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Home | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mention of parental death, mentions of abuse

Word Count: 4388

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You sat cross-legged on the floor of the boys’ motel room, sipping a coffee you’d run out to get earlier that morning. Dean was on his computer, and you were responding to the potential cases he’d found.

“A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—” Dean started.

“Ooh, I like Cali,” you cut him off.

“—Its crew vanished.” He finished.

“And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.”

“Meh, that’s boring. Let somebody else handle that one,” you dismissed.

Dean noticed Sam hadn’t spoken in just about the last hour. He was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

“Hey,” Dean called to his brother. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.”

He clearly wasn’t.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” you said.

Dean leaned over and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at his notepad. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” you asked.

Sam got up from his bed and began rifling through his duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” Dean eyed his brother strangely.

The younger brother pulled out a photo from the bag and held it up next to his drawing. You couldn’t quite see what he was looking at from where you sat.

“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Back home. Back to Kansas,” he responded.

The older brother was surprised. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

He showed the photo to the two of you. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”

“Yeah…?” Dean still had no idea where he was going with this.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?”

Dean— as well as you— was still lost. “I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but… the people who live in our old house— I think they might be in danger,” Sam rushed out.

“Why would you think that?” you questioned.

“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam turned away.

“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” Dean shook his head and stood to follow him. “Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give us a little bit more than that.”

“I can’t really explain it is all,” Sam shrugged.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.”

You turned to face Sam as he began to explain. “I have these nightmares.”

You nodded. “We’ve noticed.”

“And sometimes… they come true.”

Dean was stunned. “Come again?”

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death— for days before it happened,” Sam explained.

“Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean sat back down on the edge of his bed.

“No,” the younger brother protested. “I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

You felt overwhelmed, and so did Dean. “I don’t know.”

Sam sat down across from his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”

“Sam, slow down—” you urged him, knowing Dean was about to go through the roof.

Sure enough, Dean stood and started pacing. “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” you asked.

Dean’s voice broke for the first time since you’d met him. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes appeared as he spoke softly, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

Dean nodded. “I know we do.”

***

You looked out at the boys’ childhood home and followed them up to the front door.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asked his brother who didn’t respond.

“Jury’s still out on that,” you muttered in response.

Dean knocked on the front door, and a young woman answered. You could see a look of recognition pass over Sam’s face.

“Yes?” the woman said.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”

One Winchester cut the other off. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

The woman seemed surprised and smiled. “Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She turned to you. “Are you a Winchester, too? I didn’t see a little girl in any of the pictures.”

You shook your head. “No, no. Just a friend. (Y/N).”

She smiled at you. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”

Inside the home, a girl who looked to be around seven sat at the table doing homework, and a little boy who was presumably two jumped in his playpen.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” the toddler called excitedly.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explained, taking a sippy cup from the fridge and bringing it to her son. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She walked back over to her daughter. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). The boys used to live here.”

“Hi,” the shy girl said quietly.

You waved.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, from Wichita.”

“You got family here, or…?”

Jenny’s smile faded. “No. I just, uh… needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam questioned.

Jenny laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here—”

You discreetly turned to see Dean smile weakly.

“But this place has its issues,” she finished.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

That caught your attention. “Oh, that’s too bad. What else?”

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

Dean shook his head. “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

Jenny looked at him quizzically. “It’s just the scratching, actually.”

Sari tugged on her mom’s shirt, who stooped down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asked.

“The thing in my closet,” she whispered as if the thing would hear.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny looked up to you and the boys. “Right?”

They shook their heads.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny explained.

Sari’s voice suddenly got louder. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom and it was on fire.”

The boys seemed too shocked to speak.

You took over. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re okay now though, right?”

She nodded.

“See? It didn’t get ya. It was only a dream.”

You knew it wasn’t. A pit filled your stomach after saying your goodbyes to the family and heading out of the door.

“You hear that? A figure on fire,” Sam reminded the two of you.

“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asked.

"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” the older brother chuckled humorlessly.

“Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean responded.

The brothers were only making each other panic worse at this point.

“Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam inquired.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Both of you need to calm down,” you told them, simultaneously getting in the car. “We’re gonna get those people safe. Whatever’s in there is not gonna hurt you or those people.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked.

You snapped into a more intense tone, leaning over the backseat. “Look, dude, you’re gonna get your shit together. The two of you are only ramping each other up. Now, you are going to get a grip or I will do this job on my own.”

Sam and Dean both nodded.

“You’re runnin’ low on gas, Dee.” You patted Dean’s cheek before sitting back against your chair.

***

“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” Dean said as he pumped gas.

“I’ve tried telling you that eighty times since we left that house.”

He ignored your snide comment. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

"We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with. We’d dig into the history of the house,” Sam sighed.

"Exactly,” the older brother began, “except this time, we already know what happened.”

"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?”

"About that night, you mean?”

"Yeah.”

Dean paused. “Not much. I remember the fire… the heat. And then I carried you out the front door.”

You looked at the floor, knowing how hard this must be for him to open up.

“You did?” the younger Winchester asked.

"Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

"No.”

“And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was— was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.”

"Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

You decided to add your two cents. “Yeah. We can talk to your dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Silence blanketed the three of you for a moment, the air feeling heavy.

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam piped up.

‘Of course, it doesn’t,’ you thought.

Dean kept quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walked away, and you watched him turn the corner around the gas station. He looked back for a moment, and you assumed it was to see if anyone had followed him.

You furrowed your brows. You allowed a few minutes to pass before you announced to Sam, “I’m gonna go check on Dean.”

While you turned the corner, you saw Dean exiting the bathroom door. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he noticed you, he tried to shoulder his normal attitude.

“You stalkin’ me?”

“No, actually, I came to check on you.”

“Well, I’m fine.” He went to brush past you.

You grabbed his bicep. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stopped, looking you over. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s this?” you gently brushed your first finger under his chin, picking up a tear he had forgotten to wipe away. You held it up for him to see.

Dean opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He gently pulled his arm out of your grip. “C’mon, let’s go.” He started walking away from you.

You caught up to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to do this one by myself?”

He nodded sharply.

Sam gave you a curious look while Dean got in the car.

You shook your head before the two of you ducked into the Impala simultaneously.

***

The three of you spoke to a man who had owned a car garage with John years ago. You learned how much John had changed before Mary’s death versus after, and you began to understand why Dean was the way he was. You also learned that he had been going to see a palm reader in town. Dean recognized the names of one of the palm readers Sam had read from a compiled list: Missouri Moseley. The three of you went over to her house and waited in her foyer as she finished with her last client.

She guided the client out of the door. “Alright, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”

The man thanked her, and she closed the door behind you.

She addressed the three of you. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”

You giggled.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asked.

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news,” the woman explained. You stared at her, as did the boys.

“Well? Sam, Dean, (Y/N), come on already, I ain’t got all day.”

You looked at Dean. You knew you hadn’t told her your name. The three of you followed her into the next room.

“Well, lemme look at ya,” she smiled at the boys. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She pointed her finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.”

You giggled again. You liked her a lot.

“Sam.” Missouri grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And your father— he’s missin’?”

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asked her.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.”

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean questioned.

Missouri’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”

You smirked at Sam and sat down.

Missouri snapped at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he responded.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and you and Sam smiled.

“(Y/N), honey, I didn’t mean to completely disregard you,” she smiled at you. “(Y/L/N)... where do I know that name from?” She pondered for a moment and her smile faded. “I knew your dad. Mean ol’ bastard.”

Your throat clenched. You could feel the boys looking at you, but you kept your eyes on Missouri.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she went on. “I’m just sorry about what he did to you. And your brother? You poor thing.” She tsked.

Tears welled in your eyes.

Sam knew he should change the subject. “Okay. So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him,” Missouri explained.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean questioned.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?”

You tried to focus on the conversation, but your throat was still choked up. You could vaguely register them talking about what Missouri sensed in their house and how she had been keeping an eye on the place since Mary’s passing. All you could focus on were the memories you were being pulled back into. Memories of what your father put you through and how your mother just stood by. Memories of defending your brother against your father’s wickedness. You tried your best to pull yourself back to the light; you knew Missouri could hear what you were thinking. You wouldn’t let yourself be weak enough to let your father hurt you eight years after his death.

