Under The Tree (Joel Miller x F!Reader) +18
Summary: Joel Miller, your favorite fictional character of all the time, appears under your Christmas tree, literally. And he's so fucking good.
Warnings: MINORS DNI! Porn with a minor plot, dry humping, Joel cleans his mess with his tongue on the reader, kinda of a breed kink tho. Oldman!Joel, as always. No reader description at all except that she has hair. NO USE OF Y/N.
A/N: I had this idea while wondering either should I write something to post here for Christmas or not, but writing it was so fun and I just had to! English it's not my first language so I apologize in advance. If you’re new over here, welcome and Merry Christmas! Feel free to check my masterlist with more of my writing and please, let me know what you thought about this one! 💌
You knew every single detail about him. Every tiny thing that made him your favorite character, and after so many years fixed on the same obsession, you could almost no longer separate reality from fiction.
Joel Miller was absolutely everything to you.
Your countless hours on Tumblr, the long list of failed dates with men who couldn’t even hold a candle to a fictional character molded over the years by the best writers you had ever seen in your life, the constant and extremely explicit dreams. Another year was coming to an end, and despite considering yourself a successful woman at twenty-one, you would soon be twenty-two, and your only wish was that Joel Miller existed and would materialize under your tree, or, better yet, in your bed.
Nothing compared to the feeling of complete emptiness that washed over you every night, especially on those ones when you slept alone, surrounded by your pillows. During the Christmas season, the feeling became even worse: the family dinners, the lingering looks, and all the meddling aunts always questioning when you would find a boyfriend to introduce to them.
You had returned home early that day. December 24th was nothing special when you felt increasingly alone. As you prepared for bed, still with your toothbrush between your lips, you scrolled through your Tumblr feed looking for a good one-shot to read before completely surrendering to the tired sleep that only a long day could provide. Colorful lights were strung throughout the house, but they were especially concentrated on the giant tree that one of your best friends had insisted you needed this year — though it remained empty, thanks to the gifts having been distributed two weeks prior.
You didn't even notice when those same bright lights grew dim. When you returned to bed, you curled up amidst the warm blankets, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and cozy socks. You still had to face lunch the next day and listen to all the comparisons between you and your perfect younger sister, who flaunted a giant diamond on her ring finger. It would be a new day, and you needed to prepare yourself mentally.
Not long after having your feelings captivated by a good read, one that drew sighs from you and made you wish once more that fiction were reality, you fell into a state between deep and light sleep, still alert and not completely relaxed as you so desperately desired.
For Joel Miller, it all happened very fast.
One moment, he was certain he couldn't take any more. The blows Abby dealt to his body were incredibly heavy, and his lungs were surely damaged; yet, he was still fighting bravely, while Ellie’s screams were nothing more than a buzz in the back of his troubled mind. He knew that soon he would no longer be there for her, that the apocalyptic world was cruel, and that she would have to fend for herself. But contrary to what he imagined of death, he didn't see the image of Sarah or any of the loved ones he had lost over the years. In fact, everything went silent for a second, in complete darkness.
Until he found the courage to open his eyes, and the pain was gone. Perhaps paradise included a Christmas tree and a silent house, he couldn’t really say. Joel moved his body slowly, savoring the sensation of being able to breathe properly; the pain in the back of his head no longer seemed to be a problem, and there was no sign that his leg had been shoot.
Adjusting his hand, he felt a small note. The handwriting didn't look familiar, but Joel managed to read it anyway:
“Begin again, Joel Miller.”
Of course, he didn’t understand a single thing about what was happening, of course not. But he didn’t felt dead either; his clothes were halfway decent, and despite his messy curls and the initial confusion, the place still felt somewhat familiar. It didn’t seem like a world he knew, but he understood the coincidences of fate perfectly well. The same fate that had brought him Ellie, the same fate that had led him back to Tommy... Joel didn't believe in any bullshit at all, but it seemed to be his lucky day regardless.
He stood up slowly. He was still an old man, even if he was no longer on the path of a young woman furious over an action he had taken years ago — an action he did not regret.
He would have done it all over again, the exact same way, without hesitation, and there was beauty in that.
More than anyone, Joel Miller understood grief.
The decorations were curious, and as he walked through the hallways of the house looking at the photos on the walls, he realized this didn't seem like a world much different from the one before the apocalypse. Part of him still considered all of this a post-death dream, but the end of the world felt too distant, the end that had happened so long ago and taken the best parts of him. Joel should run and seize this chance, this fresh start; but if this really was a dream, he could afford to nose around for a few more moments. He could afford to breathe for once without feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The half-open door of your bedroom revealed Christmas lights while you were lightly asleep. Your phone screen still glowing. Joel paused for an instant, feeling a sharp pang in his chest, as if all the pieces of a puzzle were snapping into place at once.
