and—”

You can barely get a hand on the window roller before Joel’s hand is gripped tight over the box, trapping your other hand in his grip as he warns, “I’m not above leavin’ you stranded in the cold.”

Your grin is nothing but evil and Joel finds that there’s something about you that infuriates him in a way that is hard to describe, not in anger or rage, but a level that he thinks he could match. A game of back and forth that he could play into—but you’re quickly relenting regardless of the threat and placing the box on the floorboard.

“Already tried that,” You retort, “didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Fair is fair. Joel doesn’t poke the beast.

Instead, he takes the chance to ask a question.

“So, what exactly was your plan?” Joel asks curiously. “You comin’ out here with no car and all?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Didn’t really have one, but I would have figured it out.”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, subtly resembling a face of disapproval.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me, okay?” You don’t wait for a response, “You can have whatever assumptions you want about me, but don’t try and act like you know anything about me.”

It was another reminder. Joel didn’t know you, but you didn’t know him either. You reign your frustration in slightly, quick to defend yourself but aware that not everyone handles confrontation in the same way—if Joel was quick to anger, you didn’t want to stoke the fire.

“I’m not,” Joel argues, his voice calmer than you expect, thinking back to the saddled rage his voice held the night you arrived, the threat that lingered with every word, “I’m not, alright?”

“Then stop that.” You comment, waving your hand in a vague motion toward his face, “Stop looking at me like—”

“Like what?” Joel interjects, eyes more pensive as he looks over at you.

“Like—like I need a fucking lecture on life or my choices,” You tell him, a hint of pleading in your voice, “I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand how life works.”

“You’re not a kid—”

“Good, great that we established that,” You lean back in the seat more comfortably, arms crossed over your chest as you keep your eyes on the snow covered road, “now shut up so I can enjoy the music.”

Thankfully, Joel does just that.

Conversation falls flat until you arrive at the store in town a while later, Joel fetching a cart and pushing it your way before he stops you suddenly, hand over your own again—a touch that normally you would flinch away from, but he’s already done it once before and the thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“I’ll catch up,” Joel tells you, “I forgot somethin’ in the car.”

You glance back briefly, knowing that the walk isn’t that far.

“Oh, I can wait. It’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t say so much, but the look in his eyes goes a long way. A silent plea for you to go with it and don’t ask questions—again, you didn’t have any right to. You nod quickly and wander off toward the store as Joel trails away.

It’s then when your phone starts to vibrate away in your pocket, the sudden availability of service sending a barrage of notifications your way—you’re terrified to take a glimpse, but you do anyway. It should be no surprise to bear witness to the many, many texts from your mother wondering where you’d run off to, but there’s a tinge of guilt settling in your stomach.

You send her a quick, dismissive text to explain that you were fine and enjoying your time, but no elaboration on the things she wanted to know, because really, there was nothing to tell. And if you did decide to expel the details of your trip, mentioning that there was no boyfriend and it was just a stranger you met in the middle of the woods, well…that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

You also find a quick, heated moment of frustration to send an unpleasant text to the owners of the cabin, still polite enough that it wouldn’t warrant your ability to work things out—and you decide that calling would reach them faster, that somehow they’d magically find a way to appear and fix things, but there’s no answer. Only a voicemail that gave vague details about being away on their own vacation.

Just your luck.

Great. You sigh deeply, shoving the phone away into your pocket and returning to the land of obliviousness as you step inside the small market.

You fend for yourself for a while, throwing several random necessities in the cart as you go, enough sustenance to spread over four weeks and manage meals the entire trip, also a few more bottles of alcohol don’t hurt, looking for a few hard liquors that catch your eye and adding them to the growing supply of items.

You’re lost in concentration of the ingredients on the back of a box dinner when Joel’s voice startles you back to the real world, eyes jumping up to look at him and he spots the panic immediately.

He nods slightly when you recognize him, “Sorry, keep forgettin’ how jumpy you are.”

“You’re just ridiculously fucking quiet,” You tell him, breathing out a long sigh as you toss the box into the cart, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joel assures, doesn’t elaborate. Okay, cool. You weren’t going to pry, no matter how much your instincts told you to. He scans the cart casually, “Mind tradin’ off?”

You lend him the lead and follow, watching as he pointedly finds things, like he’s reading off a list in his head and moves around the store with a purpose. It’s only slightly annoying that you have to keep pace with him, but he’s suddenly speaking out to you as he’s glancing over something on the bottom shelf, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No,” You responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Why?”

“Grab some of that fresh rosemary,” Joel says, pointing out somewhere behind you and you whip around, eyes searching furiously and coming up empty, “—find it?”

You’re a little dumbfounded as you search the shelf of fresh herbs, Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you as he reaches over your shoulder and plucks the exact thing he’s looking for with ease, “Hey, I had the right idea.” You defend, noticing how amused he looked at your befuddlement, “And you didn’t answer my question, either.”

“Well,” He tosses the small, plastic package in the cart, still tucked up at your side and you can feel his body heat, the solid wall of his chest against your shoulder, “don’t like the idea of accidentally killin’ you if I cook something you’re allergic to.”

“Well, what if I’m lying?” You challenge and Joel shoves you aside gently to grab the cart, hands on your shoulder as he shifts you away—and when had things gotten so…touchy?

Truthfully, Joel finds it easier than telling you, noting how quickly you quiet down when he asserts himself and does rather than asks. He knows if it made you uncomfortable you wouldn’t have had a problem speaking up immediately.

“Look at me,” And there’s a deep timbre to his voice that has your chest sparking like a fire, eyes connecting with Joel’s for longer than you’ve ever allowed and it’s like he sees right through you, but he’s searching for something, “—you’re not lyin’.”

“But, if I was?”

Joel nearly leaves you in the dust, but turns to look at you with a subtle grin.

“Well, now I know you’re not.”

–

The ride back is easier, much easier—and Joel doesn’t fault you when you fall asleep halfway through, the heat of the car and the low hum of the music like a perfect mix as you curl in on yourself. Joel wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder when you finally make it back, allowing you a moment to shake the grogginess away with a word over his shoulder as he opens his door.

“Careful over that patch of ice on your side,” Joel instructs, “gettin’ colder so it’s slicker than it was a couple days ago.”

Careful. You roll your eyes carelessly, nudging the door open with your shoulder and hopping out, boots hitting the hard ground—your first mistake was underestimating the slickness and Joel’s warning, because the moment you take your first step it’s all downhill. Literally.

Luckily though, like a moment of divine faith as you pray that you don’t hit the ground, Joel is right at your back, arms slipping under your own as he plants his feet firmly and catches you. One arm crossing somewhere over your midsection and the other wrapping around your shoulder, a large palm holding you steady as he helps you back to your feet. You can feel him on the brink of making a comment, eyes looking down tenderly into your own—

“Don’t ask.” You warn him bitterly, face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, shrugging him off lazily. Joel doesn’t argue, making sure you’re steady before he allows you himself to fully let go.

Joel shakes his head subtly, a nuisance of his, and rounds the back of the truck to reach for the bagged groceries, “Fine, I’ll just say I told you so then. How’s that?”

Worse.

Joel never asks for help, doesn’t even seem bothered when you stand there aimlessly, watching him stow away the groceries like he already had a game plan and you feel slightly useless, but it does give you a good opportunity to watch without any explicit reason or excuse.

There’s an obvious purpose to Joel’s movement, clear that he’s used to doing a lot of heavy lifting and keeping up, probably prefers organization over clutter, and has a certain inclination to do things himself, always. And you can’t help the way your gaze clings to his face, noticing something a little off—not good or bad, just slightly different. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but with the extended amount of time your eyes lingered on him, you realize he’s cleaned up a bit, shaved his beard down to near stubble, a subtle difference…but you notice.

You’re not sure how long you’re stuck in this state, arms resting against the counter as you stood there, practically useless, thinking about what Joel looks like on a regular basis, when he isn’t cooped up in a cabin in the dead of winter. You want to see that side of him, crave it. It’s an insane thought that doesn’t make sense, eyes widening suddenly at the realization of the thought you’re having—

“You still with me?” Joel’s voice calls out in the haze, muffled slightly as you come back into focus, eyes landing on him. “Think I lost you there for a minute.”

“Oh—no. I mean, yeah. I’m still a little tired, I guess.” It’s a bold face lie, but Joel seems to believe you. “Why?”

“I was sayin’ I need to go chop up some wood for the fireplace,” He explains again, “then you went all wide eyed…”

“Oh, okay,” You nod jerkily, “...do you need help?”

Joel immediately declines. No surprise there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel suggests, “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Sleep sounds great, but it doesn’t happen.

You try—you do, but the splitting of wood, the strong crack of the axe catching the wood outside of your bedroom window, it isn’t exactly soothing to the ears. So, you find yourself wandering into the kitchen, peeking between the curtains with a wild curiosity that reminds you of when you were younger and trying to catch a peek of the cute boy next door, a bashfulness replaced with a deep, insatiable hunger that you didn’t know existed until this moment.

Joel was attractive, you could easily admit that. But, seeing him now, it’s a done deal. There was a deep pit of despair in your mind and you were stuck at the bottom with no way out.

It’s almost abysmal how easy he makes it look, the axe he’d brandish as his weapon of choice against you swung over his shoulders, the unfortunate lack of skin stretching over taut muscles as he went through the motions, covered up by thick layers. But, you get the idea.

There’s a slight pout forming on your face before you catch yourself.

He slices full power through the wood like it was eager to give way to him. You also find that his face tugs up in a scowl after every swing of the axe, a soft sigh of exerted energy as he tosses the logs to the side and starts up again. You could watch for hours. But, you settle for the few more minutes he spends collecting the wood before you’re scrambling back into your bedroom like you had been there the entire time.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t oblivious. Still, he spares you the embarrassment.

There was no reason for him to entertain whatever he thought might be going on. He couldn’t.

The next few days are uneventful, though that was to be expected. It allows you time to really settle in, usually curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle away until you thought your eyes might melt away, or reading a book that Joel always seemed to be trying to catch a peek at. There was an innocent curiosity there that you could appreciate.

You also learned that Joel only took his coffee one way, offering up your services to refill his cup while you refilled your own, sugar lingering over the rim and he’s quickly pushing away the small container of crystalized goodness.

“Joel, come on–” You grimace but relent, placing the cylinder of sugar on the counter.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Is all he offers, almost challenging you to take a sip.

You accept, obviously. But, it isn’t without consequence.

The moment the bitterness hits your tongue you’re scrambling away, forcing the mug into Joel’s waiting hands and spitting out whatever putrid liquid remained in your mouth in the sink.

It’s the first time Joel actually laughs, a full on chuckle that isn’t very receptive on your end.

Joel apologizes with dinner that night, a gesture that wasn’t expected or needed, still you’re thankful nonetheless. But, it offers you the realization of just how good a cook Joel can be.

Steaks grilled to a perfection that only came with repetitive practice and learned techniques, vegetables sautéed and seasoned to an enjoyable level, and a side of pasta that if Joel told you he made from scratch, you would’ve believed wholeheartedly if you hadn’t seen him dump the entire box of pre-made pasta into a pot of boiling water.