“Baby, you are not weak.” Missouri’s voice pulled you back to shore. “I’m sorry I brought all that up for you.”

You nodded at her, voice too weak to respond. Sam squeezed your hand, and you could feel Dean’s gaze boring into the side of your head.

***

You and the boys headed back to their childhood home with Missouri. You still couldn’t register what was going on outside of your own head. You knew Missouri hadn’t truly brought anything up for you; these memories were all just buried under the surface for you. Hunting didn’t exactly leave much time for you to dwell on your emotions.

Jenny allowed Missouri to come into her home and showed her and your trio into Sari’s bedroom. You were beginning to come back to earth and could focus on the conversation happening around you.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explained, walking around Sari’s room.

“Why?” Sam asked.

Missouri turned to him. “This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”

Dean pulled out his repurposed walkman.

“That an EMF?” Missouri asked.

“Yeah,” Dean answered.

“Amateur,” she deadpanned.

You noticed the EMF was beeping frantically.

“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri told the Winchesters.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

She nodded.

“How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Not it.” Missouri opened the closer. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.”

“What are they doing here?” Dean asked.

“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected,” Missouri elaborated.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”

“You said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.”

Dean’s voice became hard. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

***

After Missouri taught you how to pack small protection bags that you and the boys were to place in the cardinal points on both floors in Jenny’s house, you had to get Jenny and her kids out of harm's way.

“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she told Missouri.

“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back.”

You could tell the woman was still unsure, but she followed orders anyway. And with that, the four of you got to work.

When you were halfway done with the job, things started to get ugly. Just as you were about to place your second and final bag in the wall of Jenny’s bedroom, a cord snaked around your neck and pulled tightly. You dropped the bag of herbs to the ground; unable to get it into the wall in time. You gasped for air, frantically reaching for the bag but the spirit’s hold was too strong. Your vision began to spot and your face contorted in discomfort; doing the best you could to get air in your lungs. It was no use. Just when you thought it was over, Dean rushed to your side.

“(Y/N)!” he cried, pulling at the cord with all his might.

You clawed at your neck with one hand and motioned to the bag of herbs with the other. Dean understood what you were trying to say, and kicked a hole in the wall. He quickly put the bag inside, and your neck was released. Your head fell to the ground gasping for air.

Dean pulled you into a fierce hug that left you breathless. He pulled back from you, holding your face on either side. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. He gingerly touched the place where the cord had undoubtedly bruised your neck. “Can you stand?”

You nodded again. With Dean’s help, you made your way down to Missouri and Sam who stood in the middle of an extremely messy kitchen. Jenny’s kitchen table had been turned on its side with knives driven through the top of it, assumedly by the ghosts. The refrigerator door was swung wide open, and various items from the pantry had spilled out all over the place.

“You sure this is over?” Sam asked the psychic.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?”

Sam sighed in response. “Never mind. It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opened.

“Hello? We’re home,” Jenny announced when she walked into the house. She came into the kitchen, dumbfounded by the mess. “What happened?”

"Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this,” Sam told her.

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess,” Missouri added.

Dean stood glued to his spot.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”

He glared at Missouri, but began walking away nonetheless.

“And don’t cuss at me!”

***

You remained confused by how Dean had hugged you for the rest of the night which you spent in the Impala parked in front of Jenny’s house.

“Alright, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asked his brother.

“I don’t know. I just… I still have a bad feeling,” he responded.

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.”

Dean slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.”

You slumped down in your seat, too, only to see Jenny screaming and banging on her bedroom window. “Guys, look!”

The three of you rushed into the house.

“You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean said.

You nodded and sprinted to Ritchie’s room. The sleeping toddler was startled when you woke him up, but allowed you to carry him downstairs nonetheless. You met Sam by the front door who said to Sari, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.” She obliged and took the little boy from you.

Before the two of you could do anything else, you were slammed to the ground and dragged backward across the tile floor. You could hear poor Sari screaming as you and Sam were dragged away.

