joelmiller

you didn’t even remember what the fight started about. something small that turned big, something you both had been holding in for way too long.

“i ain’t sayin’ it again,” joel snapped, pacing the kitchen with that tight, frustrated energy. “you can’t keep runnin’ off without tellin’ nobody. i was worried sick.”

“i told you, i’m fine,” you shot back, arms crossed. “you act like i’m a child.”

he groaned, rubbing his face.

“i’m actin’ like someone who gives a damn. don’t twist it.”

“then stop yelling at me!” you argued, voice cracking.

joel stopped pacing. he looked at you—really looked—and something in him twisted. he didn’t know how to handle the fear of losing someone again. didn’t know how to say it without coming off rough.

instead of talking, he let the frustration win.

his hand came down hard on the edge of the counter.

a loud bang

the glass pitcher beside him tipped

it hit the floor

shattered everywhere

and the sound—

god, the sound—

hit you like a punch.

your whole body reacted before your mind did.

you flinched so violently your knees almost buckled. your hands flew up over your head, shoulders curling in as you backed into the wall, breath catching in your chest like you were bracing for—

for something that wasn’t coming.

joel froze.

the anger drained from his face instantly, replaced with horror.

“hey— hey. sweetheart. no.”

his voice dropped so fast it almost broke.

you were shaking, head ducked, arms up to protect yourself even though he wasn’t anywhere near you.

joel took a step toward you—

then stopped himself, hands raised like he was approaching a scared animal.

“honey, look at me,” he whispered. “please.”

you didn’t. couldn’t. your breath was coming too fast, too shallow.

“baby… i didn’t hit you,” he said softly, voice cracking. “i hit the counter. not you. never you.”

slowly, you peeked up.

joel looked destroyed.

he knelt down in front of you slowly, gentler than you’d ever seen him move.

“sweetheart, i ain’t ever gonna lay a hand on you like that. i swear on my life.”

your hands were still trembling by your head.

he reached toward you, but so slow, so carefully.

“can i touch you?” he asked, barely audible.

you gave a tiny nod.

he exhaled shakily and softly guided your hands down, brushing your hair back, checking your expression like you were made of glass.

“god,” he breathed, eyes glassy. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t think… i didn’t know the noise would scare you like that.”

you swallowed hard.

“i just— it was loud. and i thought—”

“i know,” he murmured, already pulling you gently into his arms. “come here.”

and the moment you felt his chest, everything in you gave out. you clung to him, face pressed into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“you’re safe,” he whispered into your hair. “i’m not mad anymore. i ain’t ever gonna hurt you. not physically, not ever.”

your voice was small.

“i didn’t mean to make you mad…”

he shook his head against you.

“you didn’t. i got mad ‘cause i’m an idiot who cares too damn much, not ‘cause of anything you did.”

he pulled back just enough to see your face, thumb wiping a tear from your cheek.

“next time we argue?” he said gently.

“we talk. no yelling. no slammin’ things. i won’t scare you like that again. i promise.”

you nodded, still clinging to his shirt.

joel softened, brushing his forehead against yours.

“there’s my girl,” he whispered. “i’m right here. i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Setting: Jackson, post-outbreak

Rating: Mature (18+ reader)

—————————————————————————

You have known Joel Miller for years.

Back when you were sixteen, he was just Joel.

Grumpy. Quiet. Permanently unimpressed.

He was the guy who fixed broken fences before anyone else noticed they were leaning. The guy who volunteered for the worst patrol routes without complaint. The guy who stood in the back during town meetings, arms crossed, listening more than speaking.

When you were younger, he treated you like everyone else did. You were cute, sweet, but also annoying.

“Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot.”

“Double-knot your boots.”

“Don’t wander.”

You used to roll her eyes at him.

Now?

Now you couldn’t even look at him without feeling something twist low in your stomach.

It started small.

A random Tuesday in late fall.

The air was sharp, the mountains dusted in snow. You were carrying feed to the stables when you heard Tommy laugh

You turned the corner.

And there he was.

Sleeves rolled up. Forearms flexing as he lifted a wooden beam into place. Sunlight hitting the side of his face. Hair a little longer than usual, streaked with gray that somehow made him look… better.

Stronger.

There was sawdust on his hands. A crease between his brows while he worked.

And then he laughed, really laughed at something Tommy said.

It hit you like a brick to the chest.

When did you get hot?

You blinked.

No. Absolutely not.

This was Joel.

The same Joel who once confiscated your knife because you “sharpened it like you’re trying to butter toast.”

The same Joel who glared at teenage boys if they got too close during movie night.

But something had changed.

Or maybe you had.

You were nineteen now. Stronger. On regular patrols. Trusted.

And suddenly you noticed everything.

The way his flannel stretched across his shoulders.

The low rumble of his voice when he said your name.

The way he always stood slightly in front of you when strangers came through the gates.

It wasn’t just that he looked good.

It was that he was steady.

Safe.

You tried to ignore it.

Failed.

A week later, you almost fell at the stables

The sound echoed through the street.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You alright there?”

“Yep,” you said too quickly. “Gravity.”

He didn’t smile, not fully, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

He bent down without another word and started picking them up. Efficient. Calm.

Their fingers brushed when he handed one to you.

It felt like someone had struck a match under your skin.

You pulled your hand back like you’ve touched fire.

Joel noticed.

Of course he did.

“You sick?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“You been sleepin’?”

“Yes.”

“You lyin’?”

“…Maybe a little.”

He studied you for a long moment. Not protective. Not fatherly.

Just… studying.

And that’s when you realized something even worse.

He was noticing you too.

—

Jackson held a dance two weeks later.

Maria insisted everyone needed “normalcy.” String lights were hung across the hall. Someone dug out an old speaker system. There were jars of canned peaches set out like it was a five-star restaurant.

You almost didn’t go.

Then you heard Joel would be there.

You told yourself that didn’t matter.

It absolutely mattered.

You did your hair. Changed your shirt three times. Finally settled on something simple.

When you stepped inside, the room was warm and loud and bright.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Looking deeply uncomfortable but refusing to leave.

Your heart started misbehaving.

You walked past him, pretending you hadn’t already spotted him the second you walked in.

“Evenin’,” he said.

“Evening.”

His eyes moved over you, slow, almost hesitant.

“You look…” He cleared his throat. “Grown.”

You raised a brow. “Been that way a while.”

He exhaled softly, almost like a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Guess you have.”

The music shifted. Slower.

Across the room, Tommy noticed the tension instantly.

He grinned like an idiot and gave Joel a shove. “Go on.”

Joel shot him a look that promised future violence.

Then he looked back at you.

“Wanna dance?”

Simple.

Careful.

Like he was offering you something fragile.

Your hand slid into his before you could overthink it.

His palm was rough. Warm. Steady.

He didn’t pull you close at first.

He left space between them like he was giving you every chance to step away.

You didn’t.

After a moment, his hand settled at your waist.

Gentle.