You’re halfway through dinner, chewing thoughtfully on a bite when you finally break the long, but comfortable silence that had blanketed over you both.

“So, Joel,” There’s a tone to his name that catches his attention, eyes flicking up to meet yours mid-bite, “what do you do for work?”

At this point, your nosey tendencies take hold.

There’s a scrunch to Joel’s nose before he speaks, almost as if he considered feeding you a lie alongside the beautiful meal he’d made. He settles for a simple answer.

“Uh, carpentry.” Joel tells you after a long pause, “I—build stuff for people, businesses sometimes.”

That explains some of his sturdiness, his practiced strength that came from, probably, years of hard constructive work and building. It also explains why he’s also working away at his hands, rubbing out the stiff joints and knuckles.

“I know what carpentry is, Joel.” You deadpan, but there’s a playfulness lingering in your voice.

You assume he’s used to explaining himself often, which is why he forces it on you so easily.

“And you?” Joel asks suddenly, “College? You’re about that age, right?”

You snort softly at the tone he offers, slightly patronizing, but all in good fun.

“I’m taking a semester off,” You answer indifferently, remembering how disappointed your parents had been about the ordeal, but you were suffocating, “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel assures, “can’t fault you either. Never went to college so I don’t have an opinion on it.”

There’s no judgment on your end, but for the sake of conversation, you bite.

“Any reason?” You ask curiously, wondering if you'd receive the similar sentiment that it’s all just bullshit.

“Didn’t have the money,” Joel answers simply, “didn’t have the grades, either. I thought I could start my own business out of carpentry, but…”

But…you lean into the table slightly, hanging on his words.

“You need a lot of money for that,” Joel finishes, “and, I mean, I’m livin’ comfortable now, but that idea took a lot of money that I didn’t and still don’t have.”

“So, you waste it on month long vacations in the middle of the woods,” You surmise humorously, nodding in approval, “can’t say I blame you, either.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, chewing around a bite as he speaks, “Your turn.”

Right. An eye for eye. A question for a question. He's watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give a response to the same question you asked him.

“Oh—I work out of this bookstore in downtown Austin.” You admit, finishing up the last few bites of your food, scraping the plate nearly clean. “It pays the bills and then some. I like it.”

There’s no compliment needed for the food, all the evidence of it gone. But, you feel the need to appreciate it anyways.

“Thanks for this, Joel.” You speak again, softer this time.

“It’s no big deal, darlin’.” Joel assures you, holding up his hands in a feeble defense at the compliment, clearly something he doesn’t welcome easily. “Just food.”

“It’s been...months,” You tell him, “since I’ve had any type of home-cooked meal. Take the damn thank you, Joel.”

He smirks at that, seeing the threatening fork raise before you utter those final words.

“You’re welcome.”

And he means it.

–

You force Joel to stay seated while you clean, knowing it was the least you could do after he spent so much time preparing and cooking dinner. There’s a solid few minutes of arguing before you have to physically shove Joel back into his chair despite his protests, hands pressed into his shoulders as you threateningly speak down to him.

“If you move, I’m locking your ass out in the cold.”

Joel wouldn’t mind, but you’re silently hoping that he’ll just listen.

After all is done, tossing the damp washcloth to the side, you sigh with a newfound relaxation.

There’s only one thing that might top off this night, making it almost the first perfect day here.

“That’s it, I’m getting in the hot tub,” You decide, squeezing tenderly at the tense muscles of your neck, thankful that the owners had a small alcove connected to the cabin that allowed for you to enjoy the hot tub from the safety of the cold, “join me?”

You’re not sure what inclines you to ask so openly, but you don’t second guess it.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Joel starts, “I don’t think I brought the proper…attire.”

He’s still seated where you had him planted and it makes you laugh softly at the idea that he was taking it seriously, which—yeah, you did threaten the possibility of hypothermia on him.

“Fine,” You relent, rounding the corner of the island closest to him as you quickly call out over your shoulder, “but, there’s still a couple of chairs in there if you need the company.”

He didn’t need just anyone’s either and didn’t need, so much as wanted.

He wanted your company.

A while later, you’re already waist deep in the hot tub, figure hugging white bikini tied back securely, arms resting against the side furthest from the door as you press your chin against your forearms and staring out the wall of vast windows that line the room, allowing a view of the snow storm outside, coming down in a flurry that seemed to only be gaining in strength—and Joel, well, he’s still sitting in that stupid chair.

He’s allowed himself too much time in his own head, thinking over the events of the past few days. His call to Sarah was pleasant, a much needed moment of peace when he hears his daughter’s bright, hyper voice on the other end. When he doesn’t have her for the holidays, it’s hard. The calls are sparse, the communication is clipped, and it feels like he’s being forced away from her, knowing that she’s growing older every day. That he is growing older.

He’s allowed a lot of his life to slip away, when he wasn’t working to pay bills and put food on the table he was usually drinking, bar-hopping with Tommy at his old age to hide the pain he felt everyday, mentally and physically. There’s a problem brewing under his skin, using the company of his brother and alcohol to cope with loss he feels so viscerally everyday. The life he could’ve had.

He feels pitiful, miserable—only took this damn trip to get out of town by the suggestion of Tommy, away from all distractions, hoping for a refresh to clear his head. But instead, he met you.

He had no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Joel’s never processed emotions well, feelings or anything thereof.

But, here he was, lusting after you.

He knows it’s the excitement, the taboo idea around sharing something special with a stranger. Someone who knows nothing about you, someone who doesn’t have the leverage to judge. Someone who doesn’t have to know about all the wrongs he’s committed and bad choices he’s made.

You’re not privy to the fucked up version of Joel that belongs in his hometown, cooped up in his childhood home that he inherited from his parents, filled with too many now painful memories that he’d made with Sarah when she was younger—when he still had her.

He can’t help the way his mind races every single second of the day, constantly worrying, always trying to busy himself with something, anything to keep that lingering cloud of anxiety away. But, when he thinks about you, even something so mundane as the way you squint to get a closer look at a paragraph of the book you’ve probably read a thousand times, his mind goes quiet.

Because, frankly, he’s fascinated by the idea of you. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t actually real. He’s halfway leaning toward the idea that he’s had a full mental break and this is all an illusion he’s cooked up in his head, but then he reminds himself that you are just as full a human as himself. There is a reason for this, even if there had to be some other force at play.

Maybe you needed this as badly as he did.

A fresh start, no judgment.

And that’s why he decides to follow you, the moment he catches a glimpse of you as you turn the corner to take the steps down into the room that connected to the kitchen, a full glimpse of skin and body that he’s tried to keep his mind off of, despite how openly you stare at him.

There has to be something there. He can’t have imagined all of this.

You feel his presence when the creak of wood gives him away, one hand shoved into his front pocket and his other arm helping him stay upright as he leaned against the doorframe. The steam billows and settles like a cloud over the bubbling hot tub but does nothing to hide how see-through your bathing top is and the slick slope of your breasts, his eyes trailing down toward the small bow that was sewn to the midpoint of your top and know he’s staring at your chest, very openly—Joel’s immediately regretting his choice.

Your eyes follow his but you dare not speak, afraid to startle him.

Now who was the jumpy one?

“Change your mind?” You ask curiously, shimming the expanse of the hot tub as you grab onto the opposite ledge, resuming your previous position, closer to Joel now. If you reached out you could touch the edge of his flannel and soak the trim, maybe even pull him closer, but you resist the urge. “It feels amazing. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t a ploy to get him in, but it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t respond, eyes staring at the soft wave of the water as it hits your side, his posture rigid.

Maybe you’d broken him.

“Joel,” You call out with a soft nudge to his thigh, as far as you could reach with your fingertips, cutting into his line of sight, offering a friendly smile, “just strip down to your underwear and get in.”

“I don’t think—”

Oh, for christ sake.

“You wouldn’t have come over here if you weren’t at least thinking about enjoying the benefits of the hot tub,” You argue, “so stop being grumpy and strip. I won’t even look.”

It shouldn’t sound as gritty as it does, a playful venom in your tone as you sink back slightly.

It makes Joel feel like he’s back in high school, flirting with who would eventually be his ex-wife and mother of his daughter, but there’s an assertiveness that intrigues Joel, your willingness to put yourself out there without fear. Take a leap, a jump, and hope that someone will catch you.

Joel caught you, he just needed someone to catch him.

You spot his fidgeting, the wheels and cogs in his mind turning and he just needs that shove.

Just enough.

You rise over the edge, palms pressed flat to bear your weight and squeeze your breasts together, belly button nearly level with the water as you’re close enough to see the fine details of his face, giving him a look that Joel couldn’t deny.

“Get. In.” You stress the words, making direct eye contact. “You can thank me later.”

Finally, he moves.

You sink back slightly into the pool and wade the water until you hit a corner, watching briefly as Joel works away at the buttons on his flannel, quiet air filling with an unspoken tension. You try to busy yourself with the view outside, something that didn’t require you to look in the vicinity of Joel for a second, knowing that the moment felt more intimate than it needed to. But, it doesn’t stop that sparse glances over your shoulder to check on him, now barefoot and pulling his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric pulling and obscuring your view of his face and his view of you, staring so starkly at him in that moment.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. The freckles that speckle his shoulders, nearly invisible from this distance because of his tanned shoulders and the unevenness of the tan as it continues down his arm, varying in shades of intensity, undoubtedly from hours of working in the sun. There’s also a smaller patch of hair on his chest that with his short cropped beard, seems to be trimmed down too. His strong build doesn’t throw you off, though—solid muscle that flexed across his stomach as he yanked his shirt a little harder to get it over his head fully, not built in a way that rippled down his abdomen, but showed a sturdiness to his figure that had your body humming to a tune that reached down to your core, thighs squeezing together under the water.

Joel passes the shirt off into a waiting arm chair, clothes slowly piling on the cushion alongside your towel and he pops the button on his jeans, still unaware of your…innocent observation. But, the moment the jeans stretch over his thighs you swallow a little too hard and you’re immediately averting your eyes when he looks up briefly.

Like you’d been caught.

Joel clears his throat like a warning, as if he hadn’t felt your eyes on him the entire time, and swings a leg over carefully, a view of the black briefs that molded to his skin perfectly and hugged his backside in a way that feels criminally illegal…and you’re staring again.

He hisses at the sudden change in temperate, but inch by inch he lowers and adjusts, eventually huffing out a low groan, eyes closed, when he finally settles on the seat inside of the tub.

Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea.

“See?” You break the revered silence for him, “Worth it?”

“Almost forgot how you just bullied me in here.” He jokes—full on fuckin’ jokes before cracking an eye open to catch your reaction, a subtle look of disbelief on your face. “I’m kidding, darlin'.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the seat under the water and you smile, a half-hearted roll of your eyes thrown his way before you relax too, for a moment.

“This is so weird,” You speak softly, after a while, and Joel looks slightly puzzled as he opens his eyes fully now, perking up slightly as he adjusts himself, chest rising over the water slightly, his arms hanging over the ledge with his fingers gripping the ceramic—and you’re gaze is drifting again, mostly to his hands, but you mask it as you look away briefly, down the hall or out the window. Literally anywhere but Joel, “it’s just—not how I expected things to go.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Joel replies with an underlying amusement.