You were pinned to the wall by an invisible force and pushed up toward the ceiling. You could hear presumably Dean hacking away at the door, trying desperately to get in as a figure on fire approached you.

Dean made his way into the home and called your names frantically. He raised his gun at the fire figure when he caught sight of it.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam cried.

“What, why?!” you asked.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.”

And then, the fire vanished revealing who you recognized from pictures as Mary Winchester. She was wearing a white nightgown and her blonde hair billowed softly around her. Her feet were bare, and her aging skin was only slightly wrinkled.

You could see tears rising in Dean’s eyes as he lowered his gun. “Mom?”

The woman smiled and stepped closer to him. “Dean.”

She walked toward you and her youngest son. “Sam.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

She looked at him sadly, but said nothing.

The woman turned to you last. “Thank you,” she said.

You smiled back at her, though you weren’t quite sure what she was thanking you for.

She turned away and looked up toward the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son.” Her hair and nightgown were swept up into flames once more. The fire licked up to the ceiling, growing larger before disappearing entirely. You and Sam were released from the wall at once.

“Now it’s over,” Sam muttered.

***

The sun had risen while you and the boys were in the house. You called Missouri back to the Winchesters’ childhood home, and she sat on the porch talking with Sam.

You were standing with Dean by the car looking through his old family photos.

“Thanks for these,” Dean told Jenny.

“Don’t thank me, they’re yours.”

Dean put the trunk of photos and family memorabilia in the car. You and Dean bid Jenny, who thanked you, goodbye before leaning against the car together. The two of you knew you had a lot to talk about, but you weren’t brave enough to start the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.

You couldn’t look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I think you know.”

You paused a moment before turning to face him. “I promise I’ll tell you, just… not today.” You stuck out your pinkie for him to take.

He chuckled at you. “What are we, five?”

“Just do it, asshole,” you smiled back.

He linked his pinkie with yours, shaking your hand back and forth lightly. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at each other and getting lost in the moment. Before long, you both realized what was going on and jerked away from each other.

Dean scratched his head. “Sam, you ready?” he called.

Sam nodded and came over to the car.

“Don’t you kids be strangers,” Missouri told you.

“We won’t,” Dean responded.

“See you around,” the woman winked at you.

You smiled at her before getting in the car and driving away.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @doublecrazyyymofo

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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clockwayswrites · 2 years

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I didn’t write two parts this week or anything. Nope.

But apparently you all have been very good/bad/tired/enby and deserve to be spoiled. Who am I to deny that?

Master List: Start of ‘Thirst Trap Lessons‘ wc 1220

Danny jolted up, going out of frame on the video call. "I have to seduce Red Hood."

"...dude," Tucker said after a moment. "He already likes you."

"As Jason."

"You just said they're the same person," Sam pointed out.

"That’s not important, not if they're pretending they're not. He's not, I mean. If I want to date Jason I have to convince Red Hood to let me and the easiest way to do that is to get with Red Hood too."

"Just pointing out that, again, he already likes you, my dude."

"As Jason. How is this confusing you?"

Sam sighed in that soul weary way that only someone who had been friends with Danny for years could sigh. "You're the one being weird. They're one person."

"With totally different lives.” How were they not getting this. They had been friends with him during his Phantom era. They had to understand the vigi life a little. Just because Jason and Red Hood were the ‘same person’ it didn’t mean they had the same needs or wants or even personality. “Nope. Need to seduce Red Hood."

"Danny, no." Two voices chimed back at the same time.

"Danny yes," he said, his smirk visible for a moment as he ducked down and ended the call.

He set his laptop aside and dug out his phone from between the couch cushions. It took him a moment to find the right number in his contact list.

"Danny?" The confusion in the voice was warranted. While they had all left Amity Park on surprisingly good terms, it was weird for him to outright call someone who wasn’t Sam or Tucker. Still, she was his best bet.

"Paulina,”Danny said. He knew that his grin was obvious in his voice and didn’t try to hold it back. “I need you to teach me how to be a lowkey thirst trap so I can seduce my accidental sugar daddy's boyfriend and date them both."