Not possessive. Not rushed.

Just careful.

Your other hand rested against his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat — slow and even.

“You nervous?” You asked softly.

He huffed. “A little.”

That surprised you.

“You?”

“Terrified.”

That made him smile.

A real one.

And something shifted between them.

Not a spark.

A slow burn.

The kind that had been building for years without either of them realizing.

—

After that night, things weren’t the same.

He walked you home.

Not because you needed him to.

But because neither of them wanted the moment to end.

They didn’t talk much.

They didn’t need to.

At your porch steps, he hesitated.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

Silence stretched.

“You sure about this?” he asked. Not accusing. Not doubting.

Just making sure.

You stepped a little closer.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

He studied you again. Searching for uncertainty.

Finding none.

His hand brushed your cheek — hesitant, like he expected you to pull away.

You didn’t.

The kiss was soft.

Careful.

Almost unsure.

But when he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours

And for the first time, there wasn’t distance.

There wasn’t age or history or hesitation.

Just two people in Jackson.

𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Joel Miller x Younger Reader — Pre-Outbreak

Angst / Jealousy / Emotional Misunderstanding

⸻

The bar was too loud for the way Joel was thinking.

Laughter bounced off the walls, glasses clinked, boots scraped against the floor—but all Joel could hear was the blood rushing in his ears as he watched you from across the room.

You stood at the bar, elbow resting against the counter, shoulders relaxed in a way Joel hadn’t seen much lately. You looked… comfortable. Easy. Like you weren’t carrying the same weight he was.

And next to you was a guy Joel didn’t recognize.

Too clean. Too confident. Leaning in just enough to make it feel intentional.

Joel’s grip tightened around his beer bottle until his knuckles went pale. He told himself not to stare. Told himself it didn’t mean anything. You were allowed to talk to whoever you wanted—hell, you weren’t his.

Not officially.

But then you laughed.

It wasn’t loud or exaggerated. It was soft, real. The kind of laugh Joel usually earned after trying—really trying—to make you smile. Seeing someone else get it so easily felt like something sharp twisting in his chest.

Tommy nudged him. “You’re gonna burn a hole through the place if you keep lookin’ like that.”

Joel didn’t look away. “You seein’ what I’m seein’?”

Tommy followed his gaze, then shrugged. “Looks like she’s talkin’. That’s it.”

Joel scoffed under his breath. “That guy’s leanin’ in like he owns the place.”

“Or like he’s just drunk,” Tommy said. “You trust her or not?”

That question hit harder than Joel expected.

He did trust you. He trusted your heart, your intentions, the way you always tried to understand people—even him. But trust didn’t quiet the voice in his head that reminded him of every reason he wasn’t enough. Older. Closed off. Complicated. The kind of man people eventually got tired of waiting on.

The guy said something, and you tilted your head, smiling again. He laughed, his hand brushing the bar near yours—too close. Familiar.

Joel stood before he realized he was moving.

Each step toward you felt heavier, anger mixing with something uglier—fear. The fear that maybe you were starting to see what everyone else did. That being with Joel Miller meant patience, silence, and a whole lot of walls.

You noticed him approaching, your smile fading into confusion. “Hey,” you said when he stopped in front of you. “You okay?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to the guy beside you. “We got a problem here?”

The guy blinked. “What?”

“Joel,” you said quietly, warning in your voice.

“I was just talkin’ to her,” the guy said, holding his hands up. “Didn’t know there was—”

“There is,” Joel cut in.

The tension was immediate, thick enough to choke on. The guy glanced at you, then back at Joel, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Didn’t mean anything,” he muttered before walking away.

You turned fully to Joel, hurt flashing across your face. “What was that?”

Joel rubbed a hand over his jaw, breathing hard. “You tell me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I saw the way he was lookin’ at you,” Joel said. “Saw the way you were laughin’.”

Your brows knit together. “So?”

“So it looked like you were into it.”

Silence fell between you, heavier than the music, heavier than the crowd. Your expression shifted—not angry, but wounded.

“I was being polite,” you said. “I always am.”

Joel scoffed before he could stop himself. “Polite don’t usually look like that.”

That did it.

You stepped back like his words had physically pushed you. “Like what?”

Joel hesitated. He didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit the insecurity clawing at him. But the words came anyway, rough and unfiltered.

“Like you were forgettin’ I was even here.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he shot back. “You’re young. You got options. Guys who don’t come with… all this.”

You gestured to him. “You think I don’t know that?”

Joel’s voice dropped. “Then why does it feel like I’m just waitin’ for you to realize it?”

That stopped you cold.

Your eyes softened, and somehow that hurt worse. “Joel… I wasn’t flirting. I don’t even like that guy.”

“Then why were you smilin’ at him like that?” Joel asked.

“Because smiling doesn’t mean anything,” you said quietly. “Because I’m allowed to talk to people without it meaning I’m leaving.”

Joel looked away, jaw clenched. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

There it was—the truth he hated admitting.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “You don’t get to punish me for your fears.”

That cut deep.

Joel swallowed, shoulders sagging just a little. “I ain’t tryin’ to punish you.”

“But you did,” you said. “You embarrassed me. And you didn’t even ask.”

He finally met your eyes, guilt flickering across his face. “I thought I was about to lose you.”

Your breath hitched at that.

“I’ve been choosing you,” you said softly. “Every day. Even when you pull away. Even when you act like I’m halfway out the door already.”

Joel’s chest tightened. He reached for you, then stopped himself, afraid. “I don’t know how to not be scared of that.”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “Then tell me that. Don’t accuse me.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the bar faded into the background, replaced by the quiet weight of everything unsaid.

Joel finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”

You studied him, searching for something solid. “I just need you to trust that I’m here because I want to be. Not because there’s no one else.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”

You exhaled, tired but still there. After a beat, you slipped your hand into his.

“Come sit with me,” you said. “I don’t want to be over there anymore.”

Joel laced his fingers with yours, holding on like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

Dad’s Best Friend | Neighbor AU | Slow Burn | Tension | Spice | Joel eating pussy|

—————————————————————————

Joel Miller had known you most of your life.

That fact alone should’ve kept him grounded. Should’ve made everything simple. You were his best friend’s kid. The girl who used to scrape her knees on the driveway, who’d sit cross-legged on his porch steps and ask too many questions.

But somewhere along the way, you’d stopped being that girl.

And Joel hadn’t been ready for it.

Your dad leaving town felt like a test neither of you had agreed to take.

“He’s right next door,” your dad had said, like Joel was a security system instead of a man with eyes and a pulse. “I don’t want you alone.”

You hadn’t argued. You’d just glanced across the fence separating your houses—Joel leaning against it, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“Fine,” you’d said. “I’ll be good.”

Joel snorted quietly at that.

The first few days passed too easily.

Joel checked in under the guise of neighborly obligation. You brought over leftover takeout. You sat on his porch in the evenings, legs tucked beneath you, talking about nothing important.