As the quiet settles, slowly drifting closer to one side, where you originally were when Joel came searching for you—voluntarily, he lingered and waited, waited for the push you gave him—Joel joined alongside you, burrowing himself in the closet corner nook and enjoying the view in silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Joel comments, “everything alright?”

Everything was fine and you couldn’t make complete sense out of it. The ability to be so inherently comfortable with someone you’ve only known for a little under a week, the attraction you felt despite your own rational thinking telling you otherwise, the urge to connect openly and without fear of judgment. It terrifies you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask quietly, “Like…a real question, not those superficial ones that we’ve thrown at each other.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s also the inclination that he could feed you a total lie and you wouldn’t have any idea otherwise.

He nods, fist resting against his cheek as he turns to look at you and suddenly the pressure is on, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden, full attention.

“Earlier…you said you forgot somethin’ in the car,” Joel’s fist clenches unknowingly under the water, an instinct to bury his reaction, “I know it isn’t my business, but I was just curious what is was.”

Joel, against every fiber in his being that tells him to deflect, gives you a straight answer. It’s almost startling how easily it comes out, like he’s lifting a weight off his chest that he’s carried for years.

“I had to make a call,” Joel admits, “to uh—my daughter, she’s back home with her mom.”

Your brow pulls together in confusion, “Wait, are you married?”

Joel somehow amidst the heaviness of admitting his truth still laughs, quick to defend himself from your next question.

“Oh, not at all. Never, actually.” Joel responds, “We…I never married her mom, it was obvious pretty quickly we weren’t going to work well together.”

The answer is simpler than you expect, different too. Part of you wondered if he was pleading his own case to the owners and was just as unsuccessful as you, but this is much more vulnerable.

And despite your ability to lie, and his own, neither of you can force it.

You don’t pry further, feeling like it may push things too far. Too personal.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Do I scare you?” Joel asks suddenly, almost like he’s been anticipating the moment too.

You’re almost sure the expression you return makes you look insane, feeling the implication that he might, that he thinks—it’s so far left field that it throws you off.

“No—no,” You quickly reject any lingering doubt he has, “I mean…the first night, maybe. But, now…no.”

“Oh.” It’s all Joel can muster, unsure of why he was expecting a different answer. That you would say yes and whatever shroud of thought he had about this moment you were sharing was only out of fear, that you were just trying to be polite.

“Look, I get jumpy because you sneak up on me,” You answer, “and you have this…presence about you,” Okay, not the best wording, “not scary or anything, just…strong.” Big, like a wall. Like, if anyone were to ever approach you wrongly, Joel would attack without question. And maybe the fact that he would do that should scare you, but instead, it entices you.

Joel sits with the implication, burdened by his own mind.

You can see him lost in thought, speaking with a comforting surety, “Thank you…for telling me.”

The truth. Thank you for telling me the truth.

The next stretch of time, what feels like an hour, is spent in a comforting silence. You think Joel is nearly falling asleep but then he moves, make a comment about how the snow won’t let up and eventually you’re forcing yourself out of the hot tub, reaching over the side to snatch your towel and sending all of Joel’s clothes descending to the floor in the process and as if you had a death wish on Joel, your ass pops up at an angle that is physically impossible to look away from.

Joel is a gentleman, he swears. He was raised to respect and care and always put women first, but there’s a split second where he can’t pull his eyes away, feels like he’s just caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have, but then you’re turning your head over your shoulder and you definitely catch him—you could ruin the moment and say something or you could ignore it.

Fortunately, you save Joel some embarrassment, covering it with a sly smile as you apologize for dropping his clothes and take the final step out and wrap the towel around your body.

“Shit,” You quickly realize that in the midst of your pushing Joel to join you that he didn’t have a towel, “stay here—I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Joel wasn’t eager to move anyways, admittedly. Sporting half a hard-on under the water, he wouldn’t subject himself to the scrutiny of your gaze or what implications it would make, thinking every horrible possible thought to will it away—luckily your timing is perfect.

You quickly gather his dropped clothes and pile them in the chair as you toss the towel his way, ignoring any and all chances to glimpse at his wet body, back turned as you quickly excuse yourself away in fear of the idea that you might say something unforgettably stupid.

The walk to your separate bedroom is quick, swift, like a desperately needed escape.

But, as fate would have it, the moment you open the door and wretch the towel away from your body there’s a loud pop! to your left and a spark on the outside that has you halfway on the floor and slamming into the wall out of both shock and an attempt to shield yourself from whatever unseen force was at play, yelping out loud in the process.

From an outside perspective, you can understand why Joel doesn’t hesitate to come running.

He runs straight into your back, bare chest pressed against your know bare shoulders and leaving you half-dressed in front of him, scared out of your wits and willing to grab onto whatever was nearby to keep you upright—fortunately, Joel’s arm is the perfect anchor as your hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“What the hell?” Joel inquires, slightly out of breath as he searches your face for any signs of injury, “What happened?”

You both look at the culprit—the heated window unit that was no longer expelling heat, and while the cabin was still heated, it didn’t reach the bedrooms well enough that you weren’t shivering without some type of additional help. You sigh in frustration, eyes turning up towards the ceiling as you feel no shame, too frustrated to care as you lean into Joel’s chest.

“Shit.” It’s all Joel offers as a solution, not that you were expecting one. But, still, it would be nice.

“Yeah, shit.” You echo, pushing away from him suddenly to gather your damp towel and a change of clothes, padding your bare feet toward the living room, but Joel is grabbing your wrist before you get too far from him.

“Hey, woah,” He starts in a calmer tone, “you can take my room—I’ll drive into town tomorrow and see if I can get ahold of the owners, we’ll figure something out.”

“I already tried calling them,” You admit, “Earlier. Straight to voicemail and something tells me they won’t be answering their phones until after the holidays.”

Pulling away again, you continue your way toward the living room and gather a few pillows and blankets, tossing them on the larger couch beside the fireplace. Joel doesn’t seem to entertain the idea, following on your heels as he gathers each item you throw in that direction and you finally reach a point of full, unrestrained frustration.

“Joel, cut the shit.”

“Take the room,” He offers as a counter, “I can sleep on the couch.”

With his back? Not a chance. But, he offers anyway.

“Fuck off,” You chuckle bitterly, “I’m not forcing you out of the bedroom.”

“Then it looks like we’re sharin’ the living room.”

You close your eyes, toss the blanket aside and breathe, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to not completely lose it on the man standing opposite of you.

Chivalry be damned, Joel wasn’t giving in.

Fine, two could play at that game.

“I’ll take the bed.” You quickly agree, but there’s a lingering ultimatum.

Joel waits, sees the thought brewing behind your pensive eyes.

“But, so will you.”

“Now—”

“No,” You interject, putting your figurative foot down, suddenly vividly reminded of your vulnerability as you stood there, still slightly damp and in a swimsuit that did nothing to cover your body—it was the reason Joel’s eyes were so pointedly stuck on your face, never lingering elsewhere, “either we both sleep in here on the couch or we share the bed.”

Joel’s hands shift to his hips, towel tight around his waist and you’re too annoyed to admire the way his muscles tense and flex with the movement, the underlying thickening desire settling beneath the surface.

You match his stance, daring him to challenge you.

A small part of you wants him too.

—

“Anyone ever told you you’re damn stubborn?” Joel asks, trailing behind you as you enter his bedroom, a clone of your own but with a small bathroom attached.

“All the time.” You answer truthfully. “I’m going to shower and sleep—no funny business.”

Meaning if Joel did sneak away into the living room to offer up the full amenities of his own room, he would feel your wrath tenfold.

Joel resigns to the idea and gathers his own pair of fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall, leaving you both to a moment of levity.

There’s no anticipation to the arrangement—but the idea is there, burrowing into the back of your mind.

You’re sleeping with a stranger…someone you knew little to nothing about, but it was your choice. And you trusted your gut.

Joel was safe, he was good.

You relax under the spray of hot water, a different heat to the one you enjoyed just a while ago, the type that allowed your thoughts to roam, and you laugh softly at the sight of Joel’s shower supplies, knowing he was stuck with whatever you brought—it wasn’t something you thought about in the moment, but there’s a brief realization that he was sharing a moment similar to your own, scowling at the sight of your fruity scented body wash that you left on the shelf there. It wasn’t a huge deal, Joel wouldn’t fuss over it.

But, it also lends your mind to roam more.

As if his bare chest wasn’t already at the forefront, and his eyes as they had stared at you so unabashed until the moment he was caught, all innocent looks with deeper intentions that invaded your mind like a plague.

You were so fucking frustrated—annoyed with him, the state of your life, this stupid vacation. With the suds gone and the water drowning out the silence you allow yourself one—just one moment of selfishness...

And as if the house was the biggest tattletale of them all, the floor creaks on the other side of the door.

“Joel?” You call out curiously, as if an intruder in the middle of nowhere was even likely.

There’s several seconds of silence before Joel finally answers.

“Yeah?”

“Your body wash sucks.” You goad lightly, hoping to ease the earlier frustration that had grown between you both, and while you can’t see him, you can hear his laughter on the other side of the door.

“Can’t say yours is any better.”

You smile to yourself, the way he responds with fondness that he tries to hide.

When you finish up and dress, peeking your head out before you move to open the door fully, Joel is already on his side, turned away. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be bothered. The small blanket of division rolled and wedged in the center of the bed like a barrier, a warning.

Keep your distance and you both may manage to survive the rest of this vacation.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #MMITW #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #let's just pretend ellie isn't in that gif lmao

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sxthee · 8 months

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My blog's just revolving around them now, huh? Gods, there's no escape for this chronic brainrot—

ANYWAY.

You know how when you brainrot on desertduo sm, every song you hear is just about them???? I just had a ponder and invisible strings by taylor swift vaguely represents them???

OKAY HEAR ME OUT—

(Ramble under the cut)

I believe this song can be taken from Grian's internal dialoguing. Like Grian slowly having a soft spot for Scar and realizes he's not all that bad as soon as he slowly got to know him better. Also a great allusion to Double Life that makes use of the "soulmate" thing, wherein that idea is usually represented with strings tied to people (to which where the song will be used!)

Paragraph one. Grian crossed various places just in hopes to find his soulmate (and is walking on grass), and coincidentally, met (or revealed) him surrounded by the greenery. Teal was the color of the shirt could be just his shirt getting wet from the river water that could be visioned as teal-looking. You used to work at to make a little money just basically describes Scar's conman days way back on Third and Last Life, where he would "work" to make a "little money" to which that would be resources.

Paragraph two. Grian was baffled and confused as to how everything fell exactly to where they were at. There weren't any clues to give him a sign of this eventual thing, and for some reason, it's so intriguing. And to him, it's kinda funny at how of all things, he was tied to him. He could not believe that.

