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heartpascal · 7 months

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hoping there’s somewhere to go

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader + tommy miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you try to navigate life after the rejection of the only family you’d ever had (part two of weight too heavy to hold alone)

▹— a/n: the song too much time in my house alone by leith ross inspired this <3 longer A/N at the end!

▹— warnings: angst (as always), isolation, and then self isolation, mention of christmas time but it’s not christmas, a winter’s dinner that isn’t christmas dinner, fears being proven correct, very little self worth, it has been a long while since i have written/posted/needed to put warnings so let me know if something is missing!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro) — please let me know if you want to be added/removed

MASTERLIST

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Jackson is cold in winter.

And it’s not just because of the weather.

There’s winter festivities, holidays that you had never really had any experience with. And because of the weather, patrols were undertaken by smaller groups, leaving crowds of people wandering the streets, or trying to find work within the small community. So, not only was it cold and miserable, but it was about ten times as crowded in the communal spaces, with everybody packing into every space possible in order to preserve their warmth.

That’s not even the worst part — there’s the whole focus on family, or whatever a person in the apocalypse might have that’s close enough to it.

Holidays bring people together, Tommy had told you once, about a year ago. It wasn’t long after you had first arrived in Jackson, traipsing through the gate alone, aside from the patrollers who escorted you there.

The thing was, though, that you didn’t have people.

And it wasn’t as if you were wanting them! That definitely wasn’t the case — you couldn’t bear getting close to anybody, after what had happened last time — but you couldn’t help the more prominent feeling of isolation. You knew you weren’t alone in your feelings, after all, there were plenty of Jackson residents who had nobody, or resented the holiday season for one reason or another, but you felt alone.

You’re allowed to feel bitter about it, even if you do want to stay that way. It’s not like you had always felt this way, there was a time when you had thought yourself close to having a family — whatever the hell that was. In spring, if somebody had told you that you might feel this way, you might have disbelieved them, might have had faith in Joel and Ellie, despite your reservations. But then everything there had fallen apart, and you were left like this.

Living on your own, halfway across town, closer to Tommy, but further away than ever.

It was like that gaping hole in your chest had reopened with a vengeance, sucking any amount of trust or affection you had for the man into a void where it couldn’t be found. If Tommy hadn’t stuck you with Joel and Ellie, you might not be feeling like this — feeling so cold, and alone, and frozen despite the world moving around you. If he had just minded his business, or even, maybe, if he had just looked after you himself, rather than passing you off as nothing more than a chore, you could’ve been something at least close to happy.

Instead, you’re here. Making the short trip back from the school he had forced you to start going to, heading back to the little space you were supposed to call home. It wasn’t home, though. You had never occupied a space that had felt anything even close to that before, other than Joel’s. You’re pretty sure you’ll never live anywhere like that again.

You’ll probably live here, in the shitty garage that Tommy had someone convert for you, for the rest of your life. Either that, or until they finally have enough of you, and kick you out. Whichever came first.

Really, you should be used to being on your own. To having to do everything yourself, be responsible for every aspect of your own life, but strangely, after Joel’s, you find it hard to go back to that. Balancing things has never been your strong suit, and this only goes to prove that. And it’s aggravating, feeling as though something within you had changed, feeling as though you’re no longer capable, when you had spent your whole life looking after yourself.

Feeling like this has had you thinking some incredibly stupid things, your mind at one point trying to convince you that the only way to prove that you were capable, was to go back out into the big open world. Luckily for you, your survival instincts are stronger than that, and you’re able to remind yourself that Jackson is the best possible place for you, regardless of whatever thoughts and feelings you were having.

Besides, you wouldn’t want to give any of them — them being Joel, Tommy and Ellie — the satisfaction of your leaving. If they wanted you gone, they’d have to tell you as much, this time.

It was clear to you now, that they hadn’t wanted you there in the first place. And given the distance between you and Ellie since Joel had gotten rid of you, you gathered that, despite what you believed to be a close bond, she had never wanted you around either. She seemed happy enough, gallivanting around the town with her few friends, friends she had never even bothered to introduce you to. At least that meant you weren’t missing anything. Maybe she had actually done you a favour. Although given the way she avoided your gaze like her life depended on it, every time you happened across her, you somehow doubted that.

You’re not sure which loss was worse. Despite how close you had grown to Joel, how attached you had become, Ellie was the first person your age who you had ever trusted. You had told her things that you had never spoken aloud to anyone before. And now, you were left with a constant weight of regret, of dread, in the pit of your stomach.

Selfishly, you wanted Ellie to be angry at Joel for getting rid of you. You wanted her to fight for you, wanted her to remain in your corner when everybody else opposed you. What you really wanted, though, was for somebody to choose you. You wanted to feel important to somebody.

Though, now, you think you’ve outgrown that childish desire. You don’t want anyone around you, anymore.

Not even Tommy.

“Kid, would you just open the damn door?” Tommy asked, speaking to the plain face of your front door. He had knocked three times before opening his mouth, growing exasperated by your cold shoulder. He knew you were in there — had seen you walk home after school, when he was finishing a job just around the corner. Besides, where else would you be?

You stayed silent, sitting on the unmade sheets of your bed, staring at the door as Tommy knocked once again.

“C’mon, open the door. Please?” He repeated, and you could practically picture his stance outside, one arm resting against the doorframe and one hand resting against his hip. “Just wanna talk, alright? Then I’ll be on my way.”

You heard the heaviness of his sigh from your space across the room. But it didn’t change anything for you. How could it? Tommy had sent you to his brother, he had known what his brother was like, and he had sat idly by while you were uprooted and sent across town like you didn’t matter. Just another inconvenience. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also forcing you to go to Jackson’s community school, run primarily by an almost 70 year old woman, who was meant to retire a year after the outbreak.

It was ridiculous and unfair.

Ellie didn’t have to go to school.

It just felt like another method of getting you out of the way. After all, what did you need with writing and reading? Mathematics and history? The world had ended before you were even born.

Besides, you knew for a fact that Tommy had volunteered to take Ellie out shooting soon. Despite her avoiding you, you could still hear her boasting about it in the canteen to her friends.

You couldn’t help but feel like it should’ve been you. After all, weren’t you the one without anybody? Weren’t you the one who would be alone, should Jackson fall apart? Ellie would have Tommy and Maria. She would have Joel. Who would you have? Nobody.

If Tommy Miller had ever actually cared about you, perhaps he would’ve helped you work on the issues you’d been facing when you went to him for help, rather than passing you off to his older brother. You had spent your entire life depending on only yourself. Tommy had no idea what it had taken for you to approach him, for you to want help. To have that thrown back in your face, you knew, had done damage. As if you weren’t already damaged enough.

It was something you had been aware of for a long time — that there was something wrong about you. Something rotten. Like something had crawled into your chest, into the gaping cavity between your ribs, and died in there. It had been decaying over the years, leaving an air about you that told everybody exactly what you had always known: you are unsalvageable. Nothing in this world could reverse the decomposition that had occurred inside of you, just like nothing could reverse the infection that had taken the family you had never known.

The whole thing made you feel foolish, really. Your whole life, a voice inside of your head had been telling you that nobody could help you. Nobody would help you. And when you had finally gathered the courage to prove that voice wrong? It was proven right instead. It was a kick in the teeth. A thorn underneath your fingernail. Something bothersome, painful.

Tommy Miller had proven that you were just as alone as you had always felt.

He knocked against your door again, apparently content to wait you out. You had nowhere to go, but the knocking was irritating, the knowledge of his presence outside of that door was grating.

Before you could think better of it, you made your way over, and opened the door.

He looked the same as he always had done. Dressed for the weather, his favourite pair of boots on, and hair pushed away from his face, which held a surprised expression.

“Hey, kid.” He said, finally, after a moment of just staring at you in shock. It had been a while since Tommy had seen you up close. You looked more tired than he remembered.

“What do you want?” You asked, forgoing any sort of greeting towards the man. Opening the door was about as generous as you were prepared to be towards him.

His face morphed slightly, shock ebbing away, regret flowing in at the creases by his eyes, the grimace of his mouth. “Right, uh,” He paused, looking into your converted garage through the gap between you and the door. You pulled the door closer, so only you fit into the gap. “Alright, so, I know things have been… tense, between everybody, but I was hopin’ that you might join us. Me ‘n Maria are doin’ a winter’s dinner, not exactly Christmas, but it’s a day to be with family, y’know?” Tommy rambled on a bit, trying to spit all of his words out before you could decline, or shut the door in his face.

“We’re not family, Tommy.”

You watched his expression fall, which provided you with a sting that you hadn’t expected. But the sentiment remained the same — you weren’t family. Your surname wasn’t Miller. And even if it were, with the state of things between you, Tommy and Joel? It definitely wasn’t something you’d call family.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why he was coming to you with this now. Maybe before Joel had rejected you, before Tommy had watched on as any trust you had was shattered, but now? Now, he was lucky you even opened the door. You didn’t have a family, and it wasn’t a big loss to you. You’d gone this long without one, so what did it matter?

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was at a loss for words.

“Go home, okay?” You said, when his words continued to fail him. He swallowed, jaw clenched as his teeth gritted together. He was frustrated, though you doubted that was directed at you. More likely, was that it was directed at Joel. You knew things had been tense between the two of them recently, too.

He paused just as he was about to turn away. “Will you think about it, at least?” Tommy asked, though he didn’t look like he wanted to hear your answer. It wasn’t much of a question anyway.

You nodded, with no real intention of thinking about it. Well — no intention of thinking about attending. Thinking about the offer was a different story.

His shoulders deflated as he turned away, hearing you shut the door as he followed the path away from your place.

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Even a full twenty four hours after Tommy had approached you with his invitation, you couldn’t let it go.

It felt as though something within you had snapped, falling from a great height and landing in the pit of your stomach. For whatever reason, one that you couldn’t get into now, maybe ever, you were filled to the brim with dread. It bubbled over, pooling in your limbs and making everything feel far too heavy.

You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just let you be? Couldn’t he see that he had done more than enough, when it came to you?

Logically, you know it isn’t fair to blame him. Tommy wasn’t in control of anything his brother or pseudo-niece did. He had always tried to look out for you, and deep down, you know that he had truly believed that his brother would be good for you. He must have thought that, given Joel’s pre-outbreak experience, and now post-outbreak too, of being a father, he could’ve been that for you. Tommy couldn’t have known that Joel didn’t want another kid.

But that illogical part of you, the part that cowers away from everybody you meet, the part that was hurt, reminds you that it was his job to know. It was his responsibility to know what he was dumping you into. And more than that, Joel was his brother. How could he not have known?

You were the one who had ended up well and truly hurt from the encounter, not the other way around. So why did you feel guilty, every time Tommy’s expression at your scathing words popped into your mind? You hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, and you hadn’t said anything that he didn’t deserve to hear. So why? Why did you feel this unending twist of dread and guilt, eating away at your bones, your tissues, your organs?

Even now, as you worked a late night shift at the canteen, washing dishes, every time the water rippled, you could see his face. Distantly, you hoped Joel had felt like this, after what he had done to you. You hoped he remembered what he said, remembered your expression when you relayed his own message to him.

If you were honest with yourself, you think that if it had been Joel, you would’ve revelled in that expression. There’s a part of you, a part that is mean and bitter and full of resentment, that wants to hurt Joel, just like he had hurt you. You settle for staying as far away from him as you possibly can.

Joel had tried to see you a few times, back when it was fresh, with no luck from you. There was nobody in this world that you wanted to see less than him. At the very least, he got the message. Sometimes, you wonder if he had only shown up those few instances just for appearances. To make himself look better. It was no secret to the people of Jackson that Joel Miller was a questionable man, with an even more questionable past. But he did more for the town than most, so it wasn’t spoken about. Nothing more than whispers, anyway.

There had been a few whispers after your outburst at the Tipsy Bison, especially when somebody shared the news of your move across town. But it was chalked up to teenage dramatics, the youth, as if there really was such a thing.

Regardless, Tommy’s invitation to dinner was coming up in a mere two days. The knowledge of where and when it was happening made you uncomfortable, like an itch underneath your collar, it was stifling. Because that part of you, the one that wants to hurt Joel, also wants company. It craves a family, and that was a craving that had only ever come close to being fulfilled once. Still, it was a natural instinct within humans. Safety came in numbers, and there was comfort in having people you could trust. You wish that part of you could just be satisfied being solitary, because you’ll never go to that dinner. Not if you have anything to say about it.

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Two hours until dinner, and the sun was beginning to set.

And here you were, axe in hand, staring down at the dwindling pile of wood that you needed to cleave into pieces. It wouldn’t last two hours. In reality, it wouldn’t even last one. Still, you stare as though the logs might multiply, hoping for the excuse out of a dinner you didn’t want to go to. And you know that you have no obligation to any of those people, you do know that, but it’s hard to believe it. Partly because you don’t want to. Because you’re torn between the satisfaction of succeeding on your own, and the fear of cutting off all ties to the only people you think you’ve truly cared about.

Being alone is a lot easier in theory.

In practice, it’s harder than you had thought. You were doing okay when they all left you to it, left you to live your own life. But an invitation means something, and that’s hard to ignore.

You bring the axe down, letting the severing of wood distract you from all thoughts of invitations and dinners and meanings.

It’s about the most physical task they’ll let you do — courtesy of Tommy, you’re sure — but you relish in it. Something about it is rewarding. Reminds you of your capabilities, your survival. The cold air burns your lungs, and each swing of the axe makes your muscles ache, but in a satisfying way. And doing it like this, alone, makes you feel unmistakably powerful.

You hear the crunch of footsteps behind you, not heavy enough to be Tommy’s or—God forbid—Joel’s. You paid them no mind, leaning down to move the chopped wood into the pile you had already assembled. You grabbed another log and placed it down, and just as you were preparing to swing the axe back up, you heard somebody clear their throat.

“Hey,” Ellie said, when you turned around. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet as you failed to reply, fiddling with the gloves on her hands. “So, uh, you having fun chopping wood?” She asked, apparently trying to clear some of the tension that surrounded the two of you, that clung. You leant the top of the axe blade on the ground, and sighed. Your breath clouded in front of your face.

“What do you want?” You asked, repeating the very same question you had asked Tommy, feeling all the more certain about your adamancy about not going to that dinner. Ellie’s brows furrowed slightly, but she quickly deflated as soon as you could see the defensive air starting to rise within her.

She shifted again, before speaking. “Just wondering if you’re coming to dinner? Tommy said he wasn’t sure.”

You did your best not to scoff, mostly succeeding, as you turned back to the wood awaiting your axe. With practiced ease, your axe rose, and swung down at the wood, separating it with a satisfying crack. “Wouldn’t count on it.” You said, as polite as you could say: no, no, I’m not fucking coming to dinner. You’re not my family. You don’t care about me. I don’t care about you. There’s nothing left here.

It was ridiculous for them to send Ellie to come and convince you to attend, of all people. Their best bet would have been Maria, who had never technically done anything that had hurt you. No, all of the fault laid with the Millers, and with Ellie.

The two of you could’ve remained friends, could’ve been something close to a family, but she didn’t want that. She chose to cut you out, to isolate you even further, to disappear from your life completely, despite being the only reason you had ever opened up to Joel. It was like she had taken a knife, and cut you open, let you warm, simmer, before leaving you out on the counter to cool. To rot.

“What happened to you?” Ellie asked, as if she didn’t know, as if she hadn’t been a part of it. Like there was no reason for your shift from being warm around her, to being ice cold. She had done this to you. At least, in part.

You didn’t say anything at first, choosing to finish chopping the wood in front of you, and piling it off to the side. Finally, you turned to her as she watched you, brows furrowed, lip curled defensively. “You people happened. You all fucking happened. Is that enough for you? Is that enough for why I don’t want to go to some stupid winter dinner?” You said, not raising your voice, but hearing more anger and irritation seep into your tone as you spoke.

She looked like she wanted to take a step back, but she stayed firm. “We all have our own problems,” Ellie told you, voice harsh and unrelenting as she spoke, and her expression hardened. “Everybody does! It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, okay?”