But there was a shift.

A subtle one.

Joel noticed the way your shorts rode up when you sat. The way your laugh lingered. The way you met his eyes longer than necessary.

And you noticed the way he avoided touching you—like it cost him something.

The night you went out, you dressed with intention.

Not for him, you told yourself. Just because you could.

Still, you didn’t miss the way his gaze paused when you stepped outside. The way his jaw tightened when you told him you’d be back late.

“You got a ride?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Text me when you get there.”

You smiled. “You trust me or not, Joel?”

He exhaled slowly. “I trust you.”

That was the problem.

You left your bedroom door open on purpose.

Left your bed unmade.

Left your dirty panties right on the sheets, black lace against white cotton—careless, intimate, unmistakable.

You knew Joel Miller well enough to know he wouldn’t snoop.

You also knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from fixing things.

Joel told himself he was doing you a favor.

Your dad had always complained you were messy. Joel figured he’d just straighten up a bit—make sure nothing was left out that didn’t need to be.

The house felt too quiet without you. Too personal.

He paused outside your room, hesitating before pushing the door open.

The smell hit him first.

Not perfume. Not soap.

You.

Warm, clean, and faintly sweet in a way that settled low in his stomach.

Then he saw them.

The panties.

His breath stalled.

Joel stood there longer than he should have, staring like he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He looked away, then back again, like his body had decided for him.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Picking them up felt wrong. Folding them felt worse. The lace slid between his fingers, soft and unforgiving.

He should’ve put them in the laundry.

Instead, he slid them into his jacket pocket.

And hated himself for how fast his pulse picked up when he did.

You noticed the change immediately the next morning.

Joel wouldn’t look at you.

Not directly.

He stayed busy—fixing the fence, adjusting something on his truck that didn’t need adjusting. His answers were short. His movements tense.

You leaned against the fence, sunlight warming your skin.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Fine,” he said too quickly.

You tilted your head. “You’re acting weird.”

Joel swallowed. “Ain’t nothin’.”

You stepped closer. Too close.

“You sure?”

His gaze flicked down—just for a second—to your mouth. Then away.

“I said I’m fine.”

You smiled softly. You knew.

That night, you knocked on his door.

Joel answered in a t-shirt and worn jeans, surprise flashing across his face.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”

He hesitated, then stepped aside. “Come in.”

You sat on his couch, knees brushing his when he sat down across from you. The space between you felt charged, like something waiting to snap.

“You clean my room yesterday?” you asked casually.

Joel stiffened.

“Just a bit.”

You nodded slowly. “Find anything interesting?”

Silence.

Joel’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t play games like that.”

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “What games?”

His eyes darkened. “You know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Do I?” you whispered.

The air felt thick. Heavy.

Joel stood abruptly, pacing once like a caged animal.

“This isn’t—” He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “You’re my friend’s daughter.”

“I’m an adult,” you said softly. “And I wanted you to find them.”

That did it.

Joel turned back to you, something raw flashing in his eyes. “You don’t understand what that does to a man.”

Your voice dropped. “Tell me.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“I think about you more than I should,” he admitted quietly. “And it scares the hell outta me.”

Your hand brushed his wrist. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m not scared,” you said.

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, like he was bracing himself.

Then he reached into his pocket.

Placed the panties in your hand.

“You left these,” he said hoarsely. “And I shouldn’t have kept ‘em.”

Your fingers curled around them.

“But you did.”

His breath hitched.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”

The tension snapped—not into chaos, but into something slow and deliberate. Joel cupped your face, thumb brushing your jaw like he was memorizing you.

“If we do this,” he said, voice low, “it’s because we both want it.”

You leaned in. “I do.”

He kissed you like he’d been holding back for years—deep, restrained, hands firm but reverent. Heat bloomed everywhere he touched.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he was breathing hard.

“This stays between us,” he murmured.

You smiled. “I was counting on it.”

He lifts you up and brings you to his bed as you giggle.

He lays you down and you slowly rub your pussy through your panties as he takes off his shirt.

He rips your hands away. “Patience, is what gets you what you want, honey.”

That nickname- the same one he’d call you everyday when you were a kid.

He slowly takes off your pants. “May I?” He looks up and you and you smile and nod.

“God you’re so wet, look at this pretty pussy”

He spreads your pussy and you moan. His fingers are so big and thick. When you start to be teased, he uses his tongue. Making you let out the most loud and raw moan.

Joel wasn’t a fool. He knew how to pleasure a woman. And you fucking loved it.

He hums into your pussy, and uses his two fingers to finger your hole as he sucks your clit.

You arch your back and moan, it feeing like you just saw heaven.

“Fuck Joel…I can’t last any longer~” You say as you moan.

“Cum for me, baby.” He says as he flicks his tongue on ur clit and uses his other hand to caress ur clothed breast.

You came undone. Moaning so loud the neighbours could probably hear. You twitch and….shake. The orgasm hitting you in the perfect places.

He comes up to your face and you caress it. And kiss him.

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉

soft tension • slow burn • repairing a guitar • emotional/romantic repayment

—————————————————————————

You’d been living in Jackson for four months when your guitar finally gave up on you.

It happened in the middle of patrol prep—one second you were tuning it, the next there was a sharp snap and the bridge nearly tore itself free. You stared at the damage in disbelief, heart sinking. That guitar had been your one comfort on endless nights before Jackson, and now even that was broken.

“Looks bad,” came a familiar voice from behind you.

Joel stood there, leaning in the doorway of the stables. Arms crossed. Hair messy from patrolling. Eyes soft in that way they got when he was looking at you, even when he tried to hide it.

“It’s dead,” you sighed.

“Lemme see.”

You hesitated only a moment before placing the guitar into his hands. His fingers were rough, scarred, but impossibly careful as he examined the wood.

“Ain’t dead,” he said after a beat. “Just needs somebody who knows what they’re doin’.”

“And that’s you?” you teased.

Joel looked up, mouth pulling into a half-smirk that made your stomach flutter.

“That’s me.”

⸻

Three days later, you realized he hadn’t been exaggerating.

Every evening after patrol, Joel worked on your guitar on his porch. You’d stop by with something small—tea, a sandwich, a blanket when the air turned cold. You stood or sat near him, watching his concentration deepen as he sanded the cracks smooth, replaced the bridge, restrung everything with gentleness that didn’t match his calloused hands.

“You’re spoiling me,” he muttered once when you handed him a mug.

“You’re fixing the only thing I care about in this world that isn’t alive,” you countered.

He paused, glancing at you. “I can think of a few things in this world that care about you.”

Your face heated, and Joel immediately looked back down at the guitar, jaw tense—like he’d revealed something he didn’t mean to.

⸻

On the fourth evening, he knocked on your door.

You opened it and froze.

He was standing there holding your guitar, polished and whole again. Perfect.

“I uh… think she’s ready,” he said.

You took it, running your fingers along the smooth wood. No cracks. No warping. Just warmth.