Paragraph three. Bad was the blood of the song in the cab (on your first trip to LA) ; clearly, there was somr "hate" in Grian. Hate because he was paired with Scar — someone who's prone to disasters (and whatever Grian has going in with him lmao-) And there was some slight argument between them to which where they should base. Scar wanting to reside in the jungles(?) with the Jellie pandas, and Grian on a hill across Joel and Etho (but it wasnt much of an issue because Scar came to terms with it anyway by creating a compromise himself by bringing the pandad to their base, and it's because he's Scar). While that bad blood part was more on Grian, the "secret soulmate" thing was definitely a bad blood between Scar, BigB, and Grian.

Paragraph four. Now THIS. This is what I believe to be the epitome of the desertduo in this song. As time progressed and they spent more time each other, as what most would agree (and have portrayed them), they would slice each other open out of love, and bleed them out of love, yet they are the remedy to that because they love each other. Like two forces dancing, colliding and creatinf pressure and damage as they draw closer, yet every repel they take would take then closer, to only repeat the cycle again — something like that, that's how their relationship works. And the repetition of the isn't it just so pretty to think all along there some invisible string, tying you to me? Is like something that Grian repeats in his mind over and over again. Yet again, as if he was in disbelief, yet amazed. Like.. "What the hell?" And simultaneously "Wow, he's gorgeous".

Paragraph five. Forgive me if I may have made a mistake in connecting the lyrics to the "canon" story, but as far as I could remember thanks to the desert duo dynamics I see on my feed, Scar was the one who saved Grian, like his blanket — his comfort — amidst the battlefield that they were in. Maybe Grian was still scared of hurting Scar so he pushed him away, yet Scar had his arms warmly open for him, locking away Grian's insecurities by barb wiring, and by forgiving him, and forgetting the past and wanting to move on and live with him in this new life they have. They've gone through so many hardships, and even if they had briefly separated via alliances on Last Life, somehow, they would still wound up to each other's side. (Also, with Watcher Lore being applied + the power of fanfiction, A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar: it could be Scar pulling or saving Grian from the watchers without hesitation)

Paragraph six. It's not "canon" compliant, since the two of them are just so— (iykyk) Anyway. If we are to restate this into a fanfiction with no angsty ending, we could say that Grian eventually came to terms with the past and is no longer chained to it.

Paragraph seven. It was at this point as if Grian had accepted it that it was kinda a wonderful thing. He was intrigued and found it beautiful that they were tied by a mere string. Scar gave him a hard time (he did too) and misunderstandings and quarrels were created in the process too, but in the end, it still felt like heaven. Blissful. To be by his side.

But of course this is Grian who were talking about. He may have accepted it. But he won't ever openly admit it.

JSNSKFNEJJRNRNR i have no idea if this made any sense, or had i correctly remembered how it goes to connect it to the lyrics. this is literally just all over the place, i apologizeeee JESNFNDNN what are your thoughts about this?? (-v-")7

#grian #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #desert duo #scarian #grian's stubborn like that #he hates him #he also loves him #theyre so complicated #its so frustratingly complex and intriguing at the same time #brainrotting is real #i hadnt seen the end of daylight yet #help—#this ramble is in shambles #sxthee posts

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year

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I posted 2,606 times in 2022

315 posts created (12%)

2,291 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@flightlessangelwings

@mattmurdocksscars

@princessxkenobi

@the-scandalorian

@practicalghost

I tagged 1,738 of my posts in 2022

Only 33% of my posts had no tags

#comment rb - 429 posts

#fic rec - 151 posts

#jey answers - 107 posts

#fan art - 92 posts

#din djarin - 53 posts

#jey talks - 50 posts

#pedro pascal - 45 posts

#joel miller - 43 posts

#pedro pascal character fanfiction - 43 posts

#pedro pascal characters - 41 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#din i…” your voice trailed off as you both gazed at each other. “i know” affection laced his voice as he held you close.

My Top Posts in 2022:

Steal my Girl

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, Joel and reader being sly and silly, domestic fluff, hint of spice, slightly jealous Joel, protective!Joel, no use of y/n

Notes: This idea popped into my head randomly and I just read Joel's voice so clearly so I just had to write it! And yes, the title is a One Direction reference because I just couldn't help it here lol! This is short and sweet but I’m so happy with it so I hope y’all like it too!

Taglist form is in my masterlist if you’d like to be added or feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates

It was late into the night and the last few stragglers finally left the bar. Working at the bar in Jackson wasn’t as perilous as what others did for Jackson, but it was your way of contributing to the community. And you loved to be part of a place where people could relax and let loose for a time. There was one person, especially, that you loved to see relaxing at the bar.

Just as you grinned at the thought of your someone special, a familiar voice rang through the emptiness of the bar, “Excuse me ma’am,” the low Southern drawl broke the silence, “Y’all still open, or did I miss last call?” Joel leaned against the doorway of the bar entrance as he eyed you with a fiery gaze.

You turned around and met Joel’s eyes with a bright smile as you played his little game, “Hey there stranger,” you set your cleaning supplies down as you crossed the space towards him and leaned against the bar, “Sorry, we’re closed up for the night.”

“Well, shit,” Joel scoffed playfully as he stepped closer to you, “In that case, I was wondering if I could take you out for a drink somewhere else.”

You pouted, “Oh I don’t know. I don’t think my boyfriend would like that,” you shimmied your shoulders subtly. It wasn’t often that Joel got into a mood like this, but you absolutely loved it when he did.

“Boyfriend huh,” he shifted to one leg as he rested his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, boyfriend,” you stepped closer to Joel with a fire in your eyes as you spoke in a low tone, “His daughter likes to call him a grumpy old man. He may be a little rough around the edges, but he’s a handsome man with a drawl that makes me melt. And when he holds me at night with those big strong arms, I feel like I’m in heaven.”

A tinge of red creeped up on Joel’s cheeks as he dropped his gaze to the floor, “Well he sounds like one lucky son of a bitch to be able to call you his girl. I hope he treats you right.” Joel moved his hands to your hips as he slowly pulled you flush against his chest and his eyes met yours. Both of your hearts pounded in your chests and neither of you were sure if it warmed up in the room or if it was the heat between your bodies.

“Oh he does,” you reached out for Joel, “And he’s a good man, but I don’t think he’d like some stranger creeping on his girl,” you fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt as you bit your lip, “I saw the way he gave the eye to the new guy in town the other day.”

Joel let out a soft chuckle as he leaned in close to your face, “Well I guess we have to be careful then,” his tone was so low that his words went right to your core as his lips hovered over yours. You giggled against his face as your eyes fluttered closed and you felt the way his lips ghosted over yours in a soft, sweet kiss.

Just as you were about to deepen the kiss, Ellie’s voice interrupted you both, “Gross, you guys! Get a room!”

You and Joel jumped away from each other with a start and your breath hitched in your throat as you gasped. Joel was the first to respond though, “Ellie, what are you still doing out? It’s late.”

“I was on my way back from Dina’s and I saw the lights still on here,” Ellie replied with a shrug, “I thought I’d check if everything’s ok.”

“Thanks for checking, Ellie,” you piped up from Joel’s embrace, “There was some creep trying to make a move on me,” your gaze moved to Joel as you looked at him with a devilish grin.

“Keep that shit at home you guys,” Ellie rolled her eyes as she turned to leave, “We still on for game night tomorrow?” she called behind her before she walked out the door.

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, “Night, Ellie,” you and Joel both said in unison.

“Night,” her voice retreated as she left you and Joel alone once more.

Almost immediately, you felt your skin heat up again as Joel caressed your sides. You met his eyes once more and the look of pure admiration on his face nearly took your breath away, “Shall we head home?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I’ll walk you home, baby,” he replied. He wrapped an arm around your waist and walked at your side as you crossed the room and shut the lights off. Joel added, “So, you noticed that traveler last week, huh?”

“Joel, the entire town saw the death glare you gave that poor guy,” you giggled as you leaned in and kissed his cheek and savored the way his rough beard felt against your skin. “He didn’t know who he was dealing with, but I’m sure he was harmless,” when Joel huffed, you cupped his face and turned him so that his lips hovered over yours, “But there was a shady guy in here just now who tried to steal your girl away.”

A low rumble of laughter escaped Joel’s lips, “Is that so?” he grabbed you tighter as he finally kissed you deeply, “Well I’ll just have to keep a better eye on my girl then,” he mumbled between kisses.

“Why don’t we go home and you show me what that bad man would have done to me if my big strong man hadn't been there?” your voice was low and seductive, and you heard the low groan Joel let out at your words.

“You know I wouldn’t let ‘nothin happen to you, right baby?” Joel cupped your face.

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918 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

When Jealousy Strikes

Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 1.3k

Prompt: “nothing is ever going to happen between us!'' and "the italicized oh" with TASM!Peter (requested by @rae-gar-targaryen for my 3k follower celebration!)

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, pining, jealousy, kissing

Notes: Tho this fic is not explicit, my blog remains strictly 18+ only! Rae, this prompt was so fun and it works so well with Peter thanks so much for the request mi amor!!! I really had fun with this one! My update blog is @flightlessangelwings-updates to stay up to date on when I post!

Peter Parker had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. The two of you grew up together, and though sometimes life got in the way, the two of you remained as close as could be. Even as you got older and he would disappear at times or seemed distracted, you were still always there for him. And Peter was always there when you needed him, even if at times it was in the middle of the night and he looked disheveled beyond reason.

Secrets weren’t common between you, but there was one big one you kept from Peter all these years: you were desperately in love with him.

You tried to hide it as you got older; you tried to date others to keep your mind off of your best friend. Nothing ever worked out, though, and you always made your way back to Peter. He was always there for you after a breakup, and his embrace was more comforting to you than he realized.

“That jerk didn’t deserve you anyway,” he’d say as he held you tight, “You deserve the world,” Peter whispered your name against your ear, “You’ll find the right person. And until then, you have me.”

You choked back a sob at his words; he had no idea that his words made you cry more than your breakup. And it wasn’t because if anything he did. No, it was all on you. It was because you were too afraid to say anything and lose him forever than admit how much you actually loved him. You would rather have him as your best friend than not have him in your life at all, so you kept your feelings buried deep down.

But, even you couldn’t fight off the green monster of jealousy all the time. And it all came to head at a party that Peter had invited you along to as his date.

As you watched someone so charming and beautiful so easily flirt with Peter from across the room, you felt the hooks sink into your skin. You knew you had no right to be jealous. And that Peter was free to flirt with and date who he wanted, as were you, it still didn’t mean it hurt any less. Especially when the advances came from such a pretty face.

How could you blame him for flashing that effortlessly loveable smile back? How could you blame him for the way his hand rested on the other’s shoulder? How could you blame him for being so irresistible?

Every muscle in your body tensed as you watched the interaction. Part of you didn’t care to hide the sour look on your face as you watched Peter exchange glances from this new person. But, the other part of you still wanted to keep your cool.

“As long as he’s happy…” you lied to yourself.

It wasn’t until Peter glanced over at you and his face dropped that you realized you weren’t hiding your emotions as well as you thought. You watched as he quickly excused himself and rushed over to you with a look of concern on his face.

“Shit,” you cursed to yourself as you tried to gather your composure.

