James: Sneezes Once

Easter falling on 4/20 again this year means all those old 420 praise it vines from 2014 are once again relevant

warm enough ⋆₊˚ ࿔⋆

pre-canon qz!joel miller x fem!reader | masterlist |

1.7k words | joel miller before ellie so he’s distant but not too bad, fwb to lovers, kissing, unprotected piv sex. — still trying to cope with his death:,((

summary- in the Boston QZ, survival comes first—but when you’re sharing smokes, running jobs, and ending up in each other’s beds more often than not, lines blur fast. Joel’s older, guarded, and dead set on keeping it casual. She’s younger yeah, but tired of pretending it’s nothing. It’s not love. Not exactly. But it’s warm.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

It wasn’t supposed to happen again.

It never does.

But somehow you’d ended up tangled in his sheets anyway, your knees brushing his under the thin blanket, the air between your bodies too warm, too full. It was always like this—frenzied, wordless, fleeting. A way to survive the way the world pressed down on your chest like a loaded weapon.

But this time was different.

You hadn’t woken up alone.

Joel Miller, the man who never stayed, was still there.

You stirred first. Sunlight cut through the cracks in the boarded-up window, slicing across his bare shoulder. You studied the soft line of his jaw, the way his brows stayed furrowed even in sleep. Like he couldn’t let go of whatever ghosts lived behind his eyes, even when unconscious.

You turned over, pulling the blanket up. Hoping maybe he’d shift and mumble something. Maybe you’d pretend it didn’t feel real. But then—

Footsteps. The bed dipped. Joel sat up and rubbed a hand down his face.

He didn’t look at you.

Instead, he stood, tugged on his shirt, and wandered into the kitchen—if it could be called that. A hot plate. A kettle. Cans lined up like trophies. You listened to him move, the scrape of the metal lid opening, the glug of water.

And then… coffee.

You blinked.

Joel never made coffee after. Hell, he never let you stay long enough to see what he did after.

When he came back in, he was holding two chipped mugs. He didn’t meet your eyes as he handed you one. “Still hot,” he muttered.

You sat up, blinking at him like he’d handed you a map out of this place. “You made two.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

You cupped the mug in both hands, let the heat seep into your fingers. It smelled like burned grounds and survival. But something about it settled your heart a little.

Joel sat back on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, watching the floor like it had something to say.

You broke the quiet. “Feels kinda normal, huh?”

His shoulders tensed.

He didn’t answer for a long beat. Then:

“Don’t get used to it.”

His voice had been soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. Not sharp enough to draw blood—just enough to remind you where the lines were.

You didn’t say anything. Just wrapped your hands tighter around the chipped mug and took a slow sip. Bitter. Burned. Warm.

He stood across from you, back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like he was bracing for something.

Maybe your silence.

Maybe the truth.

You glanced at him over the rim of your cup. His gaze was fixed on the space behind you—somewhere over your shoulder, like if he looked you in the eye he might not be able to keep the mask on.

So you tried to keep it simple. “It was good coffee.”

That earned you a flicker of something—wryness, maybe. A tiny twitch of his mouth. “Tastes like shit.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “but it’s warm.”

Another long silence passed between you. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… full. Like both of you were waiting for something else to rise to the surface.

You caught yourself wishing the moment would stretch out a little longer. That he’d lean back against the counter like he belonged there. That he’d ask you to stay—not just to kill time until the next run, but because he wanted you there.

But Joel didn’t ask for things.

And you didn’t know how to ask either.

So you drained the rest of your coffee, set the mug down gently on the counter, and stepped back toward the door. Your boots scuffed against the worn floorboards.

“I should go,” you said, quiet.

Joel nodded. Still not looking at you.

Your fingers brushed the doorknob, cool metal under your skin. You hesitated.

“Thanks for… letting me stay.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Then, just as your hand started to turn the knob—

“Didn’t mind it.”

The words came out like they surprised him too. You turned halfway, your heart catching.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“Didn’t mind you bein’ here,” he said again, slower this time. Like maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to admit.

You smiled, small and warm. “Okay.”

Then you opened the door and left.

But your chest felt lighter.

A Few Days Later

The next few days are back to normal.

At least, mostly.

You go on a few jobs—runners, small deliveries. Joel doesn’t say much, but he sticks close. Always just behind your shoulder, scanning rooftops, watching your back like it’s second nature.

You try not to read into it.