“Joel… this looks brand new.”

“Better than brand new,” he said quietly. “Stronger.”

You blinked hard, emotion building in your throat. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“But I want to,” you insisted.

“Then… play somethin’ for me.”

His voice was low, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear the softness in it.

So you played. Just a simple melody. Joel leaned against your doorway, arms crossed but eyes locked on you with a tender intensity that made your pulse trip over itself.

When you finished, he cleared his throat, looking almost shy.

“That right there is thanks enough.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding. “Joel.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“Yeah?”

“I want to do more than just give you music.”

His breath caught. “Sugar… I wasn’t expectin’—”

“You fixed something for me.”

Your voice softened.

“I want to fix something for you too.”

Joel looked at you like you were the sun after years of storms.

“You already have,” he murmured. “You just don’t know it.”

You took one more step, close enough to feel his breath brush your cheek.

“I’d still like to repay you… my way.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “If your way involves bein’ around me more… talkin’ to me… lettin’ me look at you like this…”

His eyes dropped to your lips, lingered, then met your gaze again.

“Then hell,” he whispered, “I’ll take that.”

He didn’t kiss you—not yet.

But he touched your jaw with the back of his knuckles, slow and reverent, like you were something worth rebuilding too.

The kiss was slow, but passionate.

It brought to you pulling him down on the bed and stripping your clothes off.

______________________________________________

(Joel Miller x Younger!Reader – One-shot – Jackson Settlement)

Warnings: Age-gap relationship (reader is 20, Joel is ~52), judgment from others, emotional tension, swearing, light fluff, canon-level themes.

You weren’t naïve.

You knew what people whispered when you passed by holding Joel’s hand. You saw the way their eyes lingered too long — not curious, but judging. And you heard the words when they thought you were too far away to catch them.

“She could be his daughter.”

“He should be ashamed.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Joel had warned you. Hell, he almost ended things before they began — sitting stiffly on the edge of your bunk in that little Jackson housing unit, jaw tight, saying it couldn’t happen, shouldn’t happen.

“I'm too old for you, darlin’,” he’d muttered, voice low, almost ashamed. “You’re young. You got a whole life ahead of you. I ain’t gonna drag you down with mine.”

But you’d looked him dead in the eye and said:

“You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m walking beside you. That’s the difference.”

And he’d kissed you like a man starved, like someone who thought he didn’t deserve softness anymore.

Now, weeks into the relationship being semi-public — you were exhausted. Not from Joel. From them.

Maria had pulled you aside with that careful, measured tone she used when she thought she was being subtle.

“Just be careful, sweetheart. Joel’s… complicated.”

Even Ellie had gone colder toward you. Not mean, not directly. Just distant. Guarded.

You tried to shake it off, but it wore on you.

Tonight, sitting in the quiet of Joel’s porch, wrapped in one of his flannels, you finally broke.

“They hate me,” you said quietly, staring out at the trees. “Or they hate this. Us.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He was whittling — some habit to keep his hands busy — but you could see the tension in his shoulders stiffen.

“Let ‘em,” he said eventually.

You turned to look at him, frowning. “It doesn’t bother you?”

He set the half-carved wood down and looked at you, brown eyes steady and unreadable. Then he sighed.

“It does. But I’ve lived long enough to stop givin’ a damn what people think of me.” He hesitated. “I care what they think of you, though. That’s what gets me.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I just don’t get why it’s anyone’s business. You treat me better than any guy my age ever has.”

He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s a low bar, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean.”

Joel was quiet for a while after that. The wind rustled through the trees. You could hear someone chopping firewood down the hill.

Then he said:

“I didn’t think I’d ever have this. Not after Sarah. Not after the world went to hell. Didn’t think I deserved to want anything again.”

You looked up at him. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed somewhere far off.

“But you make me wanna try. Even if people don’t understand it. Even if they think I’m wrong for this.” He turned his gaze to you, and there was something fierce in it. “I ain’t lettin’ them scare you off, you hear me?”

You nodded slowly.

“I hear you.”

And when he kissed you — rough palms cradling your jaw like you were something fragile in this brutal world — all the noise from outside seemed to fall away.

Let them talk.

Let them whisper.

You had Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Younger!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Age gap (reader is legal and consenting, but younger than Joel), Joel being insecure, protective/jealous Joel, some language, emotional vulnerability, comfort and reassurance (no explicit smut, just tension and kissing)

Summary: Joel never thought he deserved someone like you. When he sees other men looking your way, that old voice in his head tells him he’s not enough. You prove him wrong.

It started like any other night in Jackson. The bar was loud, laughter spilling into the cold evening air, the hum of voices mixing with the faint sound of someone strumming a guitar in the corner. You were sitting at the counter with Joel, his big hand resting lazily over your thigh, thumb tracing idle circles on your jeans. He was quiet tonight. Quieter than usual.

You noticed the way his jaw tensed when a group of men walked in. Younger. Taller. The kind of men who didn’t have grey threading through their hair or lines carved into their skin from years of hard living. They noticed you, too—how could they not? You looked radiant under the warm glow of the bar lights, laughter bubbling up in a way Joel swore could make a man believe the world wasn’t as broken as it was.

One of them lingered when he came up to order a drink, eyes flicking to you like he had every right. Joel’s hand stilled on your leg.

“You here alone?” the guy asked, like Joel wasn’t even there.

Before you could answer, Joel’s grip tightened just slightly. “She’s not.” His voice was low, firm, carrying that warning edge that usually made people back off. And the guy did, eventually, but Joel didn’t relax after that.

He didn’t touch his drink. Barely looked at you. Just stared at the wood grain of the counter like it had all the answers.

“Joel,” you said softly, leaning into him. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that. Tell me.”

He let out a slow breath, rough and tired. “Just… don’t make sense sometimes.” His voice was almost a whisper now. “Why you’d even look twice at someone like me when you could have…” He trailed off, jaw clenching hard. “Hell, you saw ‘em. Boys your age. No scars. No grey hair. No… baggage.”

Your chest tightened. “Joel…”

“I ain’t blind,” he went on, voice breaking just a little. “You walk into a room and it’s like—every damn head turns. And I’m sittin’ here wonderin’ how long ‘til you realize you deserve better than some worn-out old man.”

It hit you then, the weight he carried. Not just the years. Not just the blood on his hands. But the fear—the bone-deep belief that he wasn’t enough for you.

You reached up, cupping his jaw so he’d finally look at you. His eyes were dark, glassy in the dim light, vulnerability bleeding through cracks he never let anyone see.

“Joel Miller,” you said firmly, “stop it. Stop talkin’ like you’re not the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He let out a humorless laugh, but it died quickly. “Sweetheart—”

“No,” you cut him off, leaning closer until your forehead rested against his. “You think I care about grey hair? You think I care about scars? Every line on your face is proof you survived when the world tried to take everything. You think some kid with a smooth face and no idea what real living is could hold a candle to that?”