“Hey,” he said your name so sweetly, “What’s wrong? You ok?” Peter rested his hands on your shoulders as he looked you over, “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

You tried to protest, but Peter ushered you away from the crowded room and down a more quiet hallway. Heat rose in your skin as your mnd lingered on the strong grip he kept on your shoulders and the way he looked at you with such worry.

“I’m fine Pete,” you finally found your voice when you were alone with him on an open balcony.

“You’re not fine,” he looked at you sternly yet his face still held that softness that you were so fond of, “Something’s up,” he paused as you stared at him, “You know you can tell me anything. We’re best friends,” he let out a sharp breath with a tight smile as he spoke.

“Is that all we’ll ever be?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them.

“Whaaat?” Peter looked dumbfounded, “You’re acting weird. What’s going on?” He held onto your forearms tightly as he looked into your eyes.

You took a deep breath before the dam of emotions finally spilled over, “You wanna know what’s going on?” your voice was louder than you meant it to be but you didn’t care, “What’s going on is I have to watch these people flirt with you that I can’t compete with in a thousand years! I know I have no right to be upset, but I’m just scared that something would happen between us so I never said anything. But a person can only take this for so long before…” you drifted off before you finished your thought.

For what felt like ages, you and Peter stared at each other. Tears filled the corners of your eyes as you did your best to calm yourself back down. You were sure Peter could hear your thoughts with how loudly they screamed in your head, and he definitely could read the look in your face.

Suddenly, everything clicked in his head and his mouth dropped open.

Oh…

Before you could open your mouth again to take back everything and ask him to pretend your outburst didn’t happen, Peter crashed his lips against yours in an awkward but desperate kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and held you as tightly as he possibly could as he let his kiss speak for him. As your chest was suddenly pressed flush against his, you felt his heartbeat, and to your surprise it pounded just as hard as yours did.

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918 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

I know there’s other posts out there but I wanted to make a comprehensive post about being completely inclusive when writing reader inserts. Everyone has their own perspective and ideas so I wanted to share my thoughts and tips that I use myself when I’m writing. Of course I most likely forgot things as well so feel free to add on if you think of something I missed and I’ll add it to the list here!

Quicke note before we get to it: if you spot something on this list that you’ve done before, don’t beat yourself up about it. We all slip up and make mistakes. Just learn from it and keep it in mind for the future! As readers, we understand that it’s near impossible to include every single individual that could possibly read your work, but the point is to be as inclusive as possible with your writing.

Under a cut for length and to make sure you always see the most updated list when you click on it! Reblogs are very much appreciated too, especially if you’re a writer so we can all learn and grow and be better!

Labeling your reader (a guide to terminology)

Gender neutral (gn)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, no mentions of genitals

Assigned female at birth (afab)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, reader usually has a vagina

Assigned male at birth (amab)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, reader usually has a penis

Female/fem/f- she/her pronouns, traditionally femme nicknames, reader usually has a vagina

Male/m- he/him pronouns, traditionally masc nicknames, reader usually has a penis

Non-binary (nb)- usually they/them pronouns, reader can have either a vagina or a penis

Quick note: terminology changes often and as far as I know this is the most up to date on being inclusive with labeling readers. If it changes or if anyone has suggestions I’ll update this.

If you do want to assign your reader character some type of label, please tag it appropriately. Lots of poc writers like to write black, Latine, Asian, etc readers for example. Or other examples are plus size reader, short reader, tall reader, nerdy reader, shy reader, sporty reader, etc.

Don’t be afraid to write a trans character too! Trans characters can have either the opposite genitalia from their birth assignment or the same, everyone is different! There’s a big lack in trans reader representation!

Please note too that just because reader is labeled one way does not necessarily mean they are cisgender. People can be non-binary and use she/her or he/him pronouns. There’s no need to label your reader as cis at all

And please don’t label your readers' sexuality as straight. Bi/pan/demi/queer people can be attracted to a male character but that does not mean they are exclusively into men. It alienates queer readers.

Inclusive with skin tones

Please do not use “blush” or “flush” or anything like that! I know that’s one of the top issues when being inclusive with skin tones. Instead, try something like “you felt your skin heat up” or “your palms felt sweaty” or “you felt flustered.” Focus more on the emotions and what reader is feeling or thinking or physically reacting rather than saying reader blushed.

Be careful when describing bruises or injuries. Not all bruises get bright red for example. Instead, try mentioning blood stain, swelling, or just use “discolored” or “beat up” or something like that.

Not everyone’s skin turns red when slapped so just avoid “your skin reddened” altogether.

Not everyone has pink nipples, just skip describing the color altogether

Or pink lips. Again just skip the color description

While all skin is able to get burned, not everyone’s skin turns red/pink from being in the sun. Instead use more feeling descriptors like “your skin felt hot from the sun” or even describing peeling would be ok.

Don’t say that reader looks like an established character.

“Knuckles turned white” doesn’t happen with everyone so just leave it out. Focus more on muscles straining or something instead.

Avoid the phrase “you look white as a ghost” when referring to reader.

If you want to mention makeup, just leave it general and don’t specify colors or shades or anything like that. Not all shades show up the same on all skin tones.

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1,070 notes - Posted July 11, 2022

Let Go

Joel Miller x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), rough sex, unprotected sex, dom!Joel, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), overstim, established relationship, manhandling, use of “good girl” and “yes ma’am,” aftercare, soft!Joel

Prompts: “You can be rough. I can take it.” And “Good girl… that’s a good fucking girl”

Notes: Another fic written for @mattmurdocksscars follower celebration writing challenge!! And happy TLOU day!!! I love Joel so much, and he has so many facets to him that he can definitely be soft if he wants but also rough if you ask him to be. Let me know what you think cause I really had fun writing this one!!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog, turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post!

For as strong and tough a person as Joel Miller was, he was always soft and tender when it came to you. Sure, in the past he had his one night stands, just a fuck to scratch that itch and release some tension. But with you, he was different. He was slow and soft and sweet and the perfect lover. He always held you so carefully as he ran his rough fingers along your skin. He always showered you with kisses and praises. He made sure you came at least once before he even thought about his own pleasure. He didn’t just fuck you… Joel Miller made love to you.

And it was mind-blowing. No one before had ever shown you such devotion or such care. You felt safe in his arms, and you were always left shaking and whimpering in the best way. Joel made you feel special and beautiful and loved in a way that warmed your heart. And you loved him so much for it.

But, there were times you wanted something different from Joel, something harder… rougher.

There were times where you saw him scuffle with a traveler at the bar who got too rowdy, or when you saw him fight off infected while out of patrol. And you couldn’t help the thoughts that raced through your mind: what if he manhandled you like that too? What if instead of treating you so carefully, he just threw you down onto the bed and fucked you like that time was all you two had? What if he left marks on your body and didn’t stop until you were in tears?

Tonight, you decided it was finally the time to ask him to fulfill your deepest desires…

“Joel,” you sighed as you writhed underneath him.

It took no time for Joel to wrap his arms around you from the moment he stepped through the door. Joel was always in a desperate mood whenever he came back from patrol, especially when he got back late. Perhaps he was worried he would come home to find you in trouble, that something happened to you while he was out. Perhaps it was just seeing death and destruction over and over again made him appreciate his time with you more. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

“Something wrong baby?” Joel’s voice was low as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His breath caught in his chest for a moment at the sight of you completely bare underneath him, and he looked at you as if this was the first time he saw you naked.

“I want you to do something for me this time,” you buried one hand in his hair while the other stroked his beard. You loved how soft his hair was, and the more greys he got the more handsome he was to you.

“Anything, baby,” he replied without hesitation. Joel would truly do whatever it took for you. He would walk to the ends of the earth to find what you wanted, he would take a bullet for you, he would even find a way to bring the sky down if that was what you asked of him.

You grinned as the fire in his eyes made your skin warm and tingle, “I want you to fuck me hard tonight. Don’t hold back.”

Joel’s mouth dropped open. He did hold back with you at times, but it was because he never wanted to hurt you in any way. He always made sure you were more than satisfied, but sometimes that came at the cost of restraining himself. But, he also couldn’t deny that your request turned him on too, and Joel was sure you felt his cock twitch between your bodies.

“Are you absolutely sure, baby?” he asked as he cupped your face, “I don’t want to hurt you or nothin.”

You let out a deep breath, “I’m sure, Joel,” you pulled his face closer so that his lips hovered over yours, “You can be rough, I can take it. Promise.”

Joel smiled against your lips before he kissed you deeply, “Alright,” he whispered as he broke away, “But you gotta promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much. Ok?”

Your face lit up with excitement as you felt a rush of arousal to your core, “Deal,” you kissed him again, “Now fuck me, Joel Miller. Let go, baby.”

“Yes ma’am.”

There was a flash of mischievous in Joel’s eyes before he dropped his entire weight onto your body and captured your lips with his in a heated kiss. You moaned into his mouth as you felt his entire body engulf yours, and you immediately surrendered to him. His tongue explored your mouth like it had a hundred times before, but this time his kiss felt different. It was more rushed, more desperate, more passionate than ever before. It was as if Joel was consumed with the need to taste every corner of you, and you willingly let him.

Your arms wrapped around Joel’s broad shoulders as you felt the comforting weight of his body over yours. Right away, you felt like you were on fire with the change in his demeanor, and you loved it. As Joel continued to devour your mouth, he rocked his hips against yours, his cock slowly but meticulously sliding along your folds.

“Mmm… Joel…” you murmured against his lips as he ran his hands along your sides.

“You like that, baby?” There was a hint of cockyness in his voice that he rarely showed. But you loved when he got like this.

“Yes,” you squeezed him tighter.

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1,301 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Weakness

Din Djarin x afab!reader (smut with no pronoun use, no use of y/n)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!), sex pollen, unprotected sex, fingering, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, feelings, pining, protective!Din, feelings confessions, mild violence, bounty hunting, minor character death (please let me know if I missed anything but I think I got it all)

Notes: There’s so many fics where Din is the one who gets pollened, so I wanted to do something a little different. This is a beast of a fic omg this is so long by my standards lol! And of course, lots of pining and protective!Din too cause you know me lol! Enjoy! And as of posting this, I’m getting real close to a big follower milestone so give me a follow if you liked this!!

Feel free to also follow my update blog too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post @flightlessangelwings-updates

Blaster fire cut though the hot wind of the Tatooine desert. You grunted as you ran ahead of the Mandalorian in pursuit of your current bounty. The two of you worked as a team, and you each were able to anticipate the other’s actions before it happened. Even without words, you both somehow appeared to read the other’s thoughts, and it made you a very dangerous and deadly team.

Vaguely you wondered if your feelings for Mando were a part of the reason why, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on it too much. Instead, you buried your true feelings deep down and kept it a hidden secret from him.

“Never a dull moment on this planet huh?” you snarked through your comms as a gust of sand blocked your view of your partner.

“Keep your guard up,” was his response as you both moved in tandem to surround your target.

You were thankful that Grogu wasn’t with you both as you trekked your way through the desert. Peli was more than willing to keep him safe with her in her hanger and watch over him while you and Mando chased the elusive bounty. This would be a great help for your little group, since the payout was more than any of you imagined. And it would help to keep ahead of your enemies too as you both worked to keep the little green child safe. A hint of a smile momentarily lit up your face as you thought back to how excited Peli was to watch the kid.