It would have been so easy to continue arguing with her, to descend into childish taunts and quips, to disguise genuine hurt with ridiculous arguments, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You said nothing, turning back to the depleting supply of unchopped wood.

Ellie seemed ready to burst. “Me and Joel have our own fucking problems! It’s not always good. But you can’t just give up on someone!” She said loudly, stepping towards you, ignoring the snow crunching underneath her shoes. It seemed to you that she was trying to convince herself, more than anything. Whatever she came to you with, now, wasn’t really about you. It was about her.

“I’m not the one who gave up, Ellie. You and Joel are more alike than you know. But at least he had the decency to tell me why he was giving up on me.” You told her, staying calm, despite the way your blood was rushing through your body, carrying so much adrenaline you felt like your heart may just burst.

She gaped at you, seeming more stuck on the concept of her and Joel being alike than on how she had hurt you. You figured it would go like this, though, if the two of you ever spoke again. It wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything in your life always turned out the way you expected it to. Even Joel and Ellie, in the end, had done as much, despite surprising you at first. It was inevitable. Your every worry, every fear, even the ones that Tommy had once labelled as irrational, had turned out to be true.

You wouldn’t go to the dinner.

Everything between you and the extended Miller family was in ruins, and like you, it couldn’t be salvaged. It was over with. Done.

Now, all that was left to do was wipe your hands clean of them.

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A/N: hello if you made it this far! it has been a WHILE. but in honour of ITDWS being posted a year ago today (!!!!!!!!!) i thought i’d give y’all SOMETHING!!! it’s not amazing but i hope you enjoy!!! life has been crazy + i haven’t been writing much but i still love and appreciate every single one of you <3 i think of you often.

#heartpascal writes #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #tommy miller fic #tommy miller imagines #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller one shot #tommy miller angst #joel miller angst #ellie williams angst

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Cargo. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 4)

3.1k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader 18+ / pt 1 / master list

His arms loosen and you turn around to face him. Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him. You try to kiss him and he dodges you again, going for your neck instead. . . He starts giving you a light hickey. "You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him. He smiles wickedly, then it fades. | next: part 5

Thank you @dark-scape for the mood board (and sounding board).

CONTENT WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ Noncon somnophilia just the tip (don't get too excited) dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral (M receiving), alcohol, reader wears his shirt, excessive dialogue, elvis reference, sex work references, NO HOG BBQ YET SORRY- It took on a life of its own, needed its own part (next Sunday) and I think you'll see why the pacing is better that way.

Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

The hotel shampoo and body wash smell like Joel after his shower, which makes you want to take the bottles with you. After your bath, you lounge on your bed in a towel, air-drying, finishing the movie, and replaying the night in your mind. Mainly how hot Joel looked between your legs. You also dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t really kiss you. Apparently, he won't sleep in the same bed with you either. It hurts. Like, it's physically painful.

You go across the suite to Joel's room for a shirt to sleep in. His door is cracked open and there's a green flannel folded on top of his luggage. It’s not weather-appropriate and you wonder if he brought it for you. He's tucked in, already asleep on his stomach with his shirt off, a massive arm sticking out over the white comforter and another under his pillow. You drop your towel to put the shirt on – leisurely, hoping he wakes up to the tempting sight – but he's already sleeping soundly. You've never seen his face so relaxed, but his brow is still somewhat furrowed.

You sit down on his bed to fasten a couple of buttons. He doesn't wake up. The irony doesn't escape you that you're watching him sleep when he's supposed to be the creep. Why doesn't he try to fuck you, you wonder. His words to Chad echo in your mind: If she told her father, you wouldn't be breathing. But that's obviously different, you think. That was about someone breaking your heart and physically intimidating you.

The hotel bed is tightly made, with the comforter tucked under the mattress on the side Joel isn't using. You wonder if you could slip inside without waking him up. You move the pillows out of the way, then slowly, inch by inch, wedge yourself under the sheets. When you're almost settled, he stirs. He blinks a few times, squints at you, then sighs, "Trouble . . ." He moves one of his pillows and hugs it, effectively putting something between you. It stings. You try to sleep but you end up sniffling.

He hears you and wakes up again. "C'mere, damnit," he half-whispers, half-asleep. His gruff bedroom whisper makes you wet. He lifts up his arm but doesn't turn on his side or move the pillow. You rotate the pillow slightly and rest your head on it with his arm over your chest. You drift off sooner than you expect.

At some point in your sleep, you roll over facing away from him. You wake up in the fetal position with Joel’s arm draped over you. Joel has turned onto his side, too. Your upper back is just barely against his chest. You scoot your lower body backwards to spoon with him, and your naked ass meets the tip of his cock. Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning. It's the first time you've actually had contact with it. You didn't even realize he was naked.

At the first contact, his hips instinctively press his cock up against you, sending all the blood in your body to your core. You stifle a moan, not stopping to wonder why you don't want to wake him up. You carefully maneuver your ass to nestle his cock between your thighs. He thrusts in his sleep, gliding firm and wet against your folds, reaching your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You unbutton your shirt then nudge his hand into it. His hand twitches and so does his cock. It pulls back a little and the tip is right at your entrance. Your hips tilt, nestling it there, the top curve of the head resting just inside without truly breaching you. You could sink onto him right now. It would be so easy. But you want him to do it himself.

You're absolutely throbbing, aching for him. He pulls back again with a sigh, then his hard tip bypasses your tight, dripping hole and glides to your clit again and you softly moan. You adjust your chest, wanting the movement of your breast to prompt his hand to cup around it. But instead of cupping your breast, his hand drifts up your chest. Then, it wraps loosely around your throat.

His voice is quiet but stern as his cock retreats then slides firmly against your clit with an aggressive thrust. His hand applies light pressure around your throat. “What’d I tell ya last night?”

You remember it well, how you foolishly claimed you weren't gonna fuck him and he replied, oh, I'm not gonna let ya, sugar. Blood drains from your face and your heart races. You scoff but don't say anything. Having made his point, his hand goes slack again. Humiliation drowns out your arousal and you begin to scoot away, but he follows you, effortlessly restraining you with one enormous arm.

“Calm down," he says into your hair, then half-whispers under your ear, "I’m still gonna take care of ya,” as he palms your breast. His hard cock nestles against your crack.

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically and begin to squirm away, but both his arms wrap around you. In a mocking tone, you parrot, "Take care of me," and add, "you're an actual whore, aren't you?" A veiny hand slowly works your breast then trails down your torso and digs between your legs. That’s all it takes for your arousal to return.

He gathers your ample wetness and uses his middle and ring fingers in a way he must have been perfecting since before you were born. You gasp and your back arches with tension building rapidly in your core. His bicep flexes under your neck as his other hand slowly gropes your breasts. His stiff cock slowly ruts against your ass while he touches you like you've never been touched before.

He grunts and you gasp on the edge of your climax. He softly bites your neck, and it sends you. He sucks your neck as you come. When your body finishes convulsing into his, his arms loosen and you turn around to face him.

Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him. You can't resist. You try to kiss him.

He fucking dodges you again, going for your neck instead. "Haven't you seen Pretty woman?" Yeah, the one where a sex worker won’t kiss johns on the mouth because it’s too emotional . . .Joel starts giving you a light hickey.

"You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.

He smiles wickedly, then it fades. He opens his mouth to say something but stops short when you reach down and grab his cock. Your mouth falls open at its hardness and the fact that his hand is already around it.

He winces at your icy fingers.

You get up on your knees and straddle his legs, pushing the plush luxury comforter behind you. You fold at the hips and take a moment to admire his cock in your fist and breathe in his musk. Your thumb lightly traces a vein, and he exhales with a soft grunt. You look up and are greeted with a twinkle in his eye and a barely perceptible smirk. You want to wipe that smirk off his face.

You quickly succeed by holding eye contact while you wrap your lips around his swollen tip and tongue the slit. It’s already salty with pre-cum. He takes a deep breath and his lips part just barely. He puts another pillow behind his head for a better view. His face falls into a trance. When you begin to suck, he swallows and his jaw clenches. His eyes darken. You bob your head on his cock, taking as much of his shaft as you can without gagging, stroking the rest with your hand.

“Fuck,” he pants. His quads tense under you and his breathing changes. His hips rock gently into your mouth. Your eyes water as you keep blowing him. Then, his hand joins yours.

“Where ya want it?” he asks somewhat urgently. What a gentleman.

You don’t answer, you simply take his hand off his cock and place it on his stomach. You slow your sucking and relax your tongue. His hips thrust gently into your mouth and his hand floats to your head, but you send it back to his stomach again

“God almighty,” he groans. “Fuck me.” It’s a turn-on seeing him so desperate.

You edge him until you’re ready to see him come. Then, you suck with your whole mouth, your cheeks caving in as you firmly tongue the underside. Within seconds, his hips lift and stay lifted as he erupts in your mouth with a groan. His warm load hits the roof of your mouth first, and it’s so many ropes you lose count. You swallow, then return to the head of the bed.

You put your head on his chest and he strokes your shoulder.

“You’re the evil one,” he says, and you bask in self-satisfaction for a minute. “Nah, you’re right. You don’t wanna believe it, but you’re right.”

“About what?”

He sits up and your eyes glue to his inner bicep flexing as he reaches for his phone. His brow furrows as he reads something then dismisses it. Then he puts on the song Trouble by Elvis. He meant you’re right that he’s evil.

You hold out your arm and say, “I’m cringing so hard I have goosebumps.”

“Just for that, I’m gonna play DJ allll mornin’,” he says. He sings along as he walks to the shower, “well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me. . .”

. . .

Before Joel takes you back to your apartment, you have brunch at a restaurant overlooking the riverwalk. In the absence of other options, you wear your leather pants with the lacy top. You both get bloody marys. He wears his Ray-Bans and a white t-shirt, jeans as tight as always, and sits back lazily with one elbow over the back of his chair and his knees spread wide.

Your phone dings with a text from another family friend, Frank, asking if you’re coming home for the Independence Day barbecue, and it gets you thinking.

“Dad’s back this week,” you say to Joel. You instantly regret it for killing the mood, but it’s the elephant in the room. “Y’all still gonna barbecue?”

He takes a sip of his drink, then puts it back down. He looks at the river and furrows his brow, then his eyes return to you. “Why wouldn’t we? You gonna talk to him?”

“I dunno,” you say, not wanting to show your hand, but you’re leaning against snitching any time soon.

Joel tenses and his nose twitches. “What are you gonna tell’m?” He rubs one side of his beard. A waiter approaches from behind, but Joel doesn’t see him. “Gonna tell’m you climbed into my bed? Tried to fuck yourself on my cock?" There’s a bite to his words. The waiter stops in his tracks and awkwardly tries to pretend he wasn’t coming to your table. You look at the waiter and shrug and he gulps before nodding at you in acknowledgement. Joel looks over his shoulder then shakes his head at you and smirks as the waiter walks away.

Climbed into his bed. . . tried to fuck yourself on his cock. . . It sounds so bad when he puts it that way. Maybe it was. Your cheeks burn.

You sigh. "I wasn't -”

Joel raises his eyebrows at you.

“Just the tip," you protest.

Joel nods thoughtfully.

“I dunno what I was thinking,” you admit. You cross your arms and slouch down in your seat.

"It's never just the tip," Joel says.

"Why didn't you want it?" You ask pathetically

He sighs. "Nothin' to do with want.” He takes a deep breath and leans back. He looks at the river, exhales, then adds, "Trust me. . .Fuck." He takes a sip of his bloody mary and looks back at you.

"What then?”

The way he looks like he’s racking his brain, you wonder if he’s holding back just to drive you crazy. It certainly has your attention. In fact, you didn’t know how badly you needed to fuck him until last night . . .just minutes after he said he wasn’t going to let you.

Finally, he says, "It's bad for you, sugar."

“What is? Your evil cock?”

He smirks then shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks at the river again. “I dunno what to tell ya. I've seen a lot. Don't wanna put ya through it. Shoot, look at your stepmom, she's damn near lost her mind.”

“You're just that good,” you roll your eyes. You have every reason to believe he is.

Joel sighs. “Nothin' to do with good. Shit, I’m not good, I'm just grown." He takes a sip of his bloody mary. "Don't you know any hot professors? Take 'em for a spin, you'll see."

You brush it off as his crude way of being modest. He could probably make bank as an actual gigolo from what you’ve seen.

"Then what is it?" you wonder. He gives it some thought.

"Reckon it’s ‘cause ya can't have me. No one can. I'm un-have-able."

“Why don’t you ever settle down?”

“Shoot, I dunno. When I was your age, I was already a father. Maybe I went backwards.”

You nod, appreciative of his effort to give a real answer.

He continues, “But ya know, monogamy just ain’t right for some people. Hell, even in a marriage. You’d be surprised how many are open.”

“How many what? Marriages?” You suspect his sample is skewed.

“Yeah. Relationships, marriages.” He crosses his legs. “Alright, my turn to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart rate spikes, hoping he won’t revisit the just-the-tip incident.

“Why'd you stand there and watch that night, hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow. It’s the first time either of you bring up the moment that started all of this. Sometimes, when you’re with him, you forget about it entirely.

You laugh at his audacity, then counter with, "Why'd you stand there and finish?"

"Easy. So I could nut.” He flashes his eyebrows with a casual smirk, then downs the rest of his drink.

"You did not just say nut. God, you're such a boomer."

"Alright, let's get outta here ‘fore we traumatize another waiter." He throws more than enough cash on the table then stands up and pulls up his jeans. He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a leg out, looking out over the river while you chug the rest of your drink.

When you get in the truck, Joel puts his phone on bluetooth and “Call Me,” the theme to American Gigolo, blasts on. He’s so lame. You shake your head at him and he has that subtle Dad joke smirk. His bicep stretches that t-shirt so nicely.

Halfway to your apartment, some kind of restricted call pops up and his phone automatically answers it. You swear it’s your father’s voice on the line that says, “You’re offline. What’s your 20?” Joel’s face changes entirely, and something tightens in your chest.

He scrambles to turn off bluetooth and puts the phone to his ear. You can still somewhat hear the other end of the line.

Joel glances at you and says, “Uhhh-”

“We’ve gotta move,” your dad says.

“It’s broad daylight,” Joel counters.

“The Bureau tracked down his number two and he’s on the move.”

Joel seems frustrated. “Why don’t you get Jesse?”

Your dad says, “He’s comin’ but they’re rollin’ deep. We need our best shot or it’s gonna be a shitshow.” Your heart is a mile a minute.

“Dad?” you ask meekly, too nervous to fully commit to asking.

“What was that?” your Dad asks. “Who was that?” You don't say anything else. You feel weak.

Joel glances at you regretfully. “Damnit, gimme ten and I’ll call you.”

“We gotta move, Miller. I need you back online.”

Joel sighs “Working on it. I’ve got cargo, k?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. "What kind of cargo?”

Joel looks at you again and answers, "precious.” He hangs up.

Joel hits the steering wheel angrily. He speeds back toward your apartment, clenching his jaw as his driving intensifies. You’re shaking. That was almost certainly your father, and it didn’t sound anything like a military training exercise, or a construction project of Joel’s, for that matter.

Joel silently fumes.

“Was that my dad?” you ask with watery eyes. He takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out as he exhales. Before he can answer, you foolishly let him off the hook with another question. “Did you just call me cargo?"

“Sorry sugar, no time right now.” You ride in silence, bracing yourself as he careens around a corner.

The tears in your eyes threaten to overflow, then one does.

Joel pulls up to your apartment. He waits with one hand still on the steering wheel for you to get out, but when he looks at you, he sees that big fat tear run down your cheek and his face softens.

“Aw, shoot,” he says, and unbuckles. “I’m an asshole.” He gets out and jogs over to the passenger side. He opens the door for you and you slide out of the chair lazily, numbly, not quite wanting to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, and tilts your chin up. Suddenly, it seems like he’s in no hurry at all. He takes off his Ray-Bans and looks at you like he’s trying to heal you with his eyes. You finally make eye contact and take a shaky breath, trying not to full-on sob. His thumb brushes away your tears, then the same hand cradles the back of your head. You stand there reading each other’s eyes. Slowly, your head begins to pull like a magnet toward his lips. You almost feel like his hand is ever so subtly pulling you that way. You steel yourself for rejection anyway. But then, Joel’s head drifts toward yours.