Joel swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against your palm. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.

“You’re it for me, Joel,” you whispered. “Always gonna be you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Just held you, breathing like he’d been underwater and finally broke the surface. And when he kissed you—slow, aching, desperate—you felt every unspoken word in it.

Every fear. Every doubt. Every piece of him that thought he wasn’t enough for you.

You kissed him like you could burn that thought right out of his head.

Joel Miller x younger!reader | Jackson, WY | soft smut, age gap, insecure Joel, affirming!reader, slow, loving, detailed

“You Shoulda Waited” — Joel Miller x younger reader (Smut, MDNI)

Set in Jackson. Established age gap relationship. Joel is possessive and jealous. Reader is needy and gets caught. Smut, jealousy, slight dominance, aftercare at the end.

——————————————————————————

It was snowing hard outside. The wind howled against the windowpanes, and the whole town felt quiet. Everyone was staying in except Joel.

He had left at sunrise for patrol, leaving behind nothing but a cup of cold coffee and a kiss to your forehead. He had not said how long he would be gone, only that it might take a while depending on the route.

So you waited. And waited.

At first you tried keeping busy, folding blankets, doing dishes, reading the same sentence over and over in a book you were not really paying attention to. But none of it helped. None of it distracted you from how badly you missed him.

How badly you needed him.

Joel had this effect on you. His presence alone, that deep voice, the weight of his gaze, the way he handled you like you were breakable but still his, it made you ache in a way that never really went away. Even hours after he left, you still felt him in your skin.

And that ache was building.

You sat on the couch, pulled his flannel from the laundry pile, and wrapped it around yourself. The soft worn fabric smelled like cedar and sweat and him. It made everything worse.

Your thighs clenched as your mind wandered. You tried not to. But it was impossible.

You thought about how he looked that morning, hair messy, gray in his beard, voice raspy when he muttered that he would be back soon. You thought about how his hands felt gripping your hips last night, the way he whispered your name while he moved inside you, how he always said you were his.

You could not take it anymore.

Your hand slid down between your legs, fingers trembling just a little. You were not even under the covers. Just sitting there in his shirt, on the couch you both shared, eyes closed as your body started to give in to the ache.

You whispered his name. Quietly at first. Then again.

The pleasure crept in slow. You were still imagining him, his breath against your neck, the weight of his body over yours, the sound he made when he was close. Your hips shifted, breath picking up, back arching just a little as you chased that feeling he always gave you so easily.

You did not hear the front door open.

Did not hear the boots stomping snow off on the rug.

But you did hear the sharp voice from the doorway.

“What the hell do you think you are doin”

Your eyes flew open.

Joel stood there, snow dusted on his shoulders, rifle hanging off his back. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes locked on you with a mixture of anger and something darker.

“Joel” your voice cracked, panic rising in your throat.

He tossed the rifle against the wall and crossed the room in just a few strides.

“You are sittin here touchin yourself while I am out there protectin you” he snapped, eyes blazing. “You could not wait for me”

You swallowed hard. “I did not think you would be home so soon”

“That ain’t the point” he growled, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away from between your legs. “You don’t do that without me. You need that, you come to me. You ask”

Your whole body flushed hot.

“Joel, I—”

“No. You don’t get to come without me. You don’t even get to try”

His voice dropped, deep and low and dangerous. The kind of tone that always sent shivers down your spine.

“You wanted me so bad you could not wait another hour”

You nodded, breath trembling. “I missed you”

That did something to him. His jaw twitched and his eyes softened just slightly, but his grip did not loosen.

“I oughta make you wait now. Just to teach you a lesson”

You whimpered, shaking your head.

“No? You don’t wanna wait now?” he teased, voice rough with warning.

You bit your lip and whispered, “No. Please, Joel”

He stared at you for another long second, then let go of your wrist and stood back just enough to grab the hem of the flannel you were wearing. His flannel. Slowly, he tugged it off your body, revealing the flushed skin beneath.

“Goddamn” he muttered, voice low like a prayer. “You sittin here drippin wet, all needy for me like this... you don’t even know what you do to me”

You whimpered when he touched you again, not rough this time, but firm. His fingers traced your hip, then slid between your thighs where you were soaked.

“Look at this” he growled. “You were that worked up, huh”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut when he pushed two fingers inside you without warning. You gasped, hips jerking, hand gripping his forearm.

“You thinkin about me while you did it?” he asked, curling them just right. “Or were you thinkin about somebody else”

“Just you” you breathed, back arching.

“Damn right just me” he snapped. “You are mine”

He pulled you up, tossed the flannel to the floor, and carried you to the bedroom without another word. The bed creaked under your weight as he laid you down gently, then crawled on top of you with that dark, dangerous look in his eyes.

“You gonna remember this next time?” he murmured into your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Gonna come to me when you are this desperate?”

“Yes” you whimpered. “I swear, I will”

“Good girl”

He kissed you like he meant to ruin you. And he did.

Afterward, when your legs were shaking and your body still buzzing, Joel pulled you close and kissed your shoulder softly.

“You really missed me that much?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, breathless.

Joel Miller x Younger!Reader

Setting: 3 months after arriving in Jackson

Genre: Soft, domestic fluff, slow-burn comfort

——————————————————————————

The first snow of the season had just started falling when you pulled the scarf tighter around your neck, boots crunching beneath you on the icy ground. Joel was just a few steps ahead, grumbling to himself like usual.

You’d been in this town for three months now. Long enough to learn where the dining hall was, where to pick up extra clothes, and that Maria didn’t miss much. But the name of the town? Never really stuck with you.

You were just glad it was safe.

“Cold?” Joel asked without turning around, noticing your breath fogging up in the air behind him.

“A little,” you muttered, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets. “Still better than sleeping in an old gas station.”

He chuckled under his breath, a small sound you were learning to appreciate more every day. “Come on, we’re almost to the stables. Tommy said Jackson’s gettin’ another delivery from the highway.”

You blinked, stopping mid-step. “Wait… who’s Jackson?”

Joel turned to you, brows pulled together, that little line between them showing up like it always did when you confused him.

“What?”

“Jackson,” you repeated, genuine curiosity on your face. “You’ve mentioned him before—‘Jackson’s got this, Jackson’s got that.’ Who is he? Is he like… some boss around here or something?”

For a moment, Joel just stared. Then, for the first time in a while, he actually laughed. A real one. Not just a huff or a sarcastic breath—but a quiet, warm laugh that caught you off guard.

“Darlin’,” he said, shaking his head as he stepped back toward you. “Jackson is the town.”

You blinked again. “Oh.”

“Thought you knew that.”

You shrugged, cheeks burning a little. “Guess I missed the sign or something.”

“There’s not really a sign,” he said, still smirking. “Don’t feel too bad.”

“I thought Jackson was a guy. Like, maybe some grumpy mayor or—”

Joel let out another chuckle and nudged your arm gently with his elbow. “You really thought I was talkin’ about a person this whole time?”