“You want to hang out with your auntie Peli, kid?!” she lifted Grogu up into the air with a big smile, to which he giggled in response. She lowered him back down and cradled him in her arms before she turned back to you and Mando, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. You guys take all the time you need! No rush!”

“I don’t see anything here,” you spoke again as you brought yourself back to the present. You knew better than to think that your target got the slip, however, since there was no way he could have gotten past the Mandalorian.

“Same here,” his gruff voice rang through your ear.

It was a comfort for you as another gust of wind kicked more sand in your face. You pulled your hood over to block the hot, stinging air as you tried to calm the rush of emotions that suddenly came over you. Sometimes you wondered if you were as good at hiding your feelings for Mando as you thought, but when he never acknowledged anything you knew your secret was safe.

He was strong yet tender, and when he opened up to you more with time and you saw how good his heart was, you were done for. You never let on how much the Mandalorian actually meant to you since you didn’t want to compromise anything you already had with him.

Unbeknownst to you, Mando’s emotions were a perfect reflection of your own underneath his beskar armor.

There were times, though, that you were sure the kid figured out your secret feelings for Mando. But, you couldn’t linger in your head for long as suddenly your target jumped out of what appeared to be thin air and launched himself at you. Quick to react, you grabbed your vibroblades and blocked his own weapon before he hit you.

“Mando,” you grunted as you stayed locked with the bounty, “He’s here.”

“I’m coming, hang on.”

Mando sounded worried, but you didn’t have time to linger on that thought as the bounty seemed to turn into a flurry of knives and fists as he attacked you. Sweat dripped down the side of your face as you blocked attack after attack. You weren’t able to get the upper hand, much to your annoyance, but as long as you kept your defense up, you knew your partner would be there in no time.

Somehow, he was able to get past your defenses, and before you even saw the man’s hand move, you felt a pick at the base of your neck. You gasped loudly as a hand covered the spot that suddenly stung and he took the opportunity to knock your blade out of your hand.

A shout of your name caught both your and the bounty’s attention as the Mandalorian leapt through another gush of sand and landed his blade right in the bounty’s chest. He fell to the ground, dead, and Mando glanced to make sure he wouldn’t get back up before he rushed over to you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked in a worried tone as his hands landed on your shoulders.

Your vision felt blurry as you looked up at the shiny silver beskar helmet that you had grown so fond of. The longer you looked into the darkened visor, the hotter your body felt, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the desert air around you.

“Din…” you whispered his real name as a glossed over expression came across your face.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he replied as he tugged at your body. Din stood and grabbed the bounty’s limp body and flung it over his shoulder before he took your arm and draped it over him on the other side, “Lean on me,” he told you in as calm a voice as he could muster, “This storm is getting too strong to make it back right now. We need to find somewhere safe.”

You barely registered his words as a flurry of emotions ran though your head. You weren’t even sure if you walked yourself or if the Mandalorian took most of your weight on himself. Vaguely you heard him mention an abandoned moisture farm ahead, but you had trouble hearing any specific words. All you heard was the sound of your heart pounding in your chest and blood rushing through your head. The pounding echoed in your ears as you felt your body temperature rise steadily.

A rush of cooler air hit your face when Din brought you through the threshold of the abandoned building. There wasn’t much to the place, and it was clear no one had lived here in quite some time, but it was a shelter from the sandstorm, and that was all that mattered to Din. He didn’t even care about the bounty as long as you were safe and alright.

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1,421 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #joel miller x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part fourteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

life goes on, for a time.

a/n: a BIG one wowowowowow okay the end of this one fully got away from me and I was possessed by SOMETHING but idk man fuckin’ enjoy, more on the way, thank you always for the love 🤍

word count: 6.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, backstory, canon typical violence and injuries, death/murder, guns, knives, drinking, some rough sex, ass-play, spit-play (POSSESSED I TELL YOU), joel miller is a menace and so am I.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

You keep going.

It’s easier, honestly, that it’s ever been before. There had been so many moments, between the outbreak and seeing Joel again at that gas station, where you didn’t know if you could keep going, if there was enough left to make you want to.

Deanna had her ways, yanking you out of it more often that not with a bottle of gin and a you keep your chin up, girl. And the kids — well, one toothy grin from Emily or a cheesy joke from Henry and you knew you had more in you. Nick helped some too, though he was more of a distraction than a solution, something infinitely more evident to you now, to you both.

You’d hurt him, ending it finally, completely, the way you did, and his reaction had cut you deep, but it had to be done. You couldn’t keep up a charade, and in retrospect, yes, maybe you should have waited, stopped yourself from falling into Joel’s arms (and bed) again until you’d told Nick what was happening, but…

I can’t love anyone the way I love him.

It’s always gonna be him.

It would have unfolded the way it did no matter what.

It’s Joel. It’s always gonna be Joel.

And despite the guilt you chase away with deep kisses and glasses of liquor, it’s easier, to keep going. It almost feels…normal, in a way you haven’t felt in a long fucking time.

Life is still bleak as hell; there’s no getting around that. FEDRA’s been kicking into high gear in Boston, handing out punishments more than ration cards, refusing people at the gates, falling back on some bullshit about overpopulation, that there’s not enough food or beds or resources for any more people.

You’ve heard rumours that the QZ in Philadelphia was overrun, that the reason there have been so many survivors at the Boston gates is because they fled to the closest QZ still standing. You’ve heard rumours about Kansas City, that FEDRA’s become more ruthless there than anywhere else in the country, that getting caught out past curfew gets you hung rather than beaten. Or worse.

Joel moves in, officially. Not that he has that many things to move into your apartment, but his clothes take up space in your closet, his toothbrush beside yours, and you wake up beside him every morning. You let yourself get used to it, to feeling his breath on the back of your neck when the sun comes up, arm slung around your waist, always keeping you fit against him while you sleep. It’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

Joel and Tommy take the handyman jobs in the apartment buildings, and you and Tess try to stick together, taking the same gigs more often than not. You pool your resources, and the three of them are quick to offer up help to support the kids, to take the pressure off you and Deanna. You’re grateful as all hell, and so is Deanna, despite her relatively grouchy demeanour towards you, ever since you told her you ended it with Nick, officially.

You thought she’d understand, to a degree. It had taken nearly a half bottle of gin in the early days of the QZ, but she’d gotten the full story out of you, the epic love affair of Joel Miller and Liv Stone, the unfettered version. You’d fallen asleep on her couch covered in tissues that night, woke up with the worst hangover you’d had since you were eighteen and got drunk with Anna on wine coolers over Spring Break. Deanna had offered you some sympathy, then.

But now, she’s been taking your — could you even call it a breakup? — your severance from Nick a little too harshly.

“He’s the reason I was in lockup the night Angie beat the shit out of me,” you’d reminded her, feeling a twinge in your side at the memory. “Or did you forget that?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Liv,” she’d thrown back, her face the harshest you’d ever seen it. “He put you in lockup to smuggle your friends through the gate. I’m not a fucking idiot. Don’t try and blame that on him. You got your ass kicked cuz you pissed Angie off, plain and simple. That’s not on Nick.”

“Oh, so then I should blame you?” You’d thrown a hand in her direction, and she’d glared so hard you thought she was gonna burn a hole through your skull. “I pissed off Angie trying to get those meds for Henry, which you asked me to do. So if you wanna start pointing fingers, start looking in the mirror.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have gotten the meds for Henry?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You can’t talk yourself out of this, Liv. You knew what you were doing with Nick, all five fucking years. You knew exactly what you were—”

“It’s Joel!” you’d nearly screamed, tears crawling up your throat. “I never thought I’d see him again. It’s a second fucking chance, Deanna. I can’t waste that. I won’t. And I was as honest as I could be with Nick from the start. He knew about Joel, he knew I still loved him, he knew I couldn’t ever love him the way I love Joel. I never once told him I could.”

“Oh, and that makes it all better?”

“I know that I hurt him. But he hurt me, too, in case you give a shit. I know that I did a terrible fucking thing, I’m a terrible fucking person, and I’ll feel guilty about it forever, but it’s Joel. And I just…I can’t do anything else.”

She’d stared at you long and hard then, not so harsh a glare as before. She put her hands on her hips, boot tapping against the floor. “I have to go get the kids from school. Just…I’ll see you Friday, for dinner.”

You just nodded, swallowing hard, the tears retreating. “Friday.”

“Bring Joel.”

“Okay.”

(Dinner had been awkward as hell, to start. The kids had stared Joel down for the first hour, but by the time the table was being set, Emily was showing off her latest drawings and Henry was trying to rope Joel into a game of Monopoly. You helped Deanna with dinner, and while she was mostly quiet, before you left that night, she hugged you tight and whispered: “You’re not a bad person, Liv. You’re not.”)

After your official reconciliation with Joel — and subsequent fallout with Nick — Tess was the next person you went to. She stood firmly by the conversation you’d had in the food bank, kept to her agreement to join up with you to smuggle, and that was that.

You can’t force his hand in this.

Maybe I can.

You knew she had — Joel had given you the brief version of their conversation — and you were grateful, but it was just another thing you felt guilty for.

“You don’t have to,” she says to you. You’re outside the wall, heading for the hotel a few blocks out of the QZ, to scope out your route. Your drop is almost at the city limits, with some smugglers from Hartford, ones you’d happened across on the radio. You’ve been spending more time with Abe in the radio room in your spare time, trying to make as many new connections as you can. “Feel guilty, I mean. I didn’t give him to you. He was never mine to give. I knew that from the start.”

“What d’you mean?”

“He says your name in his sleep. I thought he was just mumbling for the longest time — y’know, Liv, live — then I figured it out. I asked Tommy once, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. And well, I know the rest now.”

You chew at your lip, bat swinging lightly in your grip, adjusting the backpack strap on your shoulder. Your bags are mostly empty; you’re anticipating a good food drop from the Hartford people, and they’d asked mainly for drugs in return, which you were happy to supply. You still have some left from the Providence drop, before Joel and Tess had showed up. It feels like a year ago, not a few weeks.

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re alone, Tess.”

“I’m not alone,” she tells you quickly, an actual smile on her face. “I have you. And Tommy. And Joel, still, in a different kind of way. It doesn’t matter. Life’s too fucking short, and I couldn’t…” She trails off, shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders. “I’m not alone.”

You shoot her a glance, seeing the way her thumb is rubbing at the wedding ring still on her finger. It’s her nervous habit, you’ve noticed. “We’ll find you someone,” you say, almost jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, elbowing her gently. “I’ll set you up, add QZ matchmaker to my resume.”

Tess barks a laugh. “Please, god, just no fucking FEDRA soldiers, yeah? I don’t think I could deal with the amount of testosterone that fucker Cowan is carrying around.” She squints at you, turning to you slightly. “Tell me he was at least good in bed. He must have been, for you to put up with that bullshit.”

You force yourself to laugh in return, staring at the ground ahead, kicking pieces of debris from your path. “He was much nicer, when it was just me and him. And I hurt him bad.” You shrug, sighing. “It’s the past but he…yes, to answer your question, he was very good in bed.”