He had been dreaming of you all these years.
It was your face in every one of his dreams. Over and over again.
He didn’t believe you could be real. With every passing second, he grew more shocked, watching you, frozen against the doorframe, afraid that if he took a single step, he might wake you. Afraid that if he moved in any way at all, he might lose you. Joel blinked slowly, gathering the courage he needed to approach. He took the phone from your hand, inspecting it to find where to turn off the light, as the model looked far more advanced than the ones he remembered. Finding the button he deduced was the correct one, he set the device aside and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand going directly to your hair, delicately brushing it away from your relaxed face.
His eyes traveled over every detail of you, but also over every detail of that room, stopping when they found a framed photo of him on your nightstand. A photo he didn’t remember taking, a photo impossible to capture for the simple reason that there had been no cameras. With every passing moment, it all seemed to grow more confusing.
Before he could demand anything, any explanation, your eyes snapped open. In a series of quick, terrified movements, you let out a hoarse, loud scream, trying to pull away as far as you could, but his hand was quickly over your mouth, muffling the sound. You couldn’t believe what was happening; a complete stranger was inside your house, and he looked exactly like the man you had daydreamed about for years, down to the clothes, the beard, the tiny details that had once only been described to you through the spiciest words.
Even the scent was the same.
“F’ God’s sake, girl. Ya’ wanna wake up all of ya’ neighbors?” he asked with his deep, raspy Texan accent making you even more terrified of what this could be. You certainly weren't dreaming, and you felt you needed to find a psychiatric emergency room as soon as possible.
“Ya’ know what...?” he asked, hoping for some decent answers, nodding his chin toward the photo while still keeping his hand over your mouth. “How do ya’ know me? This picture... it’s not damn possible.”
Joel seemed more interested in trying to understand it for himself than actually prying the answers out of you, yet there he was, in the flesh, in your bedroom in the middle of Christmas Eve. Actually, it was already Christmas, according to your clock on the opposite wall, which marked shortly after midnight. When he finally took his hand off your mouth, his eyes — nearly imperceptible in the dim light — gave you a silent warning against screaming.
And if he really was your Joel, you knew exactly what he was capable of.
“I know everything about you,” you said. “Everything.”
“How’s that possible?” He asked, his expression a growing mix of fear and curiosity. “Ya’ don’t know shit about me.”
“I know that you have a younger brother named Tommy. I know that you lost your daughter, Sarah, on the first day of the outbreak. I also know that years later you found Ellie Williams, a girl who can’t be properly infected, and you saved her and… I also know that you should be dead by now, because Abby Anderson, the daughter of the doctor you murdered to save Ellie, killed you.” Joel remained silent, processing all of that information in complete stillness, blinking slowly.
“That doesn’ explain why I dreamed ‘bout ya’ almost every night for the last three years,” he muttered, completely devoid of humor, his voice sounding dry and still confused.
“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that question.”
The fear seemed to dissolve with every passing second, and you relaxed back into the bed, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders for a moment as you savored the silence. You didn’t understand much about Christmas miracles or the nature of it all, but it felt as though fate were finally granting you one.
Only, it was much deeper than it seemed.
Joel Miller, with all his nuances, had saved you from terrible days where the pain of reality was relentless enough to make your chest ache and your body tremble as you cried yourself to sleep, questioning if there truly was a God or anything capable of making you feel even slightly better, capable of helping you fit in. Joel was, for the most part, the reason you still believed in love; and even as a fictional character, now materialized on your bed, you understood every inch of the shared pain regarding loss and new beginnings.
He was everything to you.
It was through words, through every version of him, that you had come to understand the meaning of loving someone so unconditionally that death, eternal sleep, and faith in the unknown... all of it seemed worth it if the love that filled your chest and made you feel seen truly existed.
You didn't realize when the tears began to stream down your delicate face, but Joel didn't move closer. He didn't know if he could, he wouldn't invade your personal space regardless… but it broke his heart to see you cry. It didn't feel right.
You managed to pull a brief smile onto your face before you began to sob heavily, finally reaching out for him, for a simple hug. Perhaps you would wake up the next day and none of this would exist anymore, but you would know that it had been real, and you would have something to hold onto during your hardest days once again.
Joel held you tight, pulling you against his chest, and you squeezed him as hard as you could, inhaling the woody scent emanating from his flannel. Every second of that moment felt as if two souls were finally meeting, as if Joel could finally rest, and as if you were finally whole.
“Don’t cry, sweetpea. Bet ya’ still have a lot to tell me,” he said, keeping you close and kissing the top of your head while holding you in his arms.
He wouldn't invade your space. He didn’t even understand the purpose of being there; he truly didn’t know how to go back home — if he even had one left in this world — but being with you felt right.
And Joel was counting on that for everything to be okay.
“So, what do you do for living, Joel?” your grandmother asked him for the tenth time. Joel ended up laughing. The clothes you had bought for him at the last minute seemed to fit perfectly, especially the sweater that matched yours, which had made him laugh heartily in front of the mirror when he realized your intentions, though he decided to wear it with honor.
“I’m a contractor, ma’am,” he replied, taking a sip of the best hot chocolate he had tasted in decades. In this world, food seemed to taste much better, for obvious reasons, of course.
Joel had agreed to pretend to be your date while the two of you spent a good part of the night talking after your tears finally stopped. To you, it made perfect sense that he knew everything and all your nuances, just as the fictional versions of him always seemed to know. Everything was very new and strange to Joel, and part of him still felt like a rough, completely inadequate man.
But for some reason, things felt easy by your side, and he couldn't deny it.
He didn't plan on occupying your guest room forever; he needed to get his life in order. What he lost, what he had. The grief, the fresh start… But it had only been a few long hours since he had woken up under your Christmas tree, and you were in no hurry at all to have him leave.
His hand rested possessively on your waist the entire time, especially when your sister had started talking minutes earlier, trying to brag about everything, specially about the plans for her thousand-dollar wedding. She was interrupted by Joel, who seemed to have eyes only for you.
Your mother was radiant; his perfectly Texas accent and excessive politeness made her eyes shine, as if she were saying that you had finally chosen someone decent.
“See that? A real job for a real man. I always told all my daughters and granddaughters that those...” Your grandmother paused for a second, nodding her chin toward your younger sister’s prim-and-proper fiancé, who was holding a champagne flute and could certainly hear what she was saying. “...type of boys were real trouble. A man who can’t build the house his future wife will live in, isn't a real man.”
His laughter echoed through the room in sync with yours as you exchanged looks. There was a certain complicity between you, and you cherished the feeling; your heart, full after so long, felt like a dream you would refuse to wake up from if that were the case. Joel was a gentleman, opening doors for you, making sure your cup of hot chocolate was full at all times, and being ready to get you whatever you asked for. He had taken the role of your Christmas date seriously, but a part of you felt something far beyond all the supposedpretending.
“Your granddaughter is safe with me. I would build anything she asked m’ for.”
But when he spoke those words, Joel wasn’t looking at your grandmother. No. He was looking at you, deep into your eyes, as if one of your favorite writers were at the helm of your life's script, casting you in the most beautiful romantic comedy of your life. As if he knew you in every lifetime of his. As if things were simple, meant to be even.
And you felt your heart race.
You felt the flip in your stomach and the butterflies in your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, making you smile and causing your eyes to sparkle. You feared the pain you would feel when you woke up and discovered that all of this had been a dream.
But you were awake, and Joel Miller had his hand on your waist, and he was the most handsome man you had ever met in your life and... Well, he was your greatest passion, and you were going crazy.
Definitely fucking crazy.
...
You barely had time to cross the threshold before Joel pinned you against the wall, completely famished, while his lips, chilled and flushed pink from the cold, sought yours in the same state, making you moan in protest. Your breaths condensed inside the house, which was quite dark, illuminated only by the Christmas lights. He was quick to kick the door shut with a none-too-gentle thud, but you didn't care; his hands were all over your body, and you were completely desperate for him.
The tension that had been building during dinner at your grandmother’s house during the touches, every time he followed you to the bathroom just to exchange looks whose meaning no one else could understand. The portrait of a gentleman you knew he were. The kindness implied in every action of his.
The final straw seemed to be when you ended up sitting on his lap, watching your little cousins open their presents while Joel squeezed you far more than necessary, acting as if he had known you for years, as if you were an old couple who had shared a bed for decades.
It was as if he had belonged to you forever.
You understood that it would take much more than just a true connection. Years of therapy, dealing with all the losses, yes, but the moment he pulled off his sweater and groaned hoarsely in your ear, you forgot every dilemma living in your head at that moment.