His beard lightly prickles your skin as your lips lock and his free arm wraps around you. You’re caught off guard, but in less than a second, you don’t care about anything else in the world. Joel’s tongue parts your lips and you accept it hungrily. His lips are soft but strong as they suck you into him. Your mouths are needy for each other. His hand behind your head pulls you further into him. You kiss like you’re sharing a last breath of air. Then, he seals the moment on your upper lip and pulls away. The whole kiss can’t be more than ten seconds, tops.

“Gotta go, Trouble.” he whispers, then swallows solemnly, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

He jumps in his truck and peels off.

next: part 5

thank you all so much for reading and engaging. y'all are the best ILY!!!

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

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Yearling - Complete Tumblr Master List

Yearling: noun - A young horse, older than a foal but not yet two years old. - A still wild thing that is too new to tame

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

On A03 | Spotify Playlist | No Outbreak AU Masterlist

WARNING: this fic does have plot overlap with TLOU2. It’s not a retelling of the game but if you want to go into season 2 spoiler free, approach with caution.

Chapter 1 - Break

Chapter 2 - Escape

Chapter 3 - Noise

Chapter 4 - Contribution

Chapter 5 - Movement

Chapter 6 - Shoot

Chapter 7 - Revival

Chapter 8 - Tipsy

Chapter 9 - Hold

Chapter 10 - Feral

Chapter 11 - Touch

Chapter 12 - Animals

Chapter 13 - Falling

Chapter 14 - Time

Chapter 15 - Past

Chapter 16 - Firsts

Chapter 17 - Stay

Chapter 18 - Reverse

Chapter 19 - Purpose

Chapter 20 - Healing

Chapter 21 - Holiday

Chapter 22 - Storm

Chapter 23 - Search

Chapter 24 - Return

Chapter 25 - Balance

Chapter 26 - Carved

Chapter 27 - Found

Chapter 28 - Newcomer

Chapter 29 - Together

Chapter 30 - Blood

Chapter 31 - Warmth

Chapter 32 - Promises

Chapter 33 - Discovery

Chapter 34 - Anything

Chapter 35 - Answers

Chapter 36 - Severed

Chapter 37 - Pieces

Chapter 38 - Reckoning

Chapter 39 - Returning

Chapter 40 - Home

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass @planet-marz1 @kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic #slow burn #friends to lovers #hbo the last of us #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #eventual smut #eventual romance #angst #hurt/comfort #tlou2 spoilers

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 months

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Thirsty Thursday June 27th, 2024 Masterlist

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted a request. This is the most I've written in a single day in so long. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog!

Theme: Charlie Hunnam (Raymond Smith, King Arthur, William Ironhead Miller) x Female Reader

William Ironhead Miller

Will reads his girlfriends dirty novel

Desperate Will

Raymond Smith

"Keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up."

Fancy dinner, fancy toys

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword

Old Friends

Taglist:

@rayslittlekitten @h-hxgirl @hearttbreak @marvelousmermaid @evyiione @rosieposie0624 @ariello @thesirenrealm @delicious-xx

@savagemickey03 @jedi-mando @idreamofboobear @aerolanya @rebelliouscat @darklingveracruz @marvelprincess1994 @thirstworldproblemss @spacelatinoss @Martellthemandalor @KesSkirata @waatermelon-sugaar @Jitterbugs927 @helga1031 @greeneyedblondie44 @oldstuffnewstuff @Yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @aellynera @lucifer- @phoenixhalliwell @sixshooter665 @chicken-ona-stick @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis @paintballkid711 @wasicskosgirl @fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog @boxdyeblonde @rosiefridayrogersunday @Yeah-seems-legit @mimimi-stuff @ladyblogger-margie @Memyselfandellasworld @peterhollandkait @itspdameronthings @emmy626 @Randomness501 @littlebopper96 @alexmarie29 @Hell-is-my-second-home666 @Thisshipwillsail316 @madslorian @no-droids-on-sunday @glixxr @pedro-pastel @we-can-be-himbos @sleep-tight1 @Sarhabee @its--fandom--darling @Im-an-adult-ish @princess76179 @Demoncrypt1066 @the-dendrophile-bookworm @Amneris21 @deliciouslydisturbed365 @princessxkenobi @ew-erin @maievdenoir @Withakindheartx @goblinqueen95 @jaime1110 @niki-xie @gooddaykate @simsiddy @its--fandom--darling @gorgeousgrogu @hopplessdreamer @missminkylove @blufanfictionthings @arellanofelixboys @h-hxgirl @dreamer-101 @fangirl-316 @beesting77 @phandoz @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @practicalghost @xoxabs88xox @solemnlyswearss

#Charlie Hunnam #Thirsty Thursday #Raymond Smith #William Ironhead Miller #king arthur legend of the sword #Female Reader #William Ironhead Miller x reader #Raymond Smith x Reader #King Arthur x Reader #Autumn Writes

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band--psycho · 1 year

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Raymond Smith x Reader - Let Me Make It Up To You

My first entry for my 3.6k drabble celebration!

I enjoyed writing this so much, thank you so much @deathbecomesnerds for requesting this!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Prompt - You tried to kill me three days ago

Raymond wasn’t surprised when he saw Y/n in his kitchen, pointing a gun at him as soon as he entered the room.

Instead he was relieved.

A small chuckle fell from lips as he rolled up the sleeves of shirt slightly.

“You are aware I’m pointing a gun at you, right?” Y/n questioned, anger growing in her eyes; she was clearly annoyed by Raymond's response but he maintained completely unphased. It certainly wasn’t the first he had had a gun pointed at him nor would it be the last.

Plus, he knew that this was all being done just to prove a point.

“I am very much aware,” he began, a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he walked closer to her, “but we both know you’re not gonna shoot me, sweetheart.”

“You do remember that you tried to kill me three days ago?” She scoffed, pulling the lapel of her jacket to the side slightly revealing the wound Raymond had left her with, “Why do you think I wouldn’t pull the trigger?”

What made him know that he was right in his statement? Because he knew that as pissed off at him as she was, he knew how she felt about him, and he felt exactly the same way he felt about her.

Did he shoot her? Yes.

But he knew it wouldn’t kill her.

Though that didn’t seem to stop a small wave of guilt from washing over him as he looked at the bullet wound just below her collar bone.

“You know why,” he answered her latter questioned first, slowly putting one foot in front of the other to close some of the distance between them, until his forehead was near enough touching the barrel of the gun Y/n was holding, “and if I wanted you dead, do you honestly think you would still be breathing?”

It was a rhetorical question; she knew Raymond, and she knew that if he wanted her dead, she would be dead.

A sigh left her lips as she lowered the gun and put it down on the kitchen counter.

“Still fucking hurt though,” she muttered, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes as she looked at him.

He was a lot closer to her now; and as much as she wanted to push him away she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Even now she craved his touch.

“I know,” he acknowledged solemnly, tentatively moving the lapel of her jacket to the side so he could look at the wound again.

“I am sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, placing a featherlight kiss above the forming scar.

“Gonna take a lot more than that to get me to forgive you,” Y/n remarked, trying to fight back her smile as his lips worked their way up her neck.

“Oh sweetheart,” he continued, leaving a trail of kisses from her scar, up her neck until her lips were hovering inches from hers, “I’m just getting started."

Tagging:

@yn-ymn-yln @rayslittlekitten @thexhostess @the-mayan-queen @youflickedtooharddamnit @pomegranatearildreams @jessyballet @hotdamnhunnam @rebelwrites @little-diable @autumnleaves1991-blog @xacatalepsyx @book-dragon03 @bookworm1767 @heyitskat101 @amberputh @mayans-mc @evyiione @drabby-abby @navs-bhat @tinystudentmiracle @qualitybelieverflower-blog @xxemberlights @theestorm @greenapplegrass @munsinner

#raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith imagines #raymond smith imagine #the gentlemen imagines #the gentlemen imagine #the gentlemen #raymond smith the gentlemen

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albertasunrise · 2 years

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Look for the Light - Masterlist

Masterlist

Note: This fic idea basically came to me after watching episode two. Gonna be in a few parts. Can’t wait to share it with you all ♥️

Summary: Four years ago, Joel saved you from certain death. In return, you followed him faithfully. Always ready to do and give him whatever he asked, despite the hurt it inflicted on you, body and soul. Agreeing to go with him to deliver Ellie to the Fireflies… this would be the last time you’d follow him… After this, your debt would be paid.

Relationships: Reader x Joel Miller, Joel Miller & Ellie, Reader & Ellie

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Taglist form

Tags: @hayley-the-comet @ajeff855 @mavericksicybabe @supernaturalgirl20 @dihra-vesa @nicolethered @practicalghost @theanothersherlockian @gallowsjoker @little-mrs-morales @sunnshineeexoxo @aliwritesfic @maryfanson @sherala007 @ayrusss @greeneyedblondie44 @elegantduckturtle @jediknight122 @goodgriefitsawildworld @voteforpedro09 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @mishasminion360 @giggly-otter @athalien @mssbridgerton @huitzilinthebudgie3 @samanthacookieone @salome-c @radcollectivesoul @pedrohoe04 @paintlavillered @ktmadden86 @hotchlover @kirsteng42 @djjarins @balekanemohafe @misscampacyn @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @pedromandoverse @destiny-tsukino @mysun-n-stars @tombraider42017 @littlemisspascal @thatpinkshirt @evyiione @girlofchaos @vanemando15

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller the last of us #last of us #the last of us #joel miller gif #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #masterlist #last of us masterlist

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libraryofneith · 2 months

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Out of Mind - Chapter 11 (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

@hiroikegawa @evyiione @orcasoul

Guess who just graduated and got into grad school! And how am I celebrating? By abandoning my academic endeavours for my fics.

I know it's been a slow burn but we are so close I promise!

If you want to be the first to know when this fic is updated let me know and I'll add you to the taglist.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Summary: Joel shelters you from the storm

Tags/Warnings: [whole fic is 18+, minors DNI], it puts its age in the bio or it gets the block button, nearly freezing to death, survival, nudity, just for body heat honest

It was funny. Moments ago, all he'd wanted was sleep and now he'd done all that he could do, now that he finally could sleep, he was wide awake.

Joel

The door wouldn't budge. The hinges creaked and groaned with protest and refused to give way. Joel cursed. He would have to put her down.

She gave a muffled cry of protest as he lay her gently in the snow but it couldn't be helped. He was going to have to put his full weight behind this next push and he couldn't do that while carrying her.

She'd collapsed a while back. She'd lasted longer than he'd feared she would but a combination of the cold, the climb and the lack of sleep eventually drained the last of her energy and she'd curled up in the snow, letting the blizzard cover her, refusing to budge.

"We have to keep going."

"Can't."

"C'mon, we're nearly there."

"You said that an hour ago." Had it been an hour? Time didn't seem to mean anything anymore. There was too much snow to see the sky and he didn't have the strength to look up. Just ahead. He had to keep looking ahead.

"You can't stay here."

"Just let me rest a bit. Just a bit. I'll be fine in a minute." Joel had heard that before. Before, he had pressed on regardless, leaving it to the other person to get back up or lie there and let the snow take them. Perhaps she'd get back up if he left her. Perhaps not. He was not taking that chance.

With her in his arms he couldn't shield his face from the snowstorm and he got turned around four times. Five times he thought he spied the cabin but it turned out to be a large tree, if anything at all. So when he finally saw it, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him again and he nearly sobbed with relief when the house stayed where it was as he walked on. Now he was there and they couldn't get in.

He took a few steps back then rushed forward covering his head as he bulldozed the door open and fell through. It took the rest of his willpower to get back up.

She barely said or did anything as he dragged her in and that chilled him more than any snow or wind. So he got to work quickly. He taped the door shut to keep out the wind, and any other unwelcome elements. Mercifully there was the remains of a fire in the fireplace and some scraps of paper and twigs. Not enough for a huge fire but it would have to do, any wood out there would be soaked. He got the flames going then took out his flask and cursed as he realised the whisky was frozen into slush. He put it by the fire to warm up then turned to her.

"Ciara"

"Mmmph"

"We're inside but we're gonna freeze in these clothes, you understand?"

"Ciara wake up." Her eyes were open but she seemed dazed.

"OK?"

"Ciara we both need to strip naked, can you do that?" She closed her eyes and groaned.

"Do you need me to help?" A nod. Thank god. He hoped she didn't give him hell later. He stripped himself first. It felt weird taking her clothes off while he still had all of his on. Maybe that made no sense but it was how he felt.

He felt no less cold naked than he had fully clothed, but she shivered as each layer of wet clothing was peeled off and when he exposed her skin, it was so icy that he hissed through his teeth like he'd been burned. But he had to keep going or they were both goners. There was still a bed with a duvet so they wouldn't have to use their wet sleeping bags. He grabbed the duvet and blanket and covered them both and they each took a swig of the semi warm whiskey. Joel shuddered at the cold slush but the burning taste helped a lot. He had to help her, tilting her head back so she could drink. She gagged at the taste but kept it down.

It was funny. Moments ago, all he'd wanted to do was sleep but now that he'd done all that he could do, now that he finally could sleep, he was wide awake. Adrenaline was coursing through his body. He couldn't believe they'd actually made it. And now they were lying here. Like two icicles stuck together.

As much as he hated to admit it, he'd imagined being pressed to her naked form so many times but not like this, not with the two of them barely holding on to consciousness. He'd made sure to look as little as possible but the glimpses - the bare shoulders, the curve where her neck met her body, the divot between her shoulder blades… it was the sweetest form of torture. How was a man meant to sleep just inches away from that? Still, he felt his eyes growing heavy as we watched her, her hair cascading down her back, moving with each breath. He found himself fighting sleep but as he gazed at the hair on the nape of her neck, he was pulled into the smell, the feel and the sweet sweet warmth of her.

#the last of us #hbo the last of us #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x oc

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chaotic-iguana · 1 year

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Refuge | prologue

estranged husband joel miller x f! reader, reunited post-outbreak

wordcount: 0.4k

summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? what if just another mundanely late night at the office on the night of the outbreak separated them for a decade?

series warnings: angst, swearing, anxiety, fear, survivor’s guilt, rough marriage, reconciliation, complicated feelings and eventual smut. there will be dark themes. as always mdni.

series masterlist | next chapter | general masterlist

Naïvety is often the tragedy of youth. You were denied both. Years of suffering and loss gave way to Jackson, which quickly damned you rather than offering the salvation that it promised. The feeling that you were drowning, the need to look over your shoulder, never really left. Not until he came back into your life.

The day had been long enough already. The walls were closing in on you, familiar shadows tinting the edges of your vision. You ignored them, attempting to half-successfully distract yourself by shelving your books, pretentiously lingering on whether to reorganize them alphabetically or by genre. No one gives a shit. You could hear a crowd outside, but you couldn’t find it in you to join them, to see what was causing the rumbling chattering growing louder by the second. Curling your trembling fingers into fists, you waited for it to pass. Back when it mattered, you would have called this a panic attack. The way air slipped from the grasp of your gulped breaths, the tingling in your hands and feet - the crushing weight of something sitting on your chest.

The door to your shop was abruptly thrown open, Fred running in, panting. What the fuck is he doing?

“Tommy and his men were at the power plant and Maria spotted someone - he’s even got a little girl with him. Jackson’s getting two new residents, we think. Come welcome them with us.”

Sinking your teeth into your lip to keep from scoffing, you turned your back to him to continue sorting your books.

He’d been getting too familiar lately, mistaking a few instances of forced proximity thanks to the patrol schedule as a friendship - one that apparently justified him putting his hand on your waist, and leering at you, too. In post-apocalyptic times, mild creepiness is hardly the most heinous sin one can commit, so you let it go. But you drew the line at this. At the bullshit in his voice, at the sheer audacity in his tone.

“Get the fuck out. Do I look like I want to join a stupid welcome party? And why on earth was this groundbreaking enough for you to need to sprint here?”