“As good as Joel?”

You nearly choke, sputtering out an actual laugh at her bluntness. “You really want me to answer that?”

“Hey, it’s just us out here.”

“No one’s as good as Joel,” you say, and she throws her head back with a louder laugh. “Best I ever had. Ever. In my life.”

Tess just keeps laughing, pulls the knife from her belt and taps it against your bat. “Amen to that.”

The conversation wanders as you walk. She tells you a bit more about Baltimore, the few smuggling jobs they’d pulled before they’d gotten kicked out of the QZ. Turns out, her plans had been similar to yours: get a FEDRA soldier on her side, entice them with the goodies she smuggled in, threaten them with blackmail. Rinse and repeat. And it worked, for a time.

“There was this one guy, Anderson. Joel never liked him, and really, neither did I, but he was one of the first we got to agree to help. And…you know, Cowan actually reminds me of him.” She huffs a laugh. “That’s probably why I hate him, just out of fucking principle.”

“You don’t have to hate him.”

“He’s FEDRA, he put you in lockup, and he’s a jackass.”

“I also cheated on him, technically.”

She shrugs, giving you a conspiratorial grin. “Best you ever had? You did what you had to.”

You just laugh, but the sound feels hollow.

“Liv,” Tess says, and you stop short, turning towards her when she grabs your arm. “Jokes aside, I just…I get it. Why you did what you did. I know you feel guilty, and I know Cowan said some shitty things to you, but…we do terrible things, sometimes. To survive.”

You scoff. “That’s the understatement of the fucking century.” With a sigh, you push forward, gravel crunching under your boots, and Tess follows suit. “Joel said that too. That he did some terrible shit out there to survive. That we’re not the same as we were. And we’re not. I’m not.”

“Yeah, well, the world hasn’t exactly left much room for shit to stay the same, has it?”

The bat swings in your grip, and you let the tip knock against the toe of your boot. “Not so much. Never thought it would turn me into a killer, mind you. But…we do terrible shit, right?” You glance at her from the corner of your eye, feeling her gaze locked on you. “And no, I’m not just talking about Infected.”

Tess nods, slowly, her throat bobbing. “I…I shot that soldier, Anderson. First FEDRA soldier I ever killed, probably won’t be the last. But, it was either me or him, and I shot first. Then again, cuz the first one didn’t kill him.” Her brow is hard, fingers twitching over the gun strapped to her thigh. “It was either me or him.”

You nod, and the memory is rising in your throat and spilling off you tongue before you can stop it.

It was early days, just after the wall was completed, when restlessness got the better of you and you wanted — no, needed — to get out of the QZ, just for a while. There were fewer connections, back then, less people out in the open, more dead on the roads. You didn’t like Geoff from the get-go, something about him just made you feel super fucking uncomfortable, like every word out of his mouth was drenched in grease. But, you didn’t know any better, back then, and you wanted to believe a deal was a deal.

“He set me up,” you tell Tess, tightening your grip on the bat. Retelling the story makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “He’d managed to get a few Infected locked inside this old hair salon, and threw me to the wolves, basically. Took the bat from me. I got fucking lucky; there was a straight razor left in one of the drawers, and I took them both down. It was the first time I’d killed one since the outbreak.”

“What happened to Geoff?”

“Once I got away, found him a couple hours down the road, got his gun off him and put a bullet in his head, got my bat back. I figured if he kept going, he’d just try and screw the next person he made a deal with, and on and on it would go. I had to end it.”

Tess nods. “You did what you had to.”

You scoff. “That’s not the worst part.”

After Geoff, you got jumpy. You didn’t want to let up on the smuggling, and you were still trying to find new connections, but you took more precautions. You brought a gun every time now, along with the bat. You only met in locations you chose, and refused anyone who tried to persuade you to go somewhere else. You didn’t trust people; you couldn’t.

“This guy, Eric, he just rubbed me the wrong way that day. He wasn’t a bad guy, per se; I knew he ran with some shitty people but he didn’t seem so bad. He met me down in the subway, simple ammo trade.” You blow out a breath. “I thought he was reaching for a gun, and I pulled the trigger before he could. Like you said: it was either him or me. And I chose me.”

You pause, waiting for Tess to say it again. You did what you had to.

“Three days later, his wife shows up at the gate, asking if he’d come through, toting this little boy that was a dead fucking ringer for his dad. I thought I was seeing a ghost.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “They still live in Boston. Her son is the same age as Emily.”

It’s a few minutes, before Tess has anything more to say. “You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right,” you agree, nodding. “I couldn’t. But it still doesn’t hurt any less. When they’re infected, it’s easier. Almost. I sometimes wonder if they’re still…them inside, but same thing. It’s either you or them, and you have to decide. You do what you have to — even if it’s terrible — to stay alive. To survive.”

Tess opens her mouth to say something in response, but all hell breaks loose before she can get a word out.

You’ve turned down the road the hotel is on, and there are cars everywhere, craters in the earth from the bombings, debris and decay everywhere you look. The bullets ring out from behind the vehicles, and you grab Tess by the handle of her backpack, yanking her behind a nearby truck. The gunfire makes it rattle. “Fuck!”

“These the guys from Hartford?”

“Shouldn’t be. We’re not even close to the city limits yet.”

When you chance a look around the truck, your heart jumps into your throat. There’s at least five of them, all with dark-coloured bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces, two of them closer than the rest. Guns drawn, scores of ammo hanging from their belts. You adjust your grip on the bat just as Tess screams, and you turn to see her being pulled away, one of the raiders yanking her by the hair. You shout as one tries to grab you the same, but you slip out of reach, swinging the bat. It makes contact with his knees, a loud crunch making you flinch. He falls like a rock and you pull your knife out quickly, slamming the blade into his skull.

You do what you have to.

Abandoning the bat for the moment, you grab the guy’s gun, averting your eyes from his face. It’s an automatic, and you pop up from behind the truck, taking aim and pulling the trigger. The three that hadn’t advanced don’t stand a chance, bodies falling before they have the chance to shoot back at you.

The one holding Tess is trying to pull her into one of the storefronts along the side of the road.

“Hey!” you shout, the word nearly a growl. “Let her go, asshole!”

The guy turns, seeing his fallen comrades, and fumbles. It’s just enough for Tess to get her knife out and swing upwards. It ends up lodged in his throat rather than his head, and he drops awkwardly, clawing at his throat, blood pouring around his fingers. Bile rises in your throat, and you breathe slow as he hits the ground. Tess pulls her gun out a moment later, and the gunshot echoes through the road.

You sprint over to her, each of you giving the other a once over. “You good?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

“Who taught you to shoot like that?”

You actually laugh this time. “Cowan.”

Tess’s jaw drops. “Motherfucker.”

You collect all the guns and ammunition you can carry. One of the raiders has a nice-looking bowie knife on his belt, and you take it, sheath and all. Tess makes the rounds, filling her bag with ammo, while you try and leave some space; you still have to make it to the edge of the city.

Being as heavily armed as you now are earns you some weird looks from the Hartford smugglers once you reach the city limits. The chain link fence that was once the only thing standing between you and getting the hell out of Boston has not done well over the years. The metal is cut in a million more places, bent in others, no doubt the result of years of Infected climbing over, survivors trying to make it to the QZ gates. When you explain what happened, the leader — the one you’d been dealing with over the radio, a tall woman named Gwen — softens. “We lost a few of our own to raiders in New Haven. Shit’s getting dark.” She sighs. “Darker than it already was.”

The deal goes easily, which you’re grateful for. You throw in one of the guns and some ammo you pilfered from the raiders to sweeten the deal, and Gwen returns your generosity with some of her own: a carton of eggs. Fresh ones. It’s been a while now, since the Boston food bank has had anything fresh that wasn’t an apple or a tomato. Meat was becoming more and more scarce, and so were eggs. The ones Deanna used for breakfast were the powdered kind, sat like a lead weight in your stomach no matter how much coffee you washed them down with.

“If you have eggs, does that mean…chickens?” Tess asks, curiosity dripping from her voice, and you can’t help the way your stomach growls at the thought of chicken wings.

Gwen laughs. “I’m not having the chicken or the egg debate with you, but yes, there are chickens. I don’t suppose you have seeds, in Boston? Fruits, veggies?”

“We do,” you nod.

“Bring us some next time, and we’ll bring you one of the hens in return.”

You and Tess debate the best way to cook a chicken all the way home.

Once you’re safely back in the QZ, you and Tess unload the guns in one of your caches, head back to the apartments to divvy the food up between you and Joel’s apartment, Tess and Tommy’s, and Deanna’s. She goes to take the food up to Deanna, and you pull out the bowie knife you’d nicked.

It’s as good an olive branch as any.

You find Nick out on patrol, standing outside the same alleyway you’d stopped in when Tommy had arrived in Boston, when Nick told you Deanna was looking for you. At first, he makes no indication he’s even noticed you, his eyes trained forward, hands glued to his gun, his jaw set.

“I know you don’t want to see me,” you say, your voice low, forcing yourself to look casual. “But, there’s something I want to say. Need to. Please?”

After a beat, Nick turns, his face still schooled blank, but when you step after him, deeper into the alley, the mask cracks. “What?”

“This is for you,” you say, pulling the bowie knife out from where you’d stashed it in your jacket.

Nick told you once, about a gift he’d received from his father, when he first joined the army. A knife, similar to the one you now hold towards him. The blade was engraved with his family name, the date he enlisted, sheathed in fine leather. He lost it, on Outbreak Day, in a fight with an Infected soldier.

“It’s…I know, it doesn’t make up for what I did. I don’t think anything can. But I just…I want you to know that I’m sorry, truly sorry, and if hating me makes you feel better, then that’s okay. But I never meant for things to turn out this way. And what I said before, about Joel, it’s the truth, but I never wanted to hurt you like I did, and I hope you know that.”

He takes the knife from you, pulls the blade from the sheath, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he inspects it. “Where’d you get this?”

“Does it matter?”

Nick scoffs a laugh. “If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that to me.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” you say, nearly reaching a hand out to him, but stopping yourself. “I really am.”

After a long moment, he nods, still staring down at the knife. “I only ever wanted you to be happy, Liv. To be safe. And if that fucking…if Joel is the one to do that, then I have to be okay with that.” He swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “It’ll take some damn time, but I’ll…I’ll get there, I think. I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to be friends with him, yeah?”

You laugh. “I don’t. I just…I am sorry, Nick. I feel like a broken record, but…”

“It helps,” he says with a nod.

“Good.” It feels awkward, suddenly, and you take it as your cue to leave. “I’m gonna go.”

“See you around,” he says, and you just nod, heading towards the street, out of the alley. “Hey, Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a bad person. You did a shitty thing, but you’re not a bad person.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Thanks, Nick.”

He nods again, and you turn on your heel, heading back towards the apartments.

Time moves on.

Nick still keeps his distance, but he doesn’t look at you with sheer hatred in his eyes anymore, so that’s nice. Deanna learns you’ve made peace with each other, and tells you you did good. It helps. The guilt still lingers a bit, but it helps.