“I mean… yeah. You talk about it like it’s somebody you know real well.”

Joel paused, his expression softening. “Guess I do know it real well now. Place grows on you. Especially when certain people show up.”

You looked up at him, your breath catching just a little. “Certain people, huh?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, walking again, slower this time so you could keep up. “The kinda people who don’t even know where they’ve been livin’ for three months.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was real this time.

“Still think Jackson sounds like a guy,” you mumbled.

“Well, either way,” Joel said as the two of you stepped into the barn, the warmth from the animals settling over you, “he’s lucky you’re here.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, a little heavier than the snowflakes falling outside.

pairing: joel miller x younger!reader

warnings: false accusation, jealousy, reader crying, protective joel, ellie being aggressive, soft comfort, emotional vulnerability, resolution

summary: ellie thinks you’re cheating on joel after she sees another man leaving your house. joel steps in, and the truth comes out.

you weren’t expecting anyone to show up. marco had just fixed the sink, tightening the loose pipe under the counter that had been dripping for the past week. he was quiet, polite, barely said ten words the whole time. you thanked him as he left, the door creaking softly behind him.

you turned back to the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel when you heard footsteps storming up the steps.

then the voice hit.

“what the hell was that?”

you turned, heart skipping. ellie stood in the open doorway, jaw clenched, fists balled at her sides.

“ellie?”

she pointed toward the door. “i just saw that guy leave. who the hell is he?

you blinked, trying to understand where this was going. “marco? he came by to fix the sink.”

she stepped inside, chest rising and falling. “yeah, right. don’t lie to me.”

your stomach twisted. “i’m not lying. the faucet’s been leaking for days.”

“you think i’m stupid?” her voice rose, sharp and cutting. “you’ve got joel out on patrol while you sneak guys into his house?

“are you serious right now?” your voice cracked. “he’s a handyman. he fixed the fucking sink.”

marco had only just reached the gate when he turned around, hands raised. “i was just helping—she asked me to look at the leak, that’s all.”

ellie didn’t even look at him. “get the fuck out.”

you flinched at the words. marco took the hint, disappearing down the path without another word.

“ellie—” you started.

“don’t,” she snapped. “don’t act innocent. you were all smiles, walking around like you’ve got nothing to hide—”

“that’s enough.”

joel’s voice cut through everything like a blade.

he was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking between the two of you. his expression unreadable, eyes tired, like he had just walked in and immediately regretted it.

ellie froze.

“someone want to tell me what’s going on?” joel asked, walking toward the porch.

“she had a guy here,” ellie said quickly. “some other guy. i saw him leave.”

joel looked at you. your throat was tight, hands shaking, but you met his eyes. “W-what do you mean?”

“he was fixing the sink,” you said quietly. “nothing else.”

joel nodded slowly. then turned to marco. “you done?”

“yes, sir,” marco said, backing away like the house might explode.

joel waited until he was gone before saying, “inside. both of you.”

—

the silence inside the house was heavy. joel stood near the kitchen table. ellie was pacing. you stayed near the door, arms folded tightly across your chest.

“ellie,” joel said after a long beat. “what the hell was that?”

“i was protecting you,” she snapped. “she had another guy here while you were gone. i thought—”

“you thought wrong. you put her in an uncomfortable position just cause you thought she was cheating?” he said.

“you didn’t even see—” she started.

“i saw enough.” his voice was calm but sharp. “you accused her without knowing anything. you embarrassed her. you scared her. and for what?”

ellie glanced at you. your eyes were red, lips pressed together like you were trying not to cry. it made her flinch a little.

“i didn’t mean to—”

“you did,” you interrupted, voice quiet. “you meant every word. you wanted me to feel guilty. like i wasn’t worth trusting. Why do you think I’m always cheating on Joel? I chose him. If I didn’t want him or love him I wouldn’t be here. And I sure wouldn’t be with another man”

ellie’s shoulders slumped. “i thought... i don’t know what i thought.”

joel exhaled. rubbed a hand over his face.

“you need to let go of the idea that everyone’s going to hurt me,” he said gently. “she’s not tess. and she’s not going anywhere.”

ellie looked between you both. something in her expression shifted — less anger now, more guilt.

“i’m sorry,” she said. “i really am. i didn’t handle that right.”

you didn’t speak right away. then you nodded.

“just ask next time. don’t go full attack dog.”

she smirked a little. “no promises.”

—

that night, you found a folded piece of paper under your pillow. ellie’s handwriting was messy, the ink smudged in places.

i’m sorry for earlier.

i jumped to conclusions.

you didn’t deserve that.

you care about him. i can see it now.

if your sink breaks again, i’ll fix it myself. no guys needed.

– ellie

you smiled, just barely.

joel was already in bed when you slipped under the covers beside him.

“you alright now?” he asked, voice low in the dark.

“yeah,” you said. “she’s trying.”

he reached over, laced your fingers with his.

“so are you,” he murmured.

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

inspired by “Manchild” by Sabrina Carpenter

summary: ❝joel miller is rough, moody, and impossible to read. he acts like a grown man but fights like a teenage boy. still, you keep putting up with him—because for all his stubbornness, he's yours.❞

warnings: mild language, Joel being emotionally constipated, teasing, reader standing her ground, banter, soft angst, fluff,

word count: ~3.5k

——————————————————————————

You don’t know what it is about Joel Miller that pisses you off so much.

Maybe it’s the way he walks around town like he owns it.

Maybe it’s the permanent scowl on his face.

Maybe it’s the fact that he refuses—flat out refuses—to tell you how he feels about anything, ever.

But no. It’s probably the way he calls you "darlin’" when he’s losing an argument, just to shut you up.

“You know, you’re a grown-ass man,” you say one afternoon, arms crossed on your porch.

Joel looks up from where he’s fixing your damn porch swing again, sweat on his brow.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Then stop acting like a 17-year-old with daddy issues.”

That gets his attention.

He squints at you, jaw tight. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you get all broody and shut down when someone tells you the truth.”

He goes back to hammering.

You throw your hands up. “You literally just proved my point.”

“Don’t got time for this,” he mutters.

“No, you just don’t want to talk about your feelings because god forbid you act your age and say something real.”

He pauses.

You expect him to blow up, or walk out, or mumble something under his breath like always.

But instead, he says—quietly—

“You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

You blink.

“What?”

He stands up slowly, looking down at you with that unreadable look of his.

“You make me feel like I ain’t messed up. Like maybe I didn’t ruin every good thing that ever happened to me.”

The world stills for a second.

“Then why the hell do you treat me like I’m the enemy?” you whisper.

Joel exhales, long and heavy.

“‘Cause I don’t know how else to act when I’m scared.”

"You got a big opinion for someone who’s never been right."

You’re both quiet.

Then you walk down the steps and stand in front of him.

“You’re scared of me?”

“I’m scared of what it means to care about you,” he says. “’Cause you’re smart. And kind. And funny. And you could find someone better.