You watched his face fall and harden at your biting words, his jaw flexing and eyes narrowing until he just looked cruel.

“It’s Tommy’s brother. He’s here.”

A beat of silence passed, and suddenly you felt your knees buckle, vision going black…

masterlist

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio , @pedrosaidsheispunk , @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk , @bastardmandennis, @breakfastatjoels, @evyiione dividers by @reveriesources designs by me!

A/N: starting my first ever proper series. im super excited!!!

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loveisfriendship · 6 months

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Are you wifi?

Author’s Note: As a celebration of the return of my creativity. And as this is one of my stories which still gets a lot of love, I wanted to give "Are you Cinderella?" a part 2.

Can’t believe this one is from 2018. Time flies.

Enjoy!

Love,

Lis

A couple days after your spontaneous Pick-up-Line challenge, you were all on a lookout. While you and Danny were in a car together and Chin and Kelly as well. Steve was with Lou. You were all just talking about Valentins Day, and how horrible they went for most of you.

“Maybe Danny could have used some of the pick-up lines that we heard a few days ago.” Chin chimed in, making everyone laugh, you even more when you not only heard Dannys groan but saw him through his head back against the seat.

“Please don’t remind them.” Danny said.

“Oh, I heard of the best ones.” Lou chimed in.

“I have some of my one, you know.” He adds, and all of you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“No, Lou. Now is not the time.” Danny retorts at the same time as you say “Oh please, tell us.” The other also encouraging him.

“My wifes favourite was `I'd like to take you to the movies, but they don't let you bring in your own snacks.’” Lou says, making everyone crack up.

“I like it a bit more smooth, so my favorite is ‘Is it OK if I follow you out of here? My parents always told me to follow my dreams.’” He continues, causing everyone to ohh and ahh.

“I heard a new one, from a friend the other night. ‘Your middle name must be Gillette. Because you're the best a man can get!’” Chin chims in.

“What? That’s really just awful.” Kelly replies, but laughs nonetheless.

“Hey Steve.” You say, making Danny groand already, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah?” Steves answers.

“Know what's on the menu tonight?”

“What?” he says, and you can hear the Kelly can barely hold it together.

“Me-N-U.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Hey baby?” Steve says.

“Yes.” You answer, smiling and looking at Danny.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to hear it.” He says.

“Are you wi-fi? Cause I'm totally feeling a connection.” Steve says anyway.

While everyone still chuckles, Danny looks at you.

“What? Smile Danno. It’ll do you good.” You say, nudging his shoulder.

“You think the one I have would have helped me with Melissa?” he asks you, making you gasp.

“Please Danno, let us hear it.” Steve says, everyone being completely silent, waiting on Danny’s line.

“If I had to rate you from 1 to 10, I'd give you a 9, because I'm the 1 you're missing.” He finally says.

Everyone whistles and Lou says “That’s even smoother than mine.” Followed by many “wow Danny.”’s by the others.

You take his hand and look him in the eyes. “Danny… That line?” you asks, making him hum, looking at you. “That would have been 100% better than what you gave her.” You say, bursting into a laugh, while Danny tries to tickle you.

Taglist:@geeksareunique@fandomoniumflurry @rahma29417 @letsstarsfalling@fairchild21 @fungk17 @woodworthit666 @honestlyoriginalthing @evyiione@everygoodusernameistaken16@littlewhiterose@reincarnated-ghost@princess76179 @damedoctoroftardis

#danny williams #steve mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett x reader #hawaii 5 0 #hawaii five o #lis writes

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chloesolace · 2 years

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Hi, your works are so wonderful. Could you please consider making Daemon/reader where she is a bastard daughter of some noble house and her family treats her horrible. She meets Daemon during tournament and he is mesmerized by her beauty and tries to follow her everywhere. She avoids him because she is a bastard and she is a bit afraid of his attention due to his hard reputation. She is shy and pure and very opposite to his personality. He tries his best to win her.

Wilted Roses - Daemon Targaryen x Bastard!Reader

summary: It is the day of the Heir’s Tournament, hosted by King Viserys Targaryen, and the noble House Tyrell is invited to witness it. Being the bastard daughter of the current patriarch of the House, you were surprised when your father allowed you to come, too, and even wear the family symbols. When your brother gets ready to partake in the tournament, your eyes meet the Rogue Prince’s, and he seems to be immediately drawn to you. Despite your best efforts to stay under his radar, the way your brother is treating you does not go unnoticed by Daemon, whose bad side you’d rather not find yourself on.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x bastard!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: domestic (mental) abuse

a/n: I think I'm having issues tagging some people... like, tumblr doesn't seem to find the blogs even though I mostly copy paste the usernames :( if someone knows how I can fix this, please lmk. I'm still fairly new to tumblr.

Taglist:

@mirandastuckinthe80s @omgsuperstarg @agentstarkid @faatxma @a-lil-bit-nuts @wasntpriscilla @glitterandgoldfinds @judig92 @evyiione @severewobblerlightdragon @miahxelizabeth @ren-ni @paprikabadger @isaxbella749 @nikaprincessofkattegat @jamiejazzed @kaitieskidmore1 @moonmaiden1996 @syrma-sensei @edum123 @casualheartadorable @metalfangirl @tetgod

If you wish to be added to or removed from the character taglist, please comment underneath this post.

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

You stood slightly behind your father, in the far left corner of the elevated booth, which was high enough to offer a wide view of the spectators sitting on the opposite side of the arena. Underneath you, a man was just knocked off his horse and fell to the ground with a loud thud, followed by cheering and clapping from the other side, where the common people had been seated.

Standing there, behind your father and half-brother, you felt like the other seating area would have been more appropriate for someone like you, but your father had insisted you join them in their private booth. Whether it was to shame you even more by letting you stand, or actually let you enjoy the games, you couldn’t tell. But your father was an old man with thinning gray hair and a side which could occasionally show kindness, unlike your brother who had taken every bit after his late mother.

You were fidgeting with the skirt of your blue dress, which was simpler than what was usually seen at court, yet still appropriate for an event as the Heir’s Tournament. Your father had even allowed you to accessorize yourself with golden bracelets and rings that represented flowers and thorny stems, representing the House you belonged to. Or at least, almost belonged to.

“What a coward,” hissed your brother Liram, as he let himself fall back in his seat, eyes glued to the spectacle beneath him. His brown hair fell in his face, hiding most of his expression from your view, but you saw that the tournament was boring him.

For a Tyrell, he had always been very bloodthirsty, at least from what you had witnessed, so much that had it not been for the striking resemblance he bore to your father, you would have guessed that he was the one born out of wedlock, not you.

“If you wish to partake in the tournament yourself, you need only go, son. You have signed up, after all,” replied your father, a hint of annoyance in his voice and you had to hide a smile behind your hand. Whenever your brother was annoyed with you, he always called your existence a burden, but you knew that it was really him your father was burdened with.

Liram scoffed, rubbing his stubble with a gloved hand, before he threw a disapproving gaze at you when he noticed you staring at him. “What is it, Flowers?” The sharp tone in his voice made you tense, and you quickly looked away with a hand pressed to your belly. The dress you had been given was tight around the waist, so tight that you could barely breathe as it was, so you really did not need your brother making you even more uncomfortable.

“Go down. We have not brought your armor for nothing,” your father said, before nodding in your direction. “And take your sister, the air will do her well.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Liram was faster. “She is not my sister. Do you not think it would be shameful for the Tyrell heir to be seen with his father’s mistake of a child?”

You bit your lip, fingers digging into your covered skin. “Be very careful, Liram,” said your father, his dark bushy eyebrows furrowed in anger. If there was one thing that your father hated, it was disrespect. “Being my only heir, you might think yourself invincible, but that is exactly what gets one killed. Now, take your sister and go down there to fight. Show me that your skill is as big as your mouth.”

Liram’s jaw tensed and you knew an argument between them was very likely now, but he simply exhaled deeply and stood from his seat, grabbing your wrist in the process to drag you with him.

“Ouch, let go!” You demanded, surprised at how a little pain could spark some confidence in you, but it was gone the moment the words had left your lips. Liram did no such thing, however, as he continued to pull you down the stairs and you hurried after him, struggling to keep up.

“Father thinks I won’t win, you know,” Liram said when you both reached the horse stable just next to the building with the House booths, where he finally let go of your wrist. “He doesn’t think I have it in me, but I will show him.” Reluctantly, you followed him through the stable, passing neighing horses and the stable boys tending to them, when Liram came to a halt in front of a dark brown stallion. You had the feeling that he was talking to himself more than you, so you remained silent.

"He's an old, foolish man. Treats you better than you deserve, you know. Bastards like you are not even allowed to stay with their higher born sires where my mother's from."

You flinched at the harsh words, standing in the entrance of Liram's horse's stall as you looked at the animal, smiling faintly when he sniffed you. You always had a way with animals, since they never judged. Liram only called you dirty for it, but out of all insults he could throw at you, this one you minded the least.

You turned, and the clinking sound Liram's armor made when he took it out of the sealed chest it had been transported in faded behind you, when you spotted someone on the other side of the stable.

Your lips parted slightly when you recognized the signature Targaryen hair, and the black metal helmet in his hand, out of which rose two dragon wings from either temple. He was way too young to be King Viserys, not to mention that the king wasn't even partaking in the tournament. The person you were looking at had to be Prince Daemon. The Rogue Prince.

Liram said something to you, but you were mesmerized as you watched the Prince offer his black horse an apple, shortly before turning his head to meet your gaze.

Flushed, you looked away only to find a very annoyed Liram holding his arms out to you. "The armor, (y/n)." Your mind was still with the prince and his own striking armor, so all you could do was blink. "Fasten it, or do you need a special invitation?" He asked, to which you quickly raised your hands and did as you were told, muttering a silent apology which Liram ignored.

"Gods, you're not even good at the simplest tasks." You bit your lip, avoiding your brother's eyes when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

"An interesting way to speak to a Lady, I must say." A shiver ran down your spine as you saw the black armor from the corner of your eye, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn around so you moved on to Liram's other arm, and focused on securing his armor instead.

"Don't be fooled by her attire, she is no Lady," Liram replied as he pulled his arms away.

"And are you fooled by mine that you address me with such little respect?" Prince Daemon said, and you heard the grin in his voice, but Liram visibly tensed. He always liked to test boundaries, but at heart he was just as much of a coward as he claimed your father was. At least in situations where he knew he was inferior.

"Forgive me, your Grace."

Daemon looked him up and down, before saying, "I believe you are still in need of a weapon for the tournament, are you not?"

"...of course." Liram threw a glance at you, before bowing his head to the man behind you and brushing past him.

Suddenly painfully aware that you were alone in a stable with the Rogue Prince, you dropped your gaze to the ground where it remained even as the prince stepped before you. To not aggravate him, you briefly looked up and muttered a "Thank you, your Grace."

To your surprise, it seemed to amuse him. "What is your name?" He asked, with a surprisingly gentle voice.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a moment before you answered. "(y/n) Flowers." When the bastard name of the Reach left your lips, you felt the heat in your cheeks, and the Prince hummed a response. He most likely realized the reason why Liram was treating you that way earlier.

"Of House Tyrell?" He asked, but all you could do was nod. When he looked away for a moment, you used this to finally have a good look at him, but it only made you more nervous. The Prince was quite handsome, and his presence almost magnetic.

"And I was planning on asking for your favor," he said, meeting your eye. It took every piece of control you had not to immediately look away. His tone was teasing if anything, yet you couldn't help but feel like it was an accusation. “I suppose your bracelet will do.”

You looked up at him abruptly, not having expected him to say something even remotely similar to that. Your fingers touched the jewelry he was referring to absent-mindedly, the metal warm from your body heat. This wasn’t how contestants did this usually, and you suddenly felt like someone could walk in on you at any moment. Even though you weren’t doing anything scandalous exactly, the sole fact a prince was talking to a bastard could be considered a scandal by some.

Then again, this was the Rogue Prince. A shiver ran down your spine when you remembered all the stories and rumors people told about him. How ruthless he could be, how cruel and unforgiving. You did not want to get on his bad side. In fact, you did not want to get on any of his sides at all, but you had few options now.

Wordlessly, you opened the clasp and let the bracelet fall into his hand, careful to avoid his eyes and not to touch his skin. When he thanked you and turned to prepare for the fight, the air around you finally felt breathable again. You followed him with your eyes as he left the stable with his stallion, the helmet now atop his head, and you cursed yourself when you realized that despite what you had heard about him, you could not look away.

---

You did not join your father back in the noble booth when the match began. Instead, you decided to watch from where the stable boys stood, ready to take care of the horses if need be, and hand the fighters their weapons.

Liram was already waiting on the other side of the arena, fully armored and adorned with thorny stems, that were of the same material as the armor itself and attached to the chest piece. Prince Daemon soon took his place on the opposite end, standing rather close to you, and you took a step back out of instinct, hand wrapped around your now bare wrist.

He looked at you for a moment, but you pretended you did not notice as a stable boy asked you to hand him something. You did not mind working, so you took no offense. The roughness of your hands was evidence of that.

A trumpet could be heard, and all chatter became silent for a few minutes. You held your breath as you stepped forward to watch Daemon and Liram sprint towards each other on their horses, the sharp ends of their weapons pointed at the other. You wrapped your arms around your upper body, and drew in a breath when you heard Daemon’s blade hit your brother’s chest. He fell off his horse almost instantly, and the audience started clapping and screaming Daemon’s name.

You didn’t bother to help your brother up, which made him visibly mad. He continued to give you glares until the tournament was over, but only spoke to you when you were back inside the stable, taking the armor off of his horse. He had changed into his regular attire, his own armor securely locked inside the chest behind him.

Your muscles only tensed when you heard Daemon’s voice behind you, though, and you really hoped that you had not angered him. Since that moment in the stable, you had avoided him at all cost; looking away when you felt him staring at you, or fleeing when you saw his tall figure in the crowd as celebrations began.

“Gods, (y/n), you need to start paying attention or I will tell father to let you sleep in the servant’s quarters,” Liram scoffed, and you blinked, muttering an apologetic “Sorry, my Lord.”

Liram did not like it when you called him brother in public, nor did he when you were alone, but at least he did not snap at you when no one was around to witness it.

“Sorry you should be,” he replied, fixing his clothes as he threw a disapproving glance at his horse. “And you will be sold at the earliest convenience.”

If there was one thing you hated, it was animals being treated cruelly or unfairly. Hearing Liram talk to his horse like that, even if the stallion couldn’t understand him, made your blood boil. You were sure he was about to spit on the animal, when you told him angrily, “The horse did nothing wrong.”

Liram slowly turned at you, and you saw the surprise in his eyes since you rarely ever openly disagreed with him or told him off. “What did you say?” he asked in a low, dangerous tone. Your shoulders sank and you lowered your head a bit, feet pointed towards each other. “Nothing,” you whispered, but he only scoffed again.

“Oh, so you’re not only a disrespectful one but also a liar?”

“I only meant-”

“-you only meant to say that my abilities are lacking, no?”

You could see that Liram was getting satisfaction from this. His disgusting grin betrayed him, even though he seemed to try to hide it. Perhaps this was his way of dealing with his loss at the tournament, but you hated how you became his scapegoat.

Just when you turned your head away from Liram, you met Daemon’s eyes on the other side of the stable. Whoever he had been talking to earlier, they were gone now and the scene Liram was making had the prince’s undivided attention.

“I only mean that the horse is not to blame,” you replied after looking back at Liram, who looked as if he was about to explode. You could understand his frustration; being ridiculed by your own father first, then wanting to prove yourself and losing, all tore at his ego but it did not excuse when he raised his hand towards you, threatening to strike.

You gasped and covered your head with your arms, as your entire body shook. To your surprise, there was no impact, but a somewhat familiar presence next to you. When you opened your eyes, you saw Daemon standing in front of your brother, holding him by the collar.

The adrenaline must have had momentarily numbed your senses and deafened your ears, since you had neither heard Daemon approach, nor Liram scream. Which he most definitely had, judging by his facial expression.