You keep up your smuggling, bringing Tess and Joel and Tommy — and any combination of the three — along with you every time. You teach them your routes, your hiding spots, where your caches are. Joel’s impressed, if not a little hesitant, Tommy of a similar mind. Tess remains firm that you’re a badass, and is always the first to volunteer to come with you.

You’re all still quiet, about your pasts, about the time leading up to the four of you being in Boston together. Except for what Tess told you, the story you returned — one she swore she wouldn’t pass on to Joel, one you knew you had to tell him yourself.

You will, in time. You know you have to. But…you’re not there yet. And in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t fucking matter.

None of it does.

Before you know it, it’s been nearly six months since they arrived, and you decide to celebrate, the only way you can in the QZ: food and booze.

“Family dinner?” Joel repeats, his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side. It’s early in the morning, you’re both getting ready to head out, pulling on clothes and shoving feet into boots. You usually sleep fully dressed, boots and all, but Joel’s tendency to get you naked has become a nightly occurrence, and sometimes you’re too worn out to redress when you’re done.

You turn on your heel, head for the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a jar of tomato sauce and setting it on the counter. Joel’s close behind, grabbing the jar when you put it down, smirking down at the label. “Look familiar?”

His jaw twitches, something nostalgic in his eyes. “Same shit I used to buy in Texas.” He smirks, setting it down again, sliding his arms around your waist. “Didn’t we make spaghetti, at my place? What was that, our second date?”

You lean back against him, covering his hands with yours, lacing your fingers together. “I made spaghetti; you tried to make risotto.”

“That’s right,” he agrees and his hands move to your hips, turning you to face him. “That was the first night we—”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off, leaning up on your toes until your mouth brushes his. “It was.”

Joel slides his hands up under your shirt, palms curling around your ribs, giving you a hungry kiss. “And now you expect me to sit through dinner with…?”

“Tommy and Tess.”

He growls, ducking his head to bury his face in your neck. “To sit through dinner with my brother and Tess, thinking about that the whole time.”

You hum, tangling a hand in his hair. “I’ll be thinking about it too, if it’s any consolation. I’m always thinking about it.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he groans, nipping at your throat.

You’re both late, Tess giving you a pointed look when Joel pecks you goodbye when you meet her out front. “I swear, you two are worse than teenagers sometimes,” she mumbles, and you just laugh.

The day goes quickly — you and Tess each work a shift in the donation hall, which you’re told is shutting down, and the food bank — and before you know it, you’re back at the apartment, putting pots on the stove, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the space behind the fridge.

You and Tess are already a little sauced by the time Joel and Tommy come through the door. Tommy has paint smeared on his cheek and Joel is laughing, that kind of belly laugh you haven’t heard since Austin. You grin as he kisses you hello, Tommy pecking your cheek once Joel disappears towards the bedroom to get changed. “Kisses from all the Millers,” you laugh, stirring the sauce on the stove. “Aren’t I a lucky gal.”

Joel pokes his head out of the bathroom, brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

Tess laughs with you, pulling the chair beside her out for Tommy to sit. She slides him a glass of whiskey a second later. “What the hell is on your face, man?”

“Ah, hell.”

The evening passes so comfortably, you wonder if you’re dreaming, for a moment or two. The boys both won’t shut up about how delicious your spaghetti is — even though the pasta is the flourless crap FEDRA hands out, your sauce more than makes up for it — and it’s not long before you’ve polished off the bottle of whiskey between the four of you. Your chest feels warm, from the alcohol, the good food, the company.

Once you’re all done eating, Tommy produces a deck of cards and convinces you all to play a few rounds of euchre. You and Tess team up and kick the boys’ ass, to the point where Joel declares you must be cheating, which Tess is having none of. “Never thought you’d be a sore loser, Miller!”

The game changes from euchre to war, and Tess and Tommy make their own rules, deciding to smack the table as hard as they can when the card matches, even if the other’s hand is already there. It has them both howling after a couple rounds, you and Joel just chuckling as you watch. Joel slides your chair closer to his, close enough that he can loop an arm around your neck, hauling you against his chest.

He buries his nose in your hair as you lean against him, moving down until his mouth is close to your ear. “How much longer we gonna entertain these two, hmm? I need you all to myself, baby. Need to be inside you.”

Your thighs clench, cheeks flaring with heat, and you smack him in the chest, burying your face in the collar of your shirt.

He just chuckles in your ear, low as anything. “You like that, huh, baby? You gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you? Always so good for me. Promise, I’m gonna make you feel so damn good, baby.”

You elbow him in the ribs. Hard. Hard enough that he lets out a low oomph, and both Tess and Tommy’s heads snap in your direction. You stare back at them, feigning innocence, whiskey buzzing in the back of your skull. “What?”

A few more games of cards, and Tess literally falls out of her chair, laughing the whole way down. Joel declares the night officially over, and Tommy gets Tess to her feet, half-carries her towards the door. “You need help?” Joel asks, and Tommy shakes his head.

“Nah, we’ll be fine. You two have a good night. Thanks for dinner, Liv.”

“You’re welcome, Tommy.”

The door closes behind them, and Joel lingers, locking the door, closing the curtains, clearing off the table. Meanwhile, you head for the bed, fumbling with the buttons on your shirt — Joel’s shirt, always Joel’s shirt — before giving up and falling forward onto the mattress, reaching for Joel’s pillow, bunching it beneath your head.

The bed creaks a moment later, Joel’s weight settling over you, hands planted either side of you, mouth at the back of your neck. “You’re wearing far too many clothes, missy.”

“You should fix that,” you slur at him, turning your face enough to see the shadow of him above you. You wiggle your hips, lifting your ass until it presses against his crotch, and Joel hisses. “You got promises to make good on, Joel Miller.”

“I do,” he replies, letting out a low hum as he drags his hand down your spine. “Don’t I?”

He shuffles back, and the loss makes you whine, but he slides your needs apart a moment later, grips your hips and lifts until your ass is in the air, face still pressed into the pillow. Joel doesn’t waste any time, fingers curling in the waist of your leggings and pulling them down, taking your underwear with them. You barely have a chance to breathe, his mouth covering you a moment later, tongue darting between your folds. “Fucking christ, Joel.”

He hums again, the noise vibrating through you, one hand coming down on your cheek in a quick spank a second later. You can feel yourself flooding his tongue, already wet from his teasing at the table. Reaching one hand back, you card your fingers through his hair, keeping him against you, angling your hips back to push yourself further into his face.

“Pretty girl,” he rasps, dragging the flat of his tongue up and down, back up and back down again. The rhythm makes your muscles tighten, the promise of an orgasm prickling at your senses. “Always taste so good.” He gives you another quick spank, the motion making your flesh tingle. “Always feel so good.”

“Joel.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he grumbles, diving back in for a moment before pulling back once more. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, just like I promised.”

You moan into the pillow, whining again when he pulls back, your hand falling out of his hair, flopping sideways onto the bed. You curl your fingers in the bedsheets instead, gasping loudly when he presses two wet fingers into you, right to the knuckle in one fell swoop. His thumb reaches up, pushes lightly between your cheeks, and you let out a choked noise you didn’t know you were capable of.

“That feel good?” he asks, and you nod, your face still pressed to his pillow. “You want more, baby?”

You nod again, furiously.

“Want you inside me,” you murmur, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his thumb presses harder. “Fuck, Joel, please.”

There’s the shuffling of fabric, the clink of his belt buckle, the front of his thighs pressed to the backs of yours. You turn your head slightly, just enough to see him, the hem of his t-shirt tucked between his teeth, his cock in his hand. The sight alone makes you clench around his fingers, biting your lip as he pulls them out. They dig into the meat of your ass a moment later, spreading you open just a touch more. His thumb stays where it is, and you watch, stomach coiled in anticipation as he leans forward just slightly, drops his jaw until the t-shirt falls from his mouth, and spits.

It lands right where his thumb is, slides down over where you’re already drenched, and he flexes his hips forward. You try to bury your moan in his pillow, but Joel reaches down with his other hand, fists your hair in his hand, tugs a little.

“I wanna hear you, baby.”

“The neighbours—”

“I don’t give a fuck, Liv. Let me hear you.”

A choked moan falls out as he slams all the way forward, burying himself to the hilt, his thumb pressing down at the same time. You keep your face to the side, keep your eyes trained on his. He lets go of your hair just to take hold of your hip, pulling back just to slam forward again, the feeling and movement making your thighs shake.

“Joel, fuck—”

“That’s right,” he grits, and his pace only gets faster, the apartment filling with the sound of skin on skin. It drives you wild. “That’s fuckin’ right. Say it again.”

He spanks you again, just that much harder, and you cum.

It hits you like a freight train, your back arching fiercely as you lose it, eyes screwed shut, thighs shuddering against Joel’s. Faintly, you hear him groan, barely aware of the next spank he gives. You’re half-sure you’ll have a handprint on your ass come morning, but you don’t fucking care. His name spills from your lips, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and your stomach flutters as he fists his hand in the back of your shirt and drags you up.

You can’t catch your breath, your chest heaving as he takes your chin in his hand, one arm banded around your middle as he keeps slamming into you, dropping his fingers between your legs. You don’t know where one orgasm finishes and the second begins, but he covers your mouth with his, drinks your noises down like they’re whiskey instead of moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against your lips, his hips stuttering against your ass. “Love you so goddamned much.”

You flail a hand back, diving your fingers into his hair, tugging until his head moves back slightly, so you can look him in the eyes. “Then cum,” you murmur, leaning forward enough to bite at his bottom lip. “Cum for me.”

He does, his entire body shuddering with it, his grip on you like an iron vice. The warmth is delicious, spreading through your lower half like the whiskey had, only the feeling of Joel is that much more addictive, always leaving you wanting more. You both collapse forward a second later, a tangle of limbs and lips, never far from reach.

Joel wakes with a jolt. The nightmares have been less and less common, since he got to Boston, since he started sleeping in the same bed as you again, but they still show their faces every once in a while. Usually the drinking keeps them at bay, but tonight they’re intent to haunt him.

You’re not where you should be, tucked against his chest, and for a moment, panic seizes his heart, makes his hands go cold.

“Liv?”

You’re perched on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, staring out the window. His mostly unbuttoned shirt is falling off your shoulders, and when he calls your name, you glance at him quickly before your gaze moves back out the window. Joel doesn’t miss the shine in your eyes, and sits up slow, reaches for you, rubbing one hand up your back.

“You all right?”

“I’m happy,” you reply, head tilting back on your shoulders, face illuminated by the moonlight. “I am unreasonably happy, Joel. I’ve done so much terrible shit, and yet here I am, stupidly, unreasonably, unfathomably happy.”

He reaches up, pinches your cheek lightly, catches the tear in the corner of your eye. “Then why you cryin’, baby?”

“Cuz I know there’s a chance that I could wake up tomorrow, and it could all be gone.” Your voice cracks, and Joel sits up further, slides down the bed until he’s pressed against your side. “That you could be gone.”

“Never,” he tells you, and opens his arms to you, sighing when you fall into them, presses his mouth to the crown of your head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here, you hear me? I’m right here.”

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