“Arms up, doll,” he whispered, removing your sweater the instant you promptly obeyed, leaving your pajama top exposed, revealing enough for him to realize you weren't wearing a bra. “Naughty girl, not wearin’ a damn bra f’me, I see it.”
And it felt like a dream.
Like all the things you had read a thousand times over, but this time, you were incredibly starved for him. You could already feel your body burning and your legs growing slightly weak, leading you to cling to Joel tightly, your sensitive breasts brushing against his chest.
Joel hitched up your shirt just enough to take one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking the nipple and pulling at it hungrily, gripping your waist with his free hand with a strength that would surely leave a mark the next day. You moaned uninhibitedly, feeling the heat spread between your legs, and as if he were reading your mind, he lifted his knee slightly, making you feel his knee against your already wet cunt.
You were both wearing jeans. It was too much fabric; you needed more, you needed his touch. You needed to feel Joel in every part of you, driving you completely out of your mind. It was as if fire were crackling and burning through you; in that instant, you moaned his name slowly, pleadingly.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Like this, ‘m gonna have to fuck ya’ and ‘m really tryin’ to be a gentleman and treat ya’ right.” Joel’s voice was nothing more than a hungry growl, and his cock was already straining against his jeans, drawing your curious fingers toward his zipper, but he shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Needy girl will take what I give. My rules now. Ya’ will ride my knee and cum for me when I say so.”
“Joel… Please.” You moaned, completely surrendered, while your nails slid up and down his arms. But Joel made no move to remove the remaining pieces of clothing that felt like the biggest obstacle between you two; instead, he forced his knee against the middle of your legs again and you felt it just right, melting over him.
“Yeah, just like this. Be good, doll, I might give ya’ some more. Show me what those things ya’ read ‘bout me taught you.”
You began to move your hips with a purpose, feeling the seam of the jeans between your legs, feeling the thick fabric grow wetter while Joel’s hands went straight to your throat until you were completely breathless, only to release his grip slowly before delivering a sequence of slaps against your cheeks, leaving it tingling. You knew you liked these things, but as you ground your hips against his leg, you felt your body go up in flames with the real-life practice of it all. Of all the things you once fantasized.
Joel grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him as he seemed to revel in your pleasure, his member cock harder than it was before, hoarse groans escaping his throat. It had been years, considering his life before, since he had touched a woman or made one feel the way you seemed to be feeling for him, and for him, it was like feeling alive again. The man would make you his in every corner of that house; he would fulfill every one of your fantasies, he would make you feel so good and just the mere thought of it made him delirious.
“Yes, Joel, please, it’s so good…” you moaned, your voice thick with longing under the pressure he applied, your cheeks burning as you searched for something to hold onto. He pressed his lips against yours in a hot, wet, and intense kiss, returning to massage your breasts, pinching your left nipple with his thumb while savoring your mouth in the most explicit way possible.
You could feel your orgasm building and tried to warn him, but Joel seemed even more determined to make you feel every possible sensation. You clung to him as if you were about to collapse, your fingers tangling in his salt-and-pepper curls, your breaths perfectly out of sync and ragged as you searched for more, and more, and more.
“Gonna fuck ya’ so good. Gonna fill ya’ with my milk and make ya’ a mama.” Joel moaned. “When I give ya’ this cock, I will fill ya’ with my cum and get you dripping it all over your legs for me, doll. It’ll sting so good, ya’ might never want to fuck with anyone else ‘ver again.”
And that was enough to make every wall of your body tremble.
Joel held immense power over you, and you couldn't even begin to deny it as your body shook with the most intense orgasm you had ever reached with someone's help. You tried to grind against his leg even more, trying to prolong the feeling, sensing the tears streaming down your face from the sheer weight of the stimulation.
He made sure you didn’t fall, but then he knelt in front of you, unzipping your jeans and dragging the fabric down with a certain aggressiveness. He didn't care about the delicate lace of your panties, and in a single, swift motion, he brushed the fabric aside before putting his tongue to work on your sensitive cunt, licking your orgasm as if you were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. You tried to close your legs, but he was holding you with a firm cruelty, making you moan in protest.
“It took a fucking Christmas miracle to make ya’ cum properly, sweetheart. Now lemme clean what’s mine.” Joel mocked you. “Don’t ya’ worry ‘bout it. Gonna make sure ya’ feel whole for the rest of your days. Stuffed with my cock and melting over my tongue. Gonna fuck ya’ so good with this pretty belly of yours all swollen…”
“Joel…” You moaned, already needy of him. Again.
“Sure thing, doll. Let’s get ya’ upstairs.”