Daemon lifted Liram up into the air and tossed him against an empty stall on the other side, where he landed on the ground, an unhealthy sounding crack indicating a leg injury on impact. Liram whimpered as he held his leg, now visibly scared of the prince. He, too, must have remembered his reputation.

“This Lady is a guest in King’s Landing and I intend for her to be treated like one,” Daemon said, and Liram’s horse neighed, as if in agreement. But your brother only swallowed as he lowered his head and muttered, “Yes, my prince.” It was clear that every syllable which left his lips was torture to him, but Daemon simply walked up to your brother and put his foot on the injured leg, shifting his weight onto it.

Liram screamed, and you were sure that anyone who was still nearby would have heard it immediately, but no one came or even peeked into the stable out of curiosity.

“Let go, let go!” Liram pleaded, but it only seemed to please Daemon more.

You were shocked about the satisfaction he found in hurting your brother, and although you did not agree with his methods, it did feel good to have someone stand up for you for once. Despite the fact that the prince still frightened you.

“Leave,” Daemon said, taking a step back as Liram pulled himself up slowly, exchanging a glance between you and the prince. His stare lingered, and with it his hatred. You found yourself pitying him, for a person who carried this much anger in him would never find happiness in this world.

“Wait,” you said, hesitating for a moment as both men looked at you, before picking up a bag which lay close to Liram’s chest, and taking a small pouch out of it. You tried to ignore the way your brother was looking at you as you walked up to him and handed him the pouch.

“It’s a healing herb,” you explained, standing beside Daemon after your brother took the pouch. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Liram looked like he wanted to say something, but Daemon silenced him and nodded towards the stable exit.

Slowly, Liram limped away, hissing whenever he put too much weight on his injured leg, and it was then that you realized just how feared Prince Daemon really was, and why. He did not care what others thought about him, nor did he care should Liram consult the king about what had happened in this stable. He was uncontrollable, which was precisely what made him so dangerous in the first place.

Nevertheless, he had done you a favor and for that, you were truly grateful.

“Why did you help him?” Daemon asked once Liam was gone. “He was horrible to you from what I could tell.”

You still avoided his gaze, but started feeling a little less threatened in his presence. “Well, why did you help me?” You wanted to explain why you did it, that even Liram did not deserve to suffer, but as soon as you asked him the question, you genuinely started to wonder.

“I couldn’t allow him to ruin your pretty face now, could I?” Daemon responded, leaning against a stall next to him. When you only looked at him blankly, he chuckled. “You should not allow this behavior. If he can pick on you, he will think you are weak and do so until he dies a coward’s death.” He reached out with a hand, gently twirling a loose strand of your hair between his fingers. “Don’t allow it,” he repeated, softer this time.

“I have nothing to my name,” you countered, averting your gaze once more but Daemon pushed himself away from the stall to close the distance between you two.

“Names are not what make power, they can amplify it at most.”

You looked up at him, completely in awe about how the golden light of the setting sun made his features look, but when he lowered his head to whisper in your ear, your muscles froze.

“We shall meet again,” he said, his cheek gently brushing yours as he pulled away again. You only noticed that your hands were trembling when he was gone, but you had survived an encounter with the Rogue Prince, and he had even saved you on top of that.

Perhaps you had misjudged him, or perhaps he knew which masks to wear when.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #matt smith #game of thrones #tyrell reader

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amhrosina · 1 year

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Frank Castle x Reader Instagram AU

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

(a/n: this is something new that i’m trying and it won’t be replacing my fics at all i just wanted to try something new!!! if it flops then oh well lol i didn’t mean for this to be so dog-centric but there’s a LOT of pictures of jon with his dogs, please enjoy and if you have requests for more instagram au’s please send them!!!)

Liked by frankcastle, karen_page, nelson.foggy, and 742 others

yourusername love my family <3 (photo taken by yours truly!)

View all 49 comments

frankcastle We love you more sweetheart.

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

nelson.foggy i love love!

matthewmurdock You literally gagged and said 'gross' when this picture first showed up on your phone.

yourusername foggy!!

nelson.foggy i didn't realize i was best friends with a snitch, matt.

karen_page this is such a great photo of them! how did you get him to sit so still?

yourusername frank or max? neither of them likes to cooperate.

billsrusso fucker’s old

yourusername i hope you’re talking about frank and not my darling child

billsrusso of course dear

frankcastle Fuck y’all🖕🏼

Liked by yourusername, david.micro, curtisss, karen_page, and 58 others

frankcastle This dog’s always in my face about somethin’

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yourusername he’s asking for more treats (which you should give him because he’s the goodest boy)

frankcastle You already gave him two today!

yourusername three, but who’s counting???

david.micro he’s trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty

curtisss big love!

Liked by frankcastle, imnotdaredevil, nelson.foggy, and 698 others

yourusername save a horse ride a cowboy ammiright???

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frankcastle I can’t believe you used THAT caption🤦🏻‍♂️

yourusername i knew you’d love it😇

matthewmurdock right!

matthewmurdock oh shit, wrong account

imnotdaredevil right!

yourusername NOT THE FINSTA MATT💀

frankcastle What the fuck is a finsta?

Liked by yourusername, billsrusso, matthewmurdock, and 68 others

frankcastle putting in work with my favorite alter boy @ matthewmurdock

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yourusername shit, baby!😮‍💨

frankcastle 😏

matthewmurdock i can’t tell if this is an insult or not

frankcastle it is

yourusername it’s not

nelson.foggy clearly my invitation was lost in the mail

billsrusso hell yeah brother!

frankcastle Come by when you want to get some real work done, brother💪🏼

- - -

yourusername added to their story

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frankcastle added to their story

------------

Tag List (I did make a section in my tag list request form for Instagram AUs if you want to update your form!!):

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @callsign-mama @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787 @ginnysculture @ryebreadsworld @laaundromat @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @lilyevans1 @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs

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heartpascal · 6 months

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i was born waiting

▹— joel miller x daughter!reader

▹— summary: you’ve been looking for your dad for as long as you can remember, is this really him?

▹— a/n: hi! i started writing this september ‘23, so it has. it’s been a WHILE. so if this seems jumpy / not consistent then that is why! sorry!!! i have done my best!!!

▹— warnings: canon-typical violence and themes, weapons, parental death, witnessing parental death, aka insane amounts of trauma, death in general, she/her pronouns, reader is biologically related to joel but no mentions of appearance, no mention of her bio mother’s appearance either, fantasising about being dead (sorry), all hurt zero comfort, attempted murder, unrealistic expectations of someone you never met — please let me know if ive missed anything!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything), @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There are certain things from your childhood that you can remember vividly. Though, really, childhood is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? It’s hard to find the right word to encompass the way you had grown up, because you didn’t have much of a chance to actually grow.

From the moment you had been born, your life was a battle of staying alive to see another day.

That’s not to say that your mother didn’t do her best for you, obviously. But it was hard to raise a child as a child in the midst of a global apocalypse. You were bound to end up the way you did — moulded and hardened by the world around you, by having to pick up a gun at seven years old and use it to protect your mother. By never putting that gun back down.

For the past few years, you had known your mother was suffering. The world had been anything but kind to her, and age was hitting her harder than she had expected. More than the physical aspect, you knew it had been destroying her, the fact that you were now the one protecting her and not the other way around.

But what choice did you have? Her aging body had left her fragile, prone to falling and breaking even more frail bones. You could see the strain on her muscles, as they slowly decayed and shrunk, until they were barely there at all. You couldn’t let her carry the burden for you anymore, because you knew her body couldn’t handle it.

You had been preparing yourself for that moment, though. Making sure that you were ready, that you were strong enough for the both of you, strong enough to shoulder the burden she had been carrying for years.

When you were growing up, your mother had told you tales of your father.

She had told you all about how strong he had been, how he had been the best man she had ever known. She told you how he had cared for his daughter before you, how he had been the best father to that girl. When you were old enough to comprehend these things, you’d asked what had happened to him. “Is dad dead?” You had asked her, watching the way her face fell.

“I don’t know, honey. I hope not.” She had responded, smiling sadly at you, and patting her hand against your cheek.

It was hard for you to let go of that.

The uncertainty had haunted you for the rest of your life since that very moment, leaving you wondering for hours at a time where he could possibly be, why he would ever leave your mother to carry this responsibility alone. And in your more selfish moments, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t here to care for you as he had his daughter before you.

For a long time, you had convinced yourself that he was dead, despite what your mother hoped. And sure, you felt that loss, something like mourning weighing you down, but it was the only way you felt you could accept his absence. He had to be dead, because otherwise, why wasn’t he here?

But as you grew up, getting taller, stronger, you felt like you could rationalise his absence even if he wasn’t dead. After all, the apocalypse wasn’t exactly family friendly. You figured that if your mother didn’t know whether or not your dad was alive, that the same could go for him. He might just think that you and your mom died, years ago. After all, how many pregnant women survived the end of the world?

You have a feeling that the answer would have to be not many.

So, really, you and your mother being alive by now was nothing short of a miracle. It was a testament to your mother’s strength, her ability. She had succeeded where so many others had failed, and she had managed to keep both herself and you alive.

It’s a bitter kind of irony that you can’t do the same.

The last dredges of autumn fall away, leading into the coldest and harshest part of the year. Winter is hard — it’s full to the brim with fresh Infected, the ones not yet frozen solid, and resources are more scarce than ever. And this winter feels like something tangible, something which sends unending waves of dread through you.

Your mother gets weaker by the day, spending more time resting than moving, and you spend as much time as you can keeping her warm, finding food and water and pain relief for her broken arm that didn’t heal right. She’s exhausted, you can see it in her face, in her every movement. And you’re pretty sure it’s not just from the lack of rest. She watches you with dulled eyes, something like heartbreak reflecting in them.

For a long time, you pretend not to notice.

You pretend that you don’t see the way she lags behind, just watching you move away from her with speed she can’t quite manage any longer. You pretend that you don’t see the way she hesitates before taking her painkillers, or her food, or the last sip of water.

This year, the winter brings something worse than the cold. A bug, spreading across the state in a way that was familiar to so many. Not quite the Infection, but still able to take out people with ease.

When your mother catches it, you physically felt your heart clench in your chest. You felt it squeezing all of the blood around your body so quickly that you became dizzy with it. There’s a panic so deep that you can’t climb your way out of it. For days, weeks, you’re certain that you’ve lost her. That after everything, everything you’ve done, everything the two of you have been through, a cold would be the end of it all.

But then, she gets better.

The little strength she had before the sickness returns to her, bringing some colour back to her skin, some ease back to her breathing.

Religion wasn’t a thing in the apocalypse. Not really. But if you had believed in God, you would’ve thanked every one that might’ve existed for giving you this. This miracle. This small mercy.

The two of you are in an abandoned barn when it happens.

You’re dozing away, not quite asleep, but not awake either, when you hear the sound of old hay crunching underneath boots. If you weren’t so familiar with the lightness of your mother’s footsteps, you might’ve passed it off as her wandering. But these boots are heavy. They’re purposeful.

The gun in your hand means nothing when you jerk upwards, eyes snapping open and squinting through the light let into the barn by the rising winter sun. It’s an image that has since been ingrained into the back of your skull, replaying each time you close your eyes.

There, right in front of you, is your mother.

Behind her, a man, a gun pressed to the back of her skull.

Your stomach lurched suddenly in that moment, the small rationed dinner you had before dozing off trying to rise to the back of your throat, trying to race the rapid beating of your heart to see which would kill you first.

“Put down the gun.” He said, voice cold, throat dry from the winter air. The sound of his voice is printed in the base of your brain, echoing every time things around you still, go quiet.

He could be bluffing, you thought in the moment. His gun could be unloaded. It didn’t take you long to notice that the safety was off, but in those few moments, he had pressed the end of it harder into your mother’s head. You dropped the gun to the floor without another moment of thought.

You were nauseous, waiting to wake up, to realise this was all some twisted nightmare.

But you could see a look in your mother’s eyes. Acceptance. Defeat. It was almost familiar to you, so closely related to the look she had been giving you for months.

All this time, she had just been waiting to die. Waiting for something to come along and kill her off, to free you from having to take care of her. She knew that if it was up to you, that you would look after her for the rest of your goddamn life. If she lived any longer, she might just live long enough to see you die.

“Slide it over.”

You barely registered the cold pinch of metal against your palm as you pushed the gun away from you, sending it skittering over the rough ground and into the side of an old hay bale.

“Now your pack.”

There was a numbness to you as you gripped the backpack you had been leaning against, and chucked it towards where he stood behind your mother. It hit the front of his boot, but his eyes didn’t stray from where he stared at you.

“Turn around.”

You stared at him, teeth gritted together.

“No.”

There was a beat where both him and your mother just watched you. And then the surprise flickered across his face, apparently not expecting any resistance from you.

“Turn. Around.” He told you, firmer this time.

“No.”

“Okay then,” He relented, after a moment of consideration. His eyes drifted down towards your mother, who stared forwards at you. “This your daughter?” He asked, jerking his head towards you despite knowing your mother couldn’t see the movement.

“Yes, she is,” Your mother said, voice shaking, her breath clouding in front of her face as it reached the cold air. “Please, just let her be.”

He hummed, dropping his free hand down to rest heavily on your mother’s shoulder, his fingers clamping around it and not helping the way she trembled.

“So, your momma, huh?” He asked you, a smirk drawing up his face, showing smile lines around his murky blue eyes. His hair rustled in the wind, a piece falling down across his forehead. He stared at you, and you stared at him, not daring to say a word, still hoping that this whole thing was a dream. Muscles in his cheek twitched, pulling his skin taut and showing a scar across his left cheekbone. “Good.”

There was a moment where the sound didn’t register. A moment where you didn’t even realise it was your mother when the body slumped forwards. A mere moment where you didn’t think about it being her blood that splattered across your face.

The moments after that though, become blurry, hazed over, and you’re not sure it actually ever hit you that the body before you was your mother.

You’ve always had a hard time remembering that bodies were once people, that they once had lives and loved ones and thoughts and feelings. That they weren’t just bodies. So seeing her like that, as a body, not her, was wrong on so many levels. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You heard the second gunshot, just a moment later, followed by a snickering laugh that you would never forget, before the pain bloomed in you.

It was buried by the shock, the complete disbelief, and you only felt the pain for mere seconds.

His gun — the one that killed your mother — was whacked across the side of your head a moment after, and that was the end of that.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Three months passed by, judging by the way the seasons turned, and you were on your own.

It was a strange feeling, really. Throughout the entirety of your life, you had never actually been alone. At least, not really. Your mother was always a small ways away, a mere shout from running to you. There had never been any true distance between the two of you until that day.

A sort of ache claws your throat each day, when you realise that it’s easier like this.

The only back you have to watch is your own, the only life you have to worry about belongs to you, and you have nothing to lose in this world. There was no terrible outcome if you were caught. Nobody else would be hurt, or suffer because of it. And you’re less likely to be caught now, when you don’t have your mother slowing you down. You don’t have to stop for the frequent rest breaks she needed, you can try to outrun Infected without worrying about someone lagging behind, and you only have yourself to feed.

If your mother had known how much easier survival was when alone, you hope that she would’ve abandoned you at birth. Because perhaps, without the burden of you upon her shoulders, she wouldn’t have fallen apart so quickly.

Sometimes, you like to think of a world where she was spared all of this. Never pregnant with you, for a start. So when the infection broke out, she would’ve only had herself to worry about. You think that maybe, one day, she would’ve been able to reunite with your father. If she hadn’t been carrying a child, she would’ve been able to manage the journey to where she believed him to be. You look at the picture that had been in the pocket of her coat for your whole life, the papers folded and clipped to the back of it, one word underlined: Boston.

You had reached a store in the weeks after that day, and when you found a map, it wasn’t difficult to notice that the direction the two of you had been heading in was to that very city.

It’s a long shot. More than a long shot, really, but you find yourself continuing in that direction regardless. You don’t know what you hope to find in Boston, whether it was your dad, or the man who had killed your mother, or perhaps just somewhere to take shelter for a while. You try not to hope for anything. You try not to focus on the fact that you might not even make it that far.

It keeps you up for days.

The uncertainty of it. The unknown. The fact that you’re walking your way to a city you know nothing about, almost certain that your mother’s killer was already there, and more than that, consumed by a fever that might kill you regardless of the where the journey took you.

The only sleep you get results in fever dreams, rippling, warping images that make your perception falter, feeling all too real until you notice that it’s not. And when you do wake up from them, it’s as if you haven’t slept at all. An exhaustion weighs heavily upon you, and your shoulders hunch over with it. There’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to get rid of that endless feeling.

You hope—or wish, maybe— that if you reach Boston, the journey there will have tired you out so much that your body will have no choice but to rest. It’s a distant thought in your mind, though. You’re almost certain you won’t make it that far, because if the fever doesn’t get you, surely the Infected will.

It’s not as though you’re trying to get killed. But there is a kind of peace that comes with the thought. There’s an idea of rest behind it, hiding within the shadowy depths that make you scared. Would not having to fight in order to survive really be so terrible? You have this image in mind, of a never ending blackness, a void, somewhere that your thoughts and worries can just fizzle away. The small part of your fever-fried brain that has retained its rationality reminds you of the unknown. It reminds you that death could be worse than this.

You don’t like the thought. Not after that day. It’s a shuddering feeling, wondering if your mother is in some kind of unreachable hell.

By the time you’re even close to Boston, a few hours out at most, you’re out of ammo in the gun you’d found along the way. Out of food rations. No knife, no resources. You’re barely standing on two legs, kept up by the adrenaline, the knowledge alone that you’re this close.

When the tall walls of the QZ finally come into view, you start to feel some amount of hope. Which is a dangerous thing, but especially in a situation as dire as your own. You couldn’t afford any adrenaline fading, couldn’t afford to lose your cautious nature. You couldn’t make a mistake. One wrong move, one slight misstep, and you’d be as dead as your mother. Or worse, infected. Though this close to a QZ, you had some amount of relief at the knowledge that they should’ve cleared out any nearby infected. Runners, and clickers alike.

Your steps don’t falter for a moment. Partly because of your worry about the fever taking you out, but mostly because you’re certain that the FEDRA guards on watch on top of the wall will have spotted you, and you don’t want them to think you’re Infected, just because of your sickly appearance, and shoot on sight. Though, with FEDRA’s track record, it wouldn’t surprise you if they just shot you down regardless.

For a while, you’re not sure if you’re even awake, or if perhaps you were stuck in yet another fever dream. Everything felt so real and so not real simultaneously, it felt impossible to believe that you had actually made it.

Soldiers met you on your approach, calling out for you to get on the ground with your hands up. You called back some sort of response as you did so, practically collapsing to your knees and squeezing your eyes shut at the pain that followed. But despite all of it, despite the pain and the rough hands that grabbed you and pulled you forwards, through the gates and straight into a building, you had made it to Boston.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was maybe three weeks into being a resident of the Boston QZ that you caught wind of him for the first time. Or, at the very least, somebody who might be him. You didn’t know how common the surname Miller was, being a child of the apocalypse, but you kind of hoped the answer was uncommon.

“Goddamn Miller, again.” A man had muttered as you walked through the trading market. You paused almost instantly, pretending to peruse the feeble amount of clothes a woman had to trade. “Said we gotta go through him and Tess if we want anything, as if we gotta listen to them.” He practically spat out, glaring around as he spoke to the woman beside him.

“They’re the most well established smugglers in the whole goddamn QZ. Don’t have to tell you how, do I?” She asked, sounding more annoyed with her companion than she was with whoever Miller and Tess were. “Joel is as nasty as they come, Darren. Don’t get on the wrong side of him.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. Could it possibly be a coincidence? Could there be another Joel Miller? One who wasn’t your father? Sure, it was possible. Plausible, even, considering the fact that you had absolutely no idea if he was here. Not any concrete idea, anyway. Your mother had believed as much, but who was to say she was right?

Besides, whoever this Joel Miller was didn’t sound like the man your mother had told you about. As nasty as they come didn’t have any relation to the heroic and kind and amazing father and man your mother always spoke about. Though, you knew as well as anyone what the apocalypse could do to people.

Darren didn’t say anything else to his companion. So, after a few more moments, you continued on your way, making the journey to the tiny box apartment that FEDRA had elected to you.

But even as you got there, sitting down on the poor excuse of a mattress, you couldn’t shake the conversation out of your mind. After everything you had been through to get here, what was it all for? Could you really make this journey and just never try to find Joel Miller? Your father? You could still remember the anxiety that had come when you first arrived, when you were strapped into a chair and scanned for the fungus that had taken over so many. You didn’t know what you were more scared of: the idea that it would flash red, and you’d be killed, or the idea that it would be clear, and you’d be sent out into the QZ, where you may just find the other half of your DNA.

You don’t even know if you want to find out anything about him. Don’t know if you could face that, especially after losing your mother. That’s been the hardest thing since being here, since having your own place, the fact that you’ve gotten it all without her. It feels… empty. For your whole life, she had been there at your side, making every short stay at whatever accommodation you could find feel like home.

Plus, even if you did consider trying to find him, and if it was him those people were talking about, then who the hell was Tess? What if she got upset at your appearance, your claim as Joel Miller’s surviving child? You’re not sure you can lose another parent.

Sure — Joel Miller wasn’t exactly your dad, he couldn’t be classed as a parent in the way that your mother was, but if you never met him, that could’ve been for any number of reasons. He could be dead. He could’ve thought you and your mother were dead, all these years. You didn’t want to face a reality where you met him, and he wasn’t present for you and your mother because he didn’t want to be. You’d rather live your whole life thinking him six feet under, than know he was out there, and just didn’t care about you.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that Boston was a mistake.

It would all be different if your mother was alive. If she had brought you here, if she had been the one to hear the chatter about Joel Miller, if she had been the one to seek him out. But she was dead, and the only living connection you had to Joel was, too. Hypothetically, if you did seek him out, you didn’t know enough about him to prove your claim as his child, and without your mother, how could you make him believe you?

They had been a family, once. They being Joel, your mother, and your deceased half sister. You’d heard the tale of how Joel and your mother had met, of how it took months for him to finally feel comfortable introducing her to his little girl. Hell, you had heard almost as much about Sarah as you had about Joel. Your mother had certainly adored his daughter, and you’re somewhat sure that they had planned to have you, despite Sarah already being a teenager.

You don’t want to have to mourn a family you had never actually had. Perhaps, Joel and Sarah were out there, living their lives certain that you and your mother were dead, just as you and your mother had done.

Not that any of this even mattered — you didn’t even know for sure if it was the same Joel Miller! And even if it was, it’s not like Boston QZ was small. There’s absolutely no chance you run into the man who might just be your dad. No way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You find someone else, before you hear anything more about Joel Miller, and it immediately sends the thought of your biological dad to the very back of your mind.

After all, it’s not every day you see the man who murdered your mother.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. You had guessed that this was the place he was heading, all those moons ago. But to actually see him, here, in the flesh, alive and well despite all of the pain and heartache and devastation he had caused you? It was surreal. You had to practically pinch your skin from your body to make yourself believe he was real.

And it only really hits you now, that this man killed your mother. You had been so focused on surviving, on living to see another day, on healing and moving and getting away from her body, buried in shallow dirt outside of some abandoned barn. You can vividly remember the strength it had taken to pry the frozen dirt from the ground.

Sure, you had felt the guilt over it, the guilt over the ease that came with surviving without her, guilt over your very existence, but you’re not sure you had ever actually grieved over her. Not sure if you had ever let yourself be sad, be angry, be anything about what had happened.

But now, seeing him, you feel… almost too much.

All of the rage and grief you had squashed in favour of surviving another day, all of the sadness and fear, all of it. It all comes rushing towards you at once, hitting you in the chest, winding you. You gasp for breath on the street, ducking away for a moment, gripping your chest like you could physically hold your heart steady.

When you look back out at the street, you see him as he nears the corner. Panic grips you at the thought of losing him, of never seeing him again, of failing to avenge your mother. You follow after him before you can think better of it.

It’s strangely easy. You fall back into the life of a hunter like it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever known — and maybe it is. You’re healed up, by now, or about as healed as anybody gets in this world, and your shoulder only bothers you when you move it too much. Even with that, you’re pretty sure that you could take the man on. Now that you’re not hazy with sleep, caught off guard, held back by any sort of earthly tether.

You’re strong. And despite FEDRA’s harsh reign, their dire consequences for rule-breaking, you have a switchblade stuffed into your shoe. You could do it. You could kill him.

There’s no question about it in your mind, especially as you follow him from a distance, and he remains none the wiser. He takes a left, and a moment later, so do you. He’s clueless. It’s almost painful that he was the one who managed to get the jump on you. How could you have let this man kill your mother?

He skids to a stop outside of a doorway, so you slide down the wall of the building opposite and listen. He pays you no mind as he knocks twice on the door.

“What d’you want, Colin?” The man who opened the door asked gruffly, seemingly inconvenienced by the man. He sounded tired, or out of it, maybe.

“I need the supply.” Colin answered, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver down the back of your neck. It echoed in your ears, the words he said that day. Good. Everything in you itched, like thousands of critters had dug into you and made a home scuttling around your insides. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to end his life, and you wanted to make it slow. Brutal. Painful. Even if it meant you were hung by FEDRA tomorrow morning. It’d be worth it.

The man at the door sighed, as if deeply bothered by getting Colin what he needed, and disappeared inside. He emerged a moment later, empty handed. “I’m all out. You’ll have to go across town tomorrow.” The man said flatly, saying nothing as Colin swore, before stepping away.

You ducked your head down as Colin passed, all too aware of the man in the doorway watching you suspiciously. After a moment, he sighed again, and retreated inside, slamming the door after himself. It took almost no time at all for you to push yourself back to your feet, and take off after the man who had left.

Despite your pounding footsteps against cracked concrete, he didn’t pay you any mind as you caught up to him. He seemed focused on getting to wherever it was that he was unknowingly leading you to, glancing up at the darkening sky every other step. FEDRA’s curfew would be coming into play soon enough.

To your disappointment, he walked into an apartment building, about three blocks away from your own. It seemed that, unless you were willing to risk being caught and stopped, today wasn’t the day you would be avenging your mother. You vowed that tomorrow you would do it. You would kill Colin. No matter what got in your way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

By the time curfew was lifted, you had been waiting by the exit of your building for an hour.

The switchblade in your shoe felt heavy with every step you took towards the home of your mother’s killer. It weighed almost as much as the picture in your pocket. All of it was heavy. But you acted as normally as you could manage, passing by patrolling FEDRA guards without them so much as glancing towards you.

You were waiting by his building when the door opened, when he stepped out, and headed determinedly in the opposite direction from which you had come. You followed without a moment of hesitation.

He made his way around town, trading with a few people on the side of the streets, handing them small wads of ration cards in favour of various items. Nothing dangerous, though. Not to you. He clearly was oblivious to your loitering figure, standing a few metres away, like some omen of death. Despite your shadow reaching for his shoes as the sun rose, he didn’t flinch.

It was irritating you, just how easy this was. You had been following the man for two days now, and he hadn’t even noticed. How had he gotten the drop on you? How had he managed to kill your mother? How had you allowed him the opportunity to do so?

There was nothing remotely special about him — no reason that he should have survived over your mother, no reason that he should have been granted mercy over the last twenty years. He didn’t deserve it. Not like your mother had. She had done the best she could, for years, for the only daughter in her care. And she had done it all alone. This man, Colin, he was alone, and he had no reason to hurt her. You were going to make sure he regretted it.

You loomed at the entrance of an alleyway as he walked down it, finally stopping at a dead end, leaning against the brick wall as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. You knew it wasn’t you he was waiting for, so you bided your time, cautious of someone happening upon the two of you. If they had business with him, they would care. If they didn’t, then nobody but FEDRA would care.

By the time you finally decided to move, almost an hour had passed, and Colin was facing away from you at the entrance of the alley, head pressed to the bricks.

It was strange, what the innate desire to hunt and kill could bring out in you, that it could make you move silently without thinking about it. It could make you reach for the blade in your shoe, without so much as a rustle of your clothes.

With a final glance back at the entrance of the alleyway, you grew impatient, and you attacked.

From an outside perspective, you probably looked like some kind of wild animal. You jumped at him, tackling him, pushing him sideways and landing on his back as his shoulder smacked the asphalt, and he howled in pain. It was like seeing a cheetah hunt an antelope, the way you bored down on him. If you could have widened your jaws, and ripped out his insides, you think you would have.

But without that ability, you could only press the cold metal blade to his throat, and feel him go still.

“Do you remember me?” You asked, voice flat and still, despite the way your heart felt as though it would beat out of your chest, and splatter down in front of his face. You were quieter than you had expected, too. You thought that the words would burst out of you, vicious and unending, but they were quiet. Calm.

Colin shook his head, as much as he could with the side of his face pressed to the ground, and a blade to the soft skin of his neck.

“Think about it.”

His eyes strained to try and get a look at you, and they widened as you leant sideways slightly, allowing him to gaze at your blank face. “Oh, shit,” He said, mouth fumbling around the words.

“Yeah, shit.” You repeated, waiting for satisfaction to seep into your chest cavity, waiting for the grief to fade away.

It didn’t.

Nothing changed, even as you pressed the blade closer to his throat, even as you watched his eyes dart back and forth, as you watched him try and formulate a plan to survive. “Listen, kid—” He started, throat bobbing against the knife, drawing the tiniest line of blood. You watched him bleed, and expected to feel more than numb.

He threw your weight backwards, sacrificing more skin on his throat to your knife. You went flying off of him, but you flung yourself forward faster than he could stagger up, and dug the knife into his calf as he tried to stand. His yell pierced the air, louder than any of the commotion yet, and likely drawing attention of people out on the street. You just hoped, distantly, that FEDRA wasn’t around.

His flesh and muscle moved as you pulled the blade free, and you didn’t flinch at the squelch of blood that left him alongside it.

Colin fell back to the floor, resulting in crawling along the asphalt without care for how the small stones cut into his palms, leaving streaks of blood. “You don’t gotta do this, man, chill out!” His voice had more emotion in it than it had back when he killed your mother, which was infuriating. “It wasn’t personal!” He insisted, crawling further as you got to your feet, prowling after him similarly to the wild animal you felt like.

You’d disagree with his statement, though.

He already had your pack, you had already relinquished your gun — the only thing you refused to do was turn so you could be executed. If you were going to be killed, you were going to look your murderer in the eye. Instead of that, though, Colin had decided to make it personal. He had decided to kill your mother, to spread her brains out on the ground in front of you, to cover you in her blood, rather than spare her. And then, worse, he had let you live.

That seemed pretty personal.

“You killed my mom.” You stated, getting closer as he turned so he was facing you, watching you get closer. “D’you remember what you said to me?”

He shook his head.

“You said good. You were glad that it was my mother. Admit it, Colin. Tell the world all about how not-personal it was.”

More than anything, you wanted to feel satisfaction for how badly he was trembling beneath you, for how scared you were making him. But you just didn’t. Fear wasn’t enough. Not for what this man had done to you.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” He said, shaking, still shying away from you,

“No, you’re not. You’re sorry that I’m here, that you’re going to die. And that isn’t something to be sorry for.”

“Pl—Please, I have a daughter—a son, you don’t need to do this.” He begged, tearing up as he watched your grip on the switchblade tighten, watched you continue to approach. He was pathetic. Everything about him was pathetic.

“She had a daughter, too.”

His eyes widened as you leaped at him once again, digging your knife as deep as you could get it into his shoulder, feeling it graze bone as you pushed the hilt firmly against his skin, until you could practically hear the blood vessels breaking. He howled, a wounded animal, prey. And he did nothing as your fist descended against his face, once, twice, a third time.

It was just as you were losing count that somebody grabbed you, hauling you up and away from the body sprawled out on the floor, the puddle of blood slowly expanding beneath him. His chest was stuttering, but he had stopped groaning minutes ago.

“Well, shit.” A woman’s voice said, not sounding particularly authoritarian, so you figured she wasn’t FEDRA.