But every time your eyes meet across a crowded alley, or in the back room of Tess’s hideout, there’s a flicker. A pause.

Like maybe something changed that morning, and neither of you knows what to do with it.

You hadn’t meant to end up there again.

You told yourself it was just muscle memory—your boots turning corners like they knew the way. That the pull in your chest wasn’t about him. That the ache wasn’t for him.

But the lights were out in your building. Your neighbor was crying again. And your bed was too cold, too quiet.

So you stood outside Joel’s door for almost a full minute, heart knocking against your ribs, before you lifted your hand.

You didn’t even knock.

He opened it before you could.

Joel stood there in a threadbare shirt and jeans, barefoot, with sleep-soft eyes and stubble smudged along his jaw. His brows furrowed, but not with surprise.

Like he’d been waiting.

A sixth sense.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded. “I didn’t wanna be alone.”

That was all you had to say.

He stepped aside.

Inside, the room was warm—barely. The radiator hissed. You shrugged off your jacket while he watched from the other side of the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Joel always looked tense. Even now, under the soft glow of the table lamp, he stood like someone expecting a fight.

Or a confession.

You took a slow step toward him. “You ever get tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything?”

He didn’t move.

“‘Cause I do,” you whispered.

Joel’s eyes searched yours. There was something rough and unreadable in his face, like he was trying to swallow back something too big for words.

“I don’t know what to call it,” he admitted, voice low, thick. “I don’t even know what it is. But when you knock, I open the door. Every time.”

Your throat tightened.

“I keep tellin’ myself I ain’t got room for this. For you. But you show up and I—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I want you here. That’s the truth.”

The breath you didn’t realize you were holding finally left your lungs.

You stepped closer. Close enough to see the flicker of hesitation behind his eyes, the war he was fighting with himself.

“But you’re scared,” you said softly.

Joel’s jaw flexed. “Damn right I am.”

You reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “Then let me show you something good for once.”

And that broke him.

He kissed you like he needed it to stay alive.

Not hurried or rough like before—this was slow, devouring, like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go too soon. His hands cradled your face, rough thumbs grazing your cheekbones like he was trying to memorize you.

You slid your hands under his shirt, fingertips dragging over warm skin, the curve of old scars and hard muscle. Joel groaned into your mouth, deep and low, and pulled you closer by the hips.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he murmured against your lips. “Always walkin’ around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You smiled into the kiss. “I know exactly what I do to you.”

He huffed a breath—half a laugh, half a growl—and walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“Lie down,” he said, voice gone dark and soft and commanding.

You obeyed, heart racing.

Joel stripped his shirt off, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you to watch. Then he knelt over you, kissing a trail down your neck, your chest, your stomach—taking his time, learning every inch of you like it was something sacred.

“Y’know how many nights I think about this?” he murmured against your skin. “Think about you.”

You arched under his touch, eyes fluttering. “Then why don’t you let it be more?”

His hands stilled for a second. Just long enough for you to feel the weight of the question.

Then he leaned up, kissed you again—softer this time. Sadder.

“I’m tryin’,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but I’m tryin’.”

When he finally sank into you, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow, intense, real. His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips as your bodies moved in rhythm, like this wasn’t something you stole—it was something you built.

Joel didn’t hide from it.

He kissed your knuckles when he held your hands above your head. He murmured your name like a promise. He stayed.

When you both fell apart together, it was quiet.

No words. Just warmth.

He didn’t let you go.

Later

You rested against his chest, legs tangled under the blanket, heartbeat slowly finding its way back to calm.

His hand moved gently along your arm, over and over, like he didn’t want to stop touching you even if he didn’t know what to say.

You turned your face up toward his.

“What now?”

Joel exhaled, thumb tracing the inside of your wrist.

“Now we sleep,” he said, voice husky.

“And tomorrow?”

There was a beat.

Then he kissed your forehead.

“Tomorrow, there’s coffee.”

yeah yeah im feeding yall ik

Elphie. Elphie. Pay attention to me

some doodles while chilling this weekend

lil galentines treat

me reading fandom drama while eating expired ramen

Ngl I totally forgot fandom discourse was a thing. I don’t care man, I have car payments

okay powerplay time to pretend we're gonna shoot for 1 minute and 58 seconds

Okay Avs do that period two more times!!!

OH MY GOD MANSON WE MIGHT HAVE A CHANCE PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