Silence hung heavy on the line. And then Paulina answered, "...oh we are so going shopping."

After some back and forth, Danny ended up going to Paulina in Metropolis. Paulina did demand to visit Gotham sometime, but pointed out she knew the stores in Metropolis already so shopping there would be way easier. This was especially true since she was in Metropolis to go to school for Fashion Merchandising.

Danny was pretty proud of her for that.

It was the two of them who had scattered to the East coast after graduation. A few had made it to the West coast, one down to somewhere in Texas, and the bulk had stayed in the Midwest. They weren’t all close, not by any means, but they tended to check in with each other in a sporadic group chat. Mostly it was talking about how freakishly normal everywhere else was.

Not that Danny could claim that about Gotham. (He thought the others might be sorta jealous of that.)

Still, even if it wasn’t a busy chat, it was a nice tether to have. It was a reminder that the insanity of their childhood had been real, but that they had made it out (mostly) alive despite it all. It was also a way to check in if they were being a little too weird— if the rest of the world really was that dulled.

“So,” Paulina started, smacking Danny’s hand away from where he was poking at his face mask again.

Apparently Thirst Trap Lessons started with a spa day.

“So?” Danny repeated, just to be an ass.

Paulina didn’t disappoint him and rolled her eyes. “So, now that we’re settled and soaking and alone, tell me about these people you’re trying to seduce.”

“Okay, well. Right. So this is a secret, which I won’t ask if you can keep because we’re Amity Parkers.” Danny said. He gave her the obligatory fist bump at that.

They had really come together as a class once the fact he was Phantom had become an open secret among the other students. None of them ever turned him in to the GIW or his parents. He liked to think it was more care than the fact that he had been revealed saving them all from being pulled into a realm of unending torture along with the school.

Amity Parkers knew how to keep secrets, they had proven that.

“They’re both the same person? Secret identity stuff. Just no one seems to know that.”

Paulina hummed. “Any people think they’re dating?”

“Apparently. One of them is Jason—”

“Sugar Daddy or boyfriend?”

“Sugar Daddy. Jason is… well, I’m pretty sure he’s rich? Even if he lives in Crime Alley.”

“Oh, so really a Sugar Daddy.”

Danny blushed red under his face mask. “I guess? Except I don’t think he knows he’s doing it! I sure didn’t. He just likes to help. He’s involved in a lot of charity stuff. But I’m pretty sure the money is his? Or his family’s? I don’t think it’s Red Hood’s.”

Paulina’s head let her head fall to the side so she could give Danny A Look at that. “Red Hood.”

“His other side. Sorta, um… anti-hero, vigilante, crime lord?” Danny said quickly in a squeak.

“Danny Fenton! What are you doing getting mixed up with vigilantism again!” She shouted, leaning over the edge of her tub to slap at his arm. “You were supposed to be—” Slap. “—done—” Slap. “—with—” Slap. “—that!”

“I am! Stop slapping me! I am done with it. I don’t help out or anything! I didn’t even know about the Red Hood part until Jason insisted I get some self-defense training because he was worried about me. And then I show up and bam— he’s also Red Hood!”

“And no one knows?”

“Not that I’ve met.”

Paulina was glaring at him again. “And just how did you notice?”

“He, um, might sorta be a Revenant?”

Slap. “Danny!”

“Come on Paulina, he’s amazing! He’s kind and confident and you should see his thighs,” Danny defended himself. “And… and since he’s died before maybe if this actually goes somewhere it means that he won’t…”

“Oh Danny,” Paulina said in a much softer tone.

Danny smiled a sad, lopsided little thing. “Don’t say my name like that. It’s something I have to think about. That’s just being realistic.”

Danny squirmed under Paulina’s gaze for a long minute before she finally looked away. “So one persona is a rich do gooder and the other a vigilante and everyone thinks they’re dating.”

“I know, wild how everyone just assumes that. They’re never even in the same room!”

“Not really,” Paulina said with a shrug. “Before we knew you were, you know, you, the whole school totally thought that Danny-you and Phantom-you were dating.”

Danny chocked on air. “What?!?”