You step even closer. “Joel Miller. You are a manchild, but you’re my manchild.”

He huffs out a laugh.

“I don’t need better,” you add. “I need honest. I need someone who shows up and doesn’t run when things get hard.”

“I ain’t runnin’,” he says.

“No. But you’re hiding. Big difference.”

He looks down at his boots.

“Hey,” you say softly, touching his arm.

When he finally meets your gaze, you lean in and kiss him—slow, but sure. Like you’re choosing him. Even with all the mess.

Especially with all the mess.

You’re the loudest one in every room, but still nobody’s listenin’."

When you pull back, his hand catches the side of your face.

“You really wanna deal with all this?” he asks, voice low. “The mood swings, the walls, the grumpy shit?”

You grin. “Joel. I put up with Ellie. You think I can’t handle a 50-something man who sulks when he’s sick?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle and pulls you into his arms.

“Goddamn woman,” he mumbles into your hair. “You’re too damn sweet.”

“You’re lucky I like broken things,” you tease.

“Don’t gotta fix me,” he says. “Just stay.”

"If you’re gonna act like a child, might as well dress like one too..."

You do.

And for once, Joel doesn’t run. He doesn’t shut down. He just holds you like he knows what he’s got.

And maybe—finally—he’s ready to keep it.

summary: you survived the end of the world by doing what you had to. jackson was supposed to be a second chance. but people talk, and this time, your reputation might not be the thing that ruins you—it might be a man who can see through it.

warnings: emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of sex work/prostitution (past, not graphic), gossip, judgmental community, mild angst, fluff, protective Joel, Tommy being a sweetheart, Maria being suspicious, soft slow-burn tension

word count: ~2.7k

reader details: sweet, short, long-haired, newcomer, soft-hearted, quietly strong

_______________________________________________

You were a whisper in Jackson before you ever said a word.

Just a name Maria read off a piece of paper and a face they hadn’t seen before. Pretty face. Long hair, too nice for the cold. Quiet. Too quiet, if you asked most people. And you never really said where you came from—just said “Texas,” which was vague enough for everyone’s imagination to run wild.

And then it got out.

You don’t know who said it first. You don’t care.

All you know is that people started looking at you like you were contagious.

Like being a woman who survived the worst of the world made you dangerous.

You’d done what you had to. Not proud of it. Not ashamed either. You never stole from nobody, never killed, never used anyone who didn’t agree to it. You gave something to stay alive. And in a world where men took what they wanted? You made damn sure the choice was always yours.

Still, in Jackson, you were the warning mothers whispered to their kids when you walked by.

“Don’t stare.”

“Keep walking.”

“She’s not the kind of woman you talk to.”

Maria barely looked at you the day she handed you your house keys. Just muttered something about keeping a low profile. “We don’t want trouble,” she said, not even meeting your eye.

Trouble. That was the word that clung to you like dirt.

But not Tommy.

Tommy showed up the second morning you were there with a half-loaf of warm bread and a soft smile.

“Saw you didn’t have much in the pantry,” he said. “Figured you might want somethin’ fresh.”

You didn’t even know what to say. People don’t do nice things without wanting something back. That’s what you’d learned. But Tommy never lingered, never asked questions. Just gave, and left.

The bread made you cry.

—

You started noticing the man a few days later.

Tall. Broad. Walked with a limp in the cold. Gray in his beard. Wore a coat that looked like it had seen hell and come back scorched.

He never said anything. Never came close. Just walked past your place on the way to somewhere else. Sometimes once a day, sometimes more.

At first you thought he was just curious, like everyone else. But then little things started showing up.

Your porch step stopped squeaking. The broken board on your railing was replaced. One morning, you found a coat hook fixed back onto the siding. You hadn’t even realized it was loose.

It didn’t take a genius to put it together.

You caught him once—real late. You’d been up with a headache and opened your front door just as he was stepping back.

He froze like a teenager caught sneaking out.

“...You fixin’ my porch?” you asked, voice soft.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

You waited.

When he didn’t say anything else, you added, “You got a name?”

“Joel.”

That was it.

Just Joel. And then he nodded once and turned to go, leaving behind the silence and the faint scent of cedar and whiskey.

—

People didn’t know what to do with Joel Miller. He didn’t talk much. Didn’t smile much either. Word around town was that he was a “hard man.” Lost a kid, years ago. Came to Jackson with another one—Ellie, her name was. Lived on the other side of town.

He wasn’t friendly. But he wasn’t cruel.

And he kept coming back.

Not always fixing something. Sometimes just walking by. Sometimes just standing at the edge of the street like he was deciding whether to knock.

You didn’t ask him to come in.

You didn’t want to ruin the only thing in town that didn’t make you feel dirty.

But the days started feeling warmer when you saw him.

—

One afternoon, you went to the market, trying to ignore the way people stepped aside when you passed. There were two teen boys near the stable, whispering too loud, grinning too wide.

“Bet she’d do it for a can of peaches,” one of them said.

“Maybe less,” the other laughed.

You turned and gave them a look. Not angry. Just tired.

They shut up real fast when they saw Joel standing behind you.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at them. Just walked you home in silence and stood by your steps like a silent shield until you closed the door.

You cried again that night. But not because you were sad.

—

Eventually, he started coming closer. Standing on your porch. Asking if you had wood for the fire. If your lock was holding up okay.

He never pried. Never asked about before.

And you liked that. Liked that he let you have now.

One night, you offered him tea. You half-expected him to turn you down.

But he didn’t.

He came in, sat at your table like he’d done it before, and looked around your tiny place with those unreadable eyes.

“You fixed a lot of this,” you said, gently.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” he shrugged.

“You don’t even know me.”

He met your eyes then. Finally. And what he said next made your heart skip.

“I know enough.”

—

The next time Maria saw you walking with Joel, her face twisted.

She pulled him aside after town meeting, voice sharp but quiet.

“She’s not like us,” she said.

Joel looked at her. “Ain’t nobody here like us, Maria. Not anymore.”

“She’s got a past.”

“So do I.”

“Joel—”

“I seen worse people do worse things to survive,” he said, tone flat. “And she never hurt no one. So unless you got a real reason to keep talkin’, I’d stop.”

He walked away before she could answer.

—

It took you weeks to ask him why.

“Why do you care?” you said, voice almost afraid to ruin it.

He looked at you for a long time.

Then: “Because you remind me of people who didn’t make it. Good ones. Ones who never got a chance to be seen as more than what the world made ‘em do.”

You swallowed thickly.

“And I care,” he added, “because I see you tryin’. Every day. To be better. And I know how damn hard that is.”

—

That night, when he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away.

You just let him hold it. Just for a while.

Because sometimes, in a world that tried to break you, kindness felt heavier than anything else.

And Joel?

Joel didn’t flinch when you leaned against him.