The hands grasping onto your arms released them shortly after, and you dropped to the asphalt, watching Colin’s chest closely, waiting for his breathing to stop. It didn’t seem to be slowing much, and you could feel that unending wave of rage coming back to you, overruling the numbness, and enhancing your need to have him dead.

You moved the slightest bit, about to launch yourself at him, but as soon as your foot was pushing you from your spot on the ground, the hands wrapped around your arms again.

“Fuck! Get off of me!”

“We can’t let you kill the guy, for fuck’s sake. We got business with him!” The woman spoke again, sounding increasingly irate as she moved to get between you and your mother’s murderer.

“He deserves to die. He deserves to be killed. Get off!” You practically roared, resorting to a state not unlike a feral cat, spitting and hissing, spine curling, trying to claw at the hands holding onto you. They stayed steady, even when you managed to scratch one of them deep enough to break skin.

The woman swore again, “Everybody deserves to die, get a hold of yourself!”

“Tess, ‘s probably best if we get him out of here.” The man gripping you said, voice straining slightly as he focused on keeping you restrained. He couldn’t do anything but hold on to you and watch as Tess dragged the guy, by his ankle, down the alley slightly, banging on a side door that you hadn’t even noticed. It opened, and the man inside swore before helping Tess grab the guy and haul him inside.

As soon as the door was safely shut, the man released you.

You walked to the end of the alley, gripping at the back of your head, swearing the whole way. You were probably screaming, given the way your throat was grating on every word, but the sound didn’t register.

“Joel, you’d better get in here.” Tess called, poking her head out of the door. You could hear the irritation in her voice, but it was immediately sent to the back of your mind as you realised what she had actually just said. You whirled around.

He wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

But he was… familiar.

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, almost hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” You said, voice strained with laughter, “You are Joel? Miller?” You asked, wanting him to say no and be done with it all so badly, but you knew that he wouldn’t say that. It was ingrained in your blood, in your very DNA.

He stared uncomprehendingly at you, as if expecting a spark of recognition to go through him, but it didn’t happen. You saw Tess step cautiously out of the building, apparently prepared to have Joel’s back, no matter what your next move was.

“Who are you?” Joel asked, instead of answering your question, or even making a move towards where you had begun to cry. If only he fucking knew — he had just saved the man who had murdered your mother, who had murdered the woman who was, once upon a time, his wife.

You reached into your pocket, uncaring of the way they both reached for what you assumed were weapons, and pulled out the photo. The moment you unfolded it, revealing him stood next to your mother, it was certain. This man was your father. You held the photo out towards him.

“Joel—” Tess warned, as he stepped forward, but he dismissed her with a look, clearly communicating that he could handle himself. He wasn’t worried, despite the state Colin had been in when they had arrived.

He stared at the photo, brows creasing, face drawing blank, before he reached out and took it. His finger ran across the image of your mother, her bright smile, not a slither of grey to be seen in her hair. “How did you get this?” He asked, clearly in disbelief, denial, maybe.

You pointed to the woman in the picture. “That’s—was my mom.”

It could’ve been funny, months, maybe years ago, the way his eyes flickered between you and the image of her, as if trying to put together how much of the statement was true. You vaguely noticed Tess shift uneasily behind him, before approaching.

“Was?” Joel decided to ask, eventually, instead of whatever else was going through his head. He said nothing to Tess as she took in the photograph he was still holding onto.

“That man, he—he killed her. A few months ago.” You said, smiling, because you couldn’t do anything else. This was all too much. First, your mother is killed. And then when you finally find somewhere potentially safe, you hear about your father. And then before you could do anything about that, you see her killer! And then, before you could finish the job, your biological dad, Joel Miller, saved his life. It wasn’t funny, but you didn’t know how else to react.

You stepped back, sliding down the brick wall behind you until you were sat on the asphalt, and could hang your head between your knees.

“Oh fuck,” Tess said, connecting the dots as she looked between you and Joel rapidly, brows furrowed as she became increasingly concerned. “Don’t tell me that she’s—” She shook her head, turning away from the photo and Joel and you, running a hand through her greasy hair.

Joel was still processing, or at least that’s what it looked like to you. He was staring at the photo, strangely still, seeming blank of any and all emotions.

Tess paced for a moment more, before releasing a heavy breath. She walked past Joel, over to you. “Okay, c’mon.” She said, holding out a hand for you. When you hesitated, she waved her hand and barely refrained from putting it in your face. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get you out of here before Colin goes to FEDRA.” You take her hand, surprised by her strength as she hauls you to your feet in an instant, releasing you immediately. She shook her head again. “Joel, time to go.”

He looked at her, and then towards you, nodding once. You said nothing when he put the picture in his own pocket, instead of handing it back. You hesitantly followed after Tess, wondering what your next move should be, and Joel followed after the two of you, looking stricken.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

None of you had said anything, the entire time Tess had hurried you through borders and to what you assumed was their apartment. It felt like it was miles away from your own.

The wallpaper was yellowed with age, slowly drooping down the walls, peeling away at corners, but it wasn’t the worst state it could’ve been in. The floral pattern didn’t really lend itself to the vibes of the apocalypse, though. Nor did it match either Tess or Joel’s stoic and tough demeanours.

You had no idea what to expect from this.

For as long as you could remember, your mother had told you tales of your father, of the great man he was, the great father he was. But here, on the other side of a worldwide outbreak of infection, you couldn’t quite match the image in front of you to the man in those stories. You had spent so long thinking of him as being dead, unable to do anything to find you or your mother from a grave, that to learn he was alive, and with Tess, it was a shock to your system.

Where was Sarah? Where was the half-sister you had heard so much about from your mother?

Despite Joel matching the name, and the photo that your mother had kept, it just didn’t feel like he was the man you had been imagining as your father. He didn’t seem kind or caring, he didn’t look like he had any love left in him. And maybe, you could have accepted that, if he had other aspects to him, if he hadn’t let your mother’s killer live.

“What happened the day of the outbreak?” You asked, finally, despite the way you ached to run away and cry, for your mother, for yourself, for the father you would never have. Joel just looked at you, rarely blinking as if you were a figment of his imagination, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“No, we are asking you questions.” Tess responded, clearly taking the lead on the situation, despite having no connection to you. It really shouldn’t have been her business. You scoffed. “Where did you come from?” She asked you, unblinking in the face of your disbelief.

You shook your head, “How is that even relevant?”

“Because I said it is.”

“I don’t care what you say. He’s my dad. You’re not my mom.” You replied, roughly, angrily, and you’re only more irritated when Tess doesn’t even react. You become furious when Joel says nothing. “Are you going to say anything?”

Tess went to speak, but you spoke again before she could utter a word.

“Not even about how you let my mother’s killer go? You don’t have anything to say about that?” You questioned, stepping towards him where he had taken a seat on the couch in front of that god-forsaken wallpaper.

There was an awkward lull in the room, each of you waiting for Joel to speak. He seemed unsure if he was going to speak at all, his brows furrowing further, and he pulled the photo out of his pocket to look at once again.

“She died, years ago. My—my kids…” Joel swallowed, and shook his head. He placed the photo down beside him. The photo meant nothing. You could’ve been to his house, and brought it here with you, never having met the woman he hadn’t seen since the day the world fell apart.

“Did you even look for us?” You asked him, head tilting, eyes stinging, wanting desperately for him to say yes, to say he scoured the world but missed you somehow. But looking at him, covered with scars, you could see he was nothing like the man your mother remembered. He didn’t care, not like she thought he had. The man in front of you wasn’t your father — he was a disappointment. He was your father’s shell.

Joel didn’t speak, swallowing harshly, seemingly unable to form any words.

“You’re nothing like she said you were.” You told him quietly, shaking your head, reaching by his side and taking the picture. You wanted to rip his half off, throw it at him, denounce him, tell him he wasn’t your father, that he was never worthy of your mother, but you couldn’t. It was the only thing that you would ever have of the father you should’ve had. The man your mother had loved. She’d already had so much taken from her, you couldn’t, even after her death, take Joel away too. He could live on in the memory. In pictures.

They didn’t say anything when you turned your back on them, shoving the picture in your pocket, and walking out of their door. You slammed it behind you, felt the walls of their apartment tremble with the force, and kept walking.

Part of you, a big part, wished that Joel Miller would have stayed dead. At least that way, you could have kept pretending.

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

The Barbecue. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 5 of 6)

5k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader, 18+ / pt 1 / master list

The long-awaited HOG (hot old guy) barbecue. Joel watches in the reflection of the window as you get out of the pool and grab a towel. You follow him inside. "Don't tell me that made you jealous," you say. "Turned me on," he responds, and you can tell.

NEXT: part 6 / Story Master List

WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ dry humping, vaginal fingering, jacking off, brief oral (M receiving), semi-public-ish, swallowing, alcohol, irresponsible cook-out behavior, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE, some angst, reader wears Joel's shirt, lack of PIV, blue balls. Do not read the dad as your actual dad!

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione. ty @dark-scape for the support as usual.

Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

You don’t hear from Joel for days. The first day, you’re a mess of feelings, pinballing between numb and smitten.

You feel like you don't really know anyone in your life. The people you thought were closest are perfect strangers. You don't trust anyone. Your roommate is spending all her time with that friend of Chad’s. Your friend from home is on a trip overseas and won’t be back until the day after Independence Day. You feel like you don’t have anyone to hang out with, talk to, or even sit in silence with. You’re lonely and pensive.

On the other end of the spectrum, your mind (and body) frequently drift to that long-awaited kiss, and everything that happened in that hotel suite. You almost feel like if you can sleep with Joel, everything will be right in the world, even when it’s all wrong. Even when he’s part of what’s wrong. You know it’s illogical.

One afternoon, for a change of scenery, you go to the bookstore with the cafe where you work. Maybe you’re clinging to the last bit of familiarity that’s left. On the bulletin board at the entrance, there’s a flyer for Chad's band playing at your favorite spot. That must be why he originally came by the cafe the other day.

While you’re in the middle of the bookstore, you get a text from Joel and your face burns when you open it. It’s a disappearing dick pic. Not just his dick. It’s a blow job POV including his dick. “Your souvenir,” he says, like that’s all that happened. Your blood boils but also rushes to your loins.

That’s all he has to say to you? You respond, “really?” He’s trying to act like that whole car ride never happened.

“Wanna talk about it?” he responds. It’s nice that he offers, and your heart probably swells a little too much at the basic decency, but you’re actually not sure you want to talk about it. You’re almost afraid to find out more. You already wish you could rewind and live in blissful ignorance.

After an exhausting day of stewing and sulking, you decide to go to Chad’s show. It feels pathetic, but who cares? The way you see it, you don’t have anything to lose. Chad can’t hurt you anymore. It’s hard to imagine anyone who could. You text Chad to let him know you’re coming. He doesn’t text you back.

When you get to the venue, you don’t see anyone you know, at first. There’s still another band to play before them, so they should be hanging out near the merch table and you make your way over there. Finally, you see their drummer behind the cash box, then you see Chad’s hair from the back. The drummer says something to Chad, then Chad looks over at you. Your stomach turns when you see his face. You can only see half of it, but there’s a gauze bandage across his eyebrow and upper cheekbone. His mouth is scabbed over. Joel. Chad makes himself scarce as soon as he sees you.

You finally respond to Joel, “not really.” And that’s that. But you don’t know how you’re going to face him or your dad when you go home for the holiday.

On Independence Day, you’re so anxious that you drive right past the turn onto Joel’s street. You don’t forget, you just decide not to turn. You go to your friend’s house, even though you know she isn’t there. It’s a familiar place to park your car and try to calm yourself down. You sit there for almost an hour doing nothing but scrolling tumblr and listening to music.

When you don’t arrive at the barbecue, your dad and Joel separately call you and you don’t answer either of them. Based on your degree of dread with each respective call, you realize your dad is the one you least want to see. You’re not really harboring much negativity toward Joel at this point.

Frank texts you and you finally take a deep breath and decide to show up. Your plan is to detach as much as possible and let yourself leave as soon as you’re uncomfortable.

You pull up to Joel’s house wearing a bikini and the flannel with a change of clothes in your Billy Loomis tote. Pretty much everyone is already at Joel’s house. Tommy and Maria, Bill and Frank, your dad and stepmother, a couple of Joel’s neighbors, and two of your dad’s work friends, rounding out the requisite hot old guys (HOGs), according to your friend, at least. One of the HOGs, Steve, always looks at you like a piece of meat. You used to think he was just an old creep, but now he strikes you as a bit of a DILF.

A light breeze carries the smell of propane and pork butt as you approach the pool gate. Only Frank is in the pool. You’ll probably hang out with him the whole time. Joel is at the grill in swim trunks and t-shirt, talking to one of your father’s work friends. He doesn't even look up when you open the gate. His swim trunks sure do show a lot of thigh.

Your stepmother is all over your dad. You pry him off with a hug out of spite and to face your fears. Then, you go to the grill and hug Joel from the side. It’s way too hot to stand there long.

“There she is,” Tommy announces on the other side of the grill. He’s talking to a guy you don’t recognize who turns around and does a double-take.

“This is Jesse, he works with your dad.”

He extends his hand and says “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hmm, that sounds ominous." You can imagine being very attracted to Jesse even a week ago, but suddenly you don't have interest in anyone under 40.

"Well I heard you like to swim, at least. I didn't wanna swim alone," Jesse says.

Frank has a tray at the side of the pool with a glass of wine and his phone on it. He puts his glass of wine down when you walk up.

"Thank God, I've been drinking by myself," he says.

"And what kind of pairing is this for your pork butt?" you tease him as you sit down on the edge and put your feet in. Bill just barely raises his glass to wave at you. He's sitting alone under the shade of an umbrella, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt.

"Hey I think I have this shirt," Frank says, and takes the flannel between his thumb and finger. He studies it contemplatively for a moment. You catch up with Frank for a while.

You call over to the grill, "Joel are you gonna swim?"

"I'm on butt duty," he says.

Frank gives you an inquisitive look then asks if you're gonna get in.

You put your stuff down on a chair, take the shirt off, and start applying sunscreen. Joel watches as you rub it into your bikini top. Then you turn around to give him a side view as you rub it into the part of your butt cheeks hanging out of the bottoms.

Jesse moseys over within seconds and takes off his shirt. And well, damn. When Jesse raises his eyebrows at you, you realize you've been staring while lazily reaching over your shoulder and applying sunscreen. You were really just looking at his tattoos. Mostly.

“Nice ink,” you say.

"Need a hand?" He asks. Why not? You hand Jesse the sunscreen and watch his face as he squirts some into his palm. He bites his lip.

You turn around facing the pool – facing Joel – and stretch out one leg in front of you, keeping the other bent, while Jesse rubs lotion into your back. He doesn’t do it in an erotic way, but you curl your toes and subtly bite your lip as though it is. You let your legs fall open a bit.��

You lower yourself into the pool and have small talk with Jesse for a minute, then Joel says your real name for once and it makes your eyes go wide. He doesn't say it that loud but you still hear him from across the pool. "Gimme a hand?" He asks.

Jesse stays in the pool and awkwardly makes small talk with Frank.

Joel watches in the reflection of his big living room windows as you lift yourself out of the pool and get a towel. You follow him inside to the small, secondary kitchen and he closes the door behind you..

He pins you up against the counter, already aroused, and further hardens against your wet swimsuit, flooding you with desire from your core to your chest.

"Havin' fun?" He growls in your ear.

"Don't tell me that made you jealous."

"Turned me on," he says, low and horny.

He kisses your chin, then your neck. Your hands wrap around him and grab his ass, pulling him into you harder with your own soft grunt.

He slips his hand under the damp cup of your bikini top, his fingers curving around the side of your breast, thumb resting at your cleavage. His warm palm pushes your cold, hard nipple as he firmly cradles your breast, his hand applying slow pressure in rhythm with his hips. Your knees are weak. You're dripping, not just from the pool.

He wraps his arms around you and slides his warm hands into the sides of your swimsuit bottom, grabbing hold of your cold ass cheeks. He groans, "God almighty.”

He kneads your ass, pulling you into him and his rock-hard length. He kisses your neck and grinds himself into you. The feeling of his warm, thick rod slowly rutting against your clit drives you mad. You couldn’t get any wetter. If you don't have this man inside you soon, you might actually die. You reach into his shorts and use your other hand to try to take them down. He doesn't stop you.

But there’s a knock at the door. Good Lord. You know who it's going to be.

Joel puts his dick away and removes a big pan of coleslaw from the fridge. He hands you the coleslaw while you open the door.

"Am I interrupting anything?" She asks.

"No," You say, then cock your head and add "Am I?" You hold eye contact for several seconds, then hand her the cole slaw and ask, "don't you and Dad have some catching up to do?"

Your stepmother takes the coleslaw outside.

You close the door behind her. “Basement?,” you ask, and start toward the pantry at the back of the space. There’s a hidden staircase that opens into the movie theater downstairs.

Joel groans and rubs his beard. “Later,” Joel says with a sigh. “We better go back out.”

You scoff. “Really?”

“Go on back outside.” He opens the door to the main kitchen.

When you get back to the pool, Jesse's already gone, talking to your dad. When you get back in, Frank says, "You little minx." He's got Instagram pulled up on his phone and shows you a picture from several years ago of Joel and him together, both wearing the shirt you arrived in. "Tell me everything."

Your face gets hot. “Seems to be a popular shirt,” you say.

"No," Frank says. "Shirt's just the kicker. There's something about the way you say each other's names. They sound like a secret." Frank is good at reading people.

"What, you think I fucked him? I didn't." At least you don't have to lie about that.

"Maybe not yet," he scoffs. Frank looks behind you and covers his mouth, then says “Look at his shirt." Yeah, Joel’s shirt has just the right wet spots. In theory, they could've been from a hug. It basically was a hug.

"Ever heard of a hug?" you say.

Frank raises his eyebrows then holds up his glass of wine and "accidentally" clinks his wedding ring on it before downing the rest. Bill hears it and comes over with the bottle. Frank gives him a look with the slightest nod across the pool, like he can't even wait a couple hours to share his new gossip. Bill's eyes dart over to Joel, then meet Frank's eyes again. As usual, no reaction is visible on Bill's face, aside from a twinkle in his eye. "Everything to your liking, sir?" he asks Frank.

Frank smiles, "Come on, at least dip your feet," but Bill leaves. Just as well, Frank's not done prodding you.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," Frank shrugs. "But I know you want to. . . and my lips are sealed. . ."

Frank is one of the most trustworthy people you know, so you don't worry about him spilling it. You just don’t feel like saying it out loud and putting words to it. Once it exists in the air, it’s something that can be broken. Something that can fall apart.

You panic and tell Frank about Joel and your stepmother instead. You claim you're just keeping Joel close for now while you decide what to do. You leave out any details about what close means.

The initial look on his face is horror, then Frank looks like he's going to cry. "Are you okay?"

"Chill," you say, looking around nervously. "Jesus, how much wine have you had?"

"Sorry, I just. I'm sorry. I know it's hard. That's all." He hugs you, and over Frank’s shoulder, you see Joel looking across the pool with his brow furrowed even more than usual.

"Well, don't forget my dad cheated on my mom with her, so, whatever," you say.

"Well, exactly. That's why I worry-"

Your face tells him to stop, so he changes the subject. "So what about that guy from the band, is that still a thing?"

You sigh. "Chad? No. Nothing juicy, just no."

"Got it," he says and you know you can trust him not to bring it up again. He follows your eyes back to Joel. You’re not off the hook, but at least you don’t have to talk about it.

The actual meal is relatively uneventful. It’s hard to be around your father right now. Deep down, you knew there were secrets. You knew he wasn’t the most upstanding man. You never fully trusted him after what he did to your mom. But at this point, he feels like a stranger. You’re almost glad his wife is cheating on him.

Steve, the hotter of your dad’s non-Joel friends, tries hitting on you. Asks if you like to party. Says he bets you get pretty wild after a few drinks. Pressures you to do shots with him. Why not, you think. You do one shot, but make Joel join in.

“Bad fuckin’ influence over here,” Joel says and gives Steve a slap on the back. Steve tries to egg you on to do more, but you don’t and neither does Joel.

"That's why we call him Mr. One Shot," Jesse says. laughing at his own joke.

Joel bristles at the nickname and crosses his arms, jamming his hands under his ungodly biceps.

Steve lowers his voice and asks Joel, "How many shots in Uvalde?" Joel doesn’t answer.

"One," Jesse says. "Miller’s too modest, you're embarrassing him," he laughs.

Joel tenses. "Give it a rest, Jesse. Have some discretion."

Jesse looks at your end of the table and swallows. “Right”

Your stepmother abruptly changes the subject. She asks Jesse how old he is and why she hasn’t seen him before. She’s drunk, and every time she looks at Jesse, she looks like she could eat him alive.

Your dad elbows Jesse. “I think my wife likes you,” he says with a wink. It’s awkward.

Joel’s face is a little pink from the sun, and it looks good on him. He’s looking at your face, but not making eye contact. He seems to be in a trance. You kind of feel like you should still be mad at him, but for some reason, you’re not. And you’re not going to deprive yourself out of spite. You can feel Frank noticing every detail of this.

Bill pours the last of a bottle of wine, and you volunteer to go to the wine cellar. Bill says they’ve had enough. Frank protests that he wants one more glass. He asks you for a German Riesling, with a wink. You subtly shake your head at him, falsely denying what he knows you’re up to.

You stand in the wine cellar, enjoying the cool air, then sit on a cabinet that spans the whole back wall. It’s only a few minutes before you hear Joel’s flip flops echoing down the stairs, presumably with the pretext of helping you find the wine. He crosses the cellar without even glancing at the wine. “Leavin’ for the fireworks in 15,” he says.

He has that horny look in his eyes and there’s already a bulge in his swim trunks. The way his t-shirt stretches over his pecs and arms — God damn.

When Joel reaches you, his massive hands part your knees, then lightly stroke your bare thighs. His lips brush your temple as he says, “You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days.”

“That’s the idea,” you say as his hands wrap around your back and he slides you closer to the edge of the cabinet. When your crotch comes to rest against his, an acute desire floods your breasts. You squeeze his sides with your thighs, then roll your hips into his arousal and hook your hands under his arms, bringing him closer.

You slide your hands down his back and into his swim trunks, feeling his ass and bringing the trunks down. At the same time, you pull his hips into you and the swell of his hard-on against your clit makes you throb with need. You start to untie your bikini bottoms while he gropes a breast.

His mouth latches onto your neck. You let the front of the bottoms fall between your thighs, and tilt your hips in just the right way. He brings a hand between your legs and drags his flattened fingers up and down your slippery seam, then thrusts two of them inside and you moan.

“Fuuck,” he breathes.

You grab his cock. “Come on,” you beg as you tug him. He takes his hard length from you, holds it in his hand, and furrows his brow as he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you. You try to read his face. He breathes heavily as he fingers you.

“Fuck me already,” you beg.

He looks down at himself and shakes his head no, but looks pained by his own answer.

“We both know it’s gonna happen,” you say.

He takes a deep breath as though to restrain himself. “Maybe so, but not tonight.”

He removes his fingers and brings the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance. A bolt of need shoots through you. He dwells there for a moment, takes another deep breath, then lays his stiff manhood vertically against your seam and pulls you tight against him. Then he grinds wetly against your aching clit, and your hips roll into him. Your head falls back and you moan. Your eyes are watery.

“God, Joel. . .this is . . .so dumb. . . just fu-”

You cut yourself off with a moan as he quickens his pace and grunts.

“Pleeease.”

“Shhhhhhh,” he says. You’re on the verge of coming and on the verge of tears. He holds you tight for leverage then goes jackhammer pace.

“Joel. . .”

“Come for me, sugar,” he pants. And not long after, you do. You clench around nothing, pulse against him, and you hear the echo of a breathy “Joel” you didn’t know you said.

He takes his cock in his hand again and looks at you with his pupils blown wide. His breath is ragged as he strokes himself. You find yourself slipping down off the cabinet. He doesn’t deserve what you’re about to do, you just want it for yourself, for whatever reason. He steps back and you squat down to face level with his cock. You hover your mouth over it, then wrap your lips around the head, and he comes with an echoing groan before you take any of the shaft into your mouth. His cum even tastes unattainable. Your eyes sting.

You fix your swimsuit and compose yourself.

“C’mere,” he says and hugs you. You don't really hug him back. You wipe a tear off your cheek. He tries to kiss you, but you’re too upset, and it would make you need him even worse than you already do.

Joel’s phone rings and he picks it up. “We’re comin’,” he says. “C’mon, let’s go.” He puts his arm around you but your demeanor doesn’t soften. You’ve had it with him depriving you.

“Ya know, maybe it’s a good night to talk to my dad,” you threaten as you near the top of the stairs.

“Damn, Trouble.” You can't tell if he’s impressed or judging you. “I said not tonight. I didn’t say never.”

That makes you think twice, at which point you realize what you just did. . .You tried to blackmail Joel for sex.

He adjusts his shorts. God, what’s become of this situation in just a few days - you try to put it out of your mind. You can beat yourself up over it later.

Joel stops you with his hand on yours before you open the door. “Look,” he continues. “Before you do anything stupid, there’s somethin’ I should tell you later.”

You lean against the wall and cross your arms. “Lemme guess, you and Dad are up to some shady, dangerous shit.”

“Nothin’ to do with that,” Joel says, lowering his voice.

“So you are.”

“Dangerous, yes, shady, no. We’re the good guys. Less you know ‘bout that, the better.”

“Why?”

“For your safety.”

You open the door to the living room and people are milling around deciding who’s riding with whom to the fireworks. Frank says, “hey, she didn’t get bricked in,” and hands you your bag from outside so you can change.

You and Joel ride with Bill and Frank to the fireworks. Frank keeps looking back and making small talk, but you and Joel mostly look out your opposite windows. You get to thinking about what Joel said. Not tonight. . . I didn’t say never. . . If he means that, maybe it’s worth the wait. Maybe you should hear him out, whatever he has to tell you.

During the fireworks, you come around a little. Joel playfully covers your ears, knowing you’ve always hated loud noises. When Bill and Frank drop you off at Joel’s afterwards, everyone is going their separate ways. You're relieved to see your dad and stepmother drive off before you have to say goodbye.

You start to go to your car, wanting to quit while you're ahead and not end up begging for it again. Joel stops you with gentle hands on your shoulders.

"Come in for a minute. Let's talk." A pit opens in your stomach.

The two of you go in through the pool gate. “Lemme make you a drink,” he says. That sounds even worse.

. . .

Joel hands you your favorite cocktail, then comes around the bar with his own drink to sit on the stool next to you. He takes a deep breath and puts his hand on your knee. He seems almost as nervous as you are. You can't remember seeing him nervous before.

“Yeah?” you prompt him.

He nods and takes a sip of his drink, then looks you in the eye. He puts his glass down, then takes yours out of your hand and puts it down on the counter too.

He swivels you toward each other. He looks like he's about to say something, then something changes in his eyes. He cradles your head with both hands, lays his lips into yours, and kisses you slow and hard, his tongue dipping into your mouth.

After a few seconds, you don’t even notice the taste of his whiskey, and his hands trace your body on their way down to your thighs. It’s intense but tender. You can’t help but feel like it’s some kind of a kiss goodbye. It scares you. He slides off the stool and gets in between your knees, tries to put your legs around him again, and that’s certainly where your legs want to go. But you want to hear what he has to say first.

You pull away and your hand drifts up to your lips. They buzz from his fervor. Your chest rises and falls.

“Spit it out,” you tell him.

“Right," he says. "I dunno if you’re still gonna wanna. . .” He downs his drink. It’s hard for you to imagine anything that would make you not want to fuck him anymore.

Finally, he begins. "Alright. . . ‘member what I said at lunch the other day, 'bout how monogamy isn’t for everyone?"

"Yeah." If this is all to say it’s not for him, it’s not hitting like much of a bombshell. Now, if he's going to tell you about other people he's fucking–when he's not even fucking you—that's a different story.

"Well," he clears his throat and looks away. "Your dad-"

You interrupt him with a loud sigh. "Just because he cheats doesn't mean you can sleep with his wife." You’re annoyed he’s even going there.

Joel holds up his hands as though to tell you to slow down. "Lemme finish. 'member what I said, how even in a marriage, some couples. . . ." He tries to make you fill in the blanks for yourself, but you won't. "Okay,” he shifts in his seat and begins to gesticulate vaguely. “Your dad and stepmother, they have an arrangement."

You feel the blood drain from your face. You think about the way she was eyeing Jesse. "Gross," you say.

He swallows and nods regretfully as you process this. He waits patiently as your heart races along with your thoughts, then you spill them out all at once. "I dunno why I would believe you. OR why you would believe her. Is that what she told you?” You laugh. “Whatever. Even if it's true, you aren't just any guy-"

"He knows," Joel says almost somberly. “About me.”

"Oh, he knows?" you laugh. He couldn't possibly. This is a terrible attempt at defusing the whole situation for himself. And yet, he looks like he feels bad for you.

"The first time, he talked me into it."

Deep breaths. "That's insane. That's. . .this is your new plan? Try to convince me my dad is some perverted cuckold?"

"No, not like that." He shivers in disgust. "Damn, Trouble. That's where your head went? No. . . when he. . .it was like. . . a swap.”

Your stomach turns.

“Okay, remember my date to Bill and Frank's wedding? The stripper?” Your heart sinks. “Your dad, um, really liked her, and-"

"I get the picture," you say, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, recalling that your dad did in fact really like Joel's date. It was embarrassing.

"It was casual with me and. Shit, what was her name. Anyway, we were all stayin' in that hotel gettin' sloshed at the pool, an-"

You open your eyes and say, "Yeah, I got it, okay?" Then, you walk over to the sofa to sit down. He follows you. You feel sick to your stomach and don't want to hear another word about it. You cross your arms and slouch, sitting in silence for a moment.

He hesitantly puts his hand on your knee, sending a rush of blood to your loins. You don’t know what to feel.

"Did you really end it with her?" You ask.

He sighs. "More or less."

Now rage starts simmering in your chest.

"Told her I wanted a break.”

Unbelievable.

“That just — it lessens the blow. But trust me, I'm not doin' it again. Especially after how she’s been actin’."

You wish you could believe him.

You ask, "Why'd you let me think it was some huge secret?"

He's quiet for a moment.

"I don’t think your dad would appreciate you knowin’ about it," he says. "But I was gonna tell you anyway."

“Yeah, right.”

“‘Yeah. . . ‘member all those calls you ignored?”

“But then I got to thinkin’ about it, and I guess. . . .”

"What?”

"I," he pauses and sighs. "Shit, I dunno, it was hot. Really hot. The way you acted, thinkin' you had somethin' over me. . .never saw that side of you before."

Now this you can believe.

"Next day, still thought about tellin’ ya. But after the pool, there was no goin’ back. I mean, damn."

There’s a sparkle in his eye as he reflects on that. He adjusts himself, which always makes you tingle, even now. Especially now? God, you have no idea.

"Guess it kinda did somethin' to me,” he says. He raises his eyebrows and gives your thigh a rub, but you flinch. It isn’t personal, you’re just on edge, but his eyes get sad and he takes his hand away, resting it in his lap as he sits back lazily on the couch.

You ask, "So why tell me now?"

"I dunno, maybe I'm growin' a conscience."

You try to make sense of that, but you can’t. Why would he feel guilty about you doing something as depraved as blackmailing him into sex?

"Woulda been hot as hell though. Maybe I shoulda let ya go through with it. Damn.”

It sounds like everything is up to him, and apparently, it is.

He hesitantly rests his hand on your back and slowly rubs it. You take a deep breath and sigh audibly. You’re melting under his fingertips.

He lowers his voice, “So, now that you know everything . . .”

His phone buzzes. When he looks at it, he tenses and sharply inhales.

“Your dad’s here,” he says.

And your car is still parked outside in the turnaround.

Planning for the next chapter to be the last in this story. . .

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