“Like, I mean, so, you were always defending his name and Sam and Tucker would ask you if he was alright after ghost attacks and you got, like, all protective whenever the GIW was in town,” Paulina said. “So we thought you were dating you. I was totally jealous too.”

“Oh Ancients. Is that why everyone was asking me things like if Phantom felt cold to the touch?” Danny squeaked.

Paulina just laughed at him as Danny slid further down into his mud bath.

-----

AN: Ailithnight’s reply here was spot on that Danny was treating Jason and Red Hood like they had two separate needs even knowing they were one person, so I felt motivated to go off and finish up this scene that goes into his thought process for it. Please ignore that it really doesn’t have a start. I just really like the idea of Danny getting that it’s different in and out of the suit and while it’s not like it’s actually two personalities, there still are two very different needs and he has to step up and date both. It’s also nice that he can be more Phantom around Red Hood (Danny misses him a little).

I don’t know if I got Paulina’s Voice right, but I tried! I just find this concept hilarious, and I also think she’d understand masking, from a social side, maybe too well. Hope you all enjoyed being spoiled today and say delightful, darlings!

Good Squad, as you’ve named yourselves:

@addie-lover-of-stories @bathildaburp @d4ydr34min9 @sometimesthingsfallapart @vythika96 @worthlesswall @aroranorth-west @chrysanthemum9484 @ver-444 @impulsiveasshole @meira-3919 @lazy-bouqet @cryinginthevoid @thegatorsgoose @cutelittlebeanie @blankliferain @ramblingkat @screamingtofillthevoid @themirrorghost @skulld3mort-1fan @may-rbi @nixthenerd @moonlupine @olivethetreebitch @overtherose @roseinbloom02 @v-inari @nappinginhell @imchildish8775 @leftmiraclechaos @mimilikey @mygood-bitch99 @ailithnight @busterkeel @avelnfear @ravenshadow17 @demigraceling-blog @maskygirl55 @sroomheaddoc @undead-essence @desertbogwitch @addie-lover-of-stories @magic-pincushion @phantom-dc @lazy-bouqet @gin2212 @meira-3919 @apointlessbox @hollowgast1 @cutelittlebeanie @friends-fam-fiends-hellothere @serasvictoria02 @dulceringo @moonlupine @mushroom-jack @icedbluesoul @lumosfeather18581 @impulsiveasshole @coruscateselene @escelia @firegirl108 @roseinbloom02 @crystalqueertea @booberrylizard @phoenixdemonqueen @shorterthanadverage @pyramaniac @seraphinedemort @fallenangle67 @chaoticchange @soren1830 @trippingovermyfeet @nutcase8691 @themirrorghost @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff @a-salty-sal @guardianrex @dsabian @crystalqueertea @v-inari @8-29pm @consouling @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair

#dp x dc #dead on main #danny fenton/jason todd #just no jason this scene #the fic that I'm not writing

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ojo-rojo · 3 months

Text

"...If you say to me, This is not your new house but I am your new home, I will enter the door of your throat, hang my last lariat in the hallway, build my altar of best books on your bedside table, turn the lamp on and off, on and off, on and off. I will lie down in you. Eat my meals at the red table of your heart..."

A fragment from Natalie Diaz's poem: "If I Should Come Upon Your House Lonely in the West Texas Desert".

#Natalie Diaz

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shellbilee · 2 months

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Hello fellow Aussie! 🇦🇺❤️

It’s my birthday today and I was wondering if I could put in a request for a Glen Powell fic?

Maybe they’ve been doing long distance for a while (they met when she was in the US from Australia for a holiday) and Glen decides to surprise her with him turning up at her door for her birthday or something?

If you can’t..it’s all good 😊

Have a good night! 😁

I am a week late, but happy birthday Queen! I hope you had the greatest day and got absolutely spoilt rotten.

Apologies to all my Hey There Darlin' readers, the next chapter update was delayed because I wanted to put this together for my favourite fellow Aussie. (Next chapter will be up ASAP).

So here's my little gift to you @queenslandlover-93, which would never be enough to thank you for all of your constant support on my work. Much love to you sweets!🩵

---

One Afternoon in Austin

A