Joel Miller x Female!Reader — Jackson Era | Roommate AU

Enemies to lovers / Slow burn / Protective Joel / Age gap / Longfic-style

——————————————————————————

When Joel Miller first moved into Jackson, he expected peace. Routine. Something solid to hold onto.

What he didn’t expect was you.

They told him housing was tight, that Ellie would have her own spot a few streets down with some younger kids, and that they’d matched him with someone “easygoing” in one of the older houses near the stables. He didn’t care. He just wanted a bed that didn’t smell like blood or damp mold.

And then he met you.

You opened the front door barefoot, soft music floating in from a nearby record player. You wore an oversized flannel that clearly wasn’t his, hair messy, a chipped mug in your hand.

"Hi," you said, like you hadn’t just wrecked every expectation he had.

He blinked. “You’re my… roommate?”

“Looks like it,” you chirped. “You get the room upstairs. It’s quieter.”

He hated you instantly.

Not for any real reason, really. You hadn’t done anything. You were polite. Kept your side of the house clean. But you were young—too young, in his opinion. Not a kid, but not someone who should be anywhere near a man like him. You were always humming, baking things, helping the old man next door fix his radio. You walked around barefoot even in the cold. You smiled at everyone, even after patrols.

He hated how perfect you were.

And worse? You weren’t scared of him.

Most people in Jackson gave him space. Kept conversation short. They respected him, sure, but no one tried to know him. Except you.

You’d ask him if he wanted soup when you made extra. You told him goodnight every evening even if he didn’t respond. You’d leave out a cup of coffee on the table in the mornings with a little note—just in case you want it.

God, it drove him insane.

Joel kept his distance. Shut his bedroom door at night. Ate fast so he wouldn’t have to sit across from you too long. But he watched you. He couldn’t help it.

The way you sat on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest, reading. How you laughed quietly at the local kids trying to impress you. The way you stood outside during snowfalls like the world was still full of wonder.

He told himself you were a nuisance.

But then came the night you didn’t come home.

The town had a curfew for a reason. The streets weren’t dangerous like the outside world, but people still noticed when someone was late. Joel had paced the living room like a caged dog, waiting to hear your voice, to see your smile as you walked in and said, “Sorry! Got caught up talking to Maria!”

But the door never opened.

And when someone mentioned they’d seen you at the gates helping with a trade group, something snapped inside him.

By the time you stumbled through the front door, cheeks wind-chapped and hair windblown, Joel was already by the coat rack.

“Where the hell were you?”

You froze. “Joel? I—I told you I might be at the gates late tonight.”

“You didn’t come back.”

“I’m back now,” you said, confused, brushing snow off your jacket.

“You could’ve been hurt,” he barked.

You stepped back, hurt flickering behind your eyes. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

And then it happened. He didn’t mean for it to. But the truth ripped out of him, raw and jagged.

“You don’t belong out there! You—fuck—you don’t belong around me!”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joel turned away, jaw clenched, running a hand through his hair like he could physically pull the feelings out of himself.

"You’re… light. You smile at people. You have hope. And you walk around this goddamn town like you ain’t seen what the world can do.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, softly, “So you hate me because I’m not broken?”

His silence was the answer.

“I’m not stupid, Joel. I know what’s out there. I’ve lost people. But I chose to keep going. I chose to hold onto something good. That’s not a crime.”

He still wouldn’t look at you.

You added, voice shaking, “But maybe you don’t hate me. Maybe you just don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t hate you.”

He flinched at that.

You left him standing there in the hallway, alone.

And yet—something changed after that.

The next morning, you still made two cups of coffee. He took his this time.

You didn’t speak about the argument, but the air between you was different. Softer.

One night, he found you asleep on the couch, curled up with a blanket half-falling off your shoulder. He covered you with another and stood there longer than he should’ve, watching the gentle rise and fall of your breath.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell are you doin’ to me?”

It took him weeks to admit it. Not out loud—God, no. But in small ways.

He walked you to the stables every morning. He patched your coat without asking. He saved the last slice of pie for you even though he wanted it.

One night, he fell asleep on the couch next to you. He hadn’t meant to. But when he woke up, your head was on his shoulder, and his arm was around you like it had always belonged there.

He didn’t move.

Eventually, he whispered, “You still make me nervous, you know that?”

You didn’t respond—still asleep, lips parted just slightly. But you shifted closer in your sleep, hand resting over his heart.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader or M!Reader

Setting: Post-Outbreak Safe Zone – You live together in Jackson.

Genre: Fluff, domestic banter, age gap, light teasing

_______________________________________________

The wind howled softly outside the window, the kind of night where everything was still—except for the sound coming from the other side of the bed.

You groaned, flipping over in the creaky mattress and jabbing your finger into Joel’s bare shoulder.

“Joel,” you hissed. “Joel.”

Nothing. Just more snoring.

You sat up halfway, blinking in the dark. “Joel!”

A low grunt. Then silence.

You let yourself fall back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling like it had wronged you.

You loved the man—God, did you—but you were one more snore away from suffocating him with a pillow. The way he snored? It wasn’t even just breathing heavy. It was like a chainsaw being dragged through gravel.

Morning came with a slice of sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee—probably Joel, always up before you like he was training for a damn marathon. You padded into the kitchen, arms folded across your chest.

He looked up, hair still messy, salt-and-pepper scruff catching the light.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He gave you that half-smile. The one that always made you forget you were mad—almost.

You squinted at him. “We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back. “That so?”

“You snore.”

Joel blinked. “No I don’t.”

You stared. “Joel. Don’t lie. You snore so loud the walls shake.”

“I’ve never heard myself snore,” he said, sipping his coffee casually.

“Exactly! Because you’re asleep while doing it!”

He smirked now, clearly entertained. “Maybe you’re just sensitive. Young ears and all.”

“Oh my God, don’t pull the age card on me,” you grumbled, snatching his mug and taking a sip like it was yours.

Joel gave you a look. “Hey. I made that.”

“And I lost four hours of sleep, so it’s only fair.”

He walked toward you, that amused look still dancing on his face, and wrapped an arm around your waist. You tried to fight the smile that was creeping in—tried to stay annoyed—but he was warm and grumbly and familiar, and… fine, maybe kind of irresistible.

“Alright,” he said. “If I really do snore that bad… why d’you keep sleepin’ next to me?”

You tilted your head. “Because I love you. Even if you’re a sleep-depriving menace.”

He chuckled low in his throat, and you felt the vibration against your body.

“Alright then,” he whispered near your ear, “maybe tonight I’ll sleep on the couch—save your beauty rest.”

“You do that, and I’ll drag you back by your beard.”

He grinned. “So you do love the beard.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his chest a gentle shove. “Don’t change the subject. Just… I dunno, sleep on your side or something.”

“I’ll try, darlin’. But if I snore again, maybe you can wake me up with somethin’ nicer next time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He leaned down, lips brushing your cheek. “A kiss wouldn’t kill me.”

You groaned dramatically. “Gross. You’re like 50.”

He laughed. “And you love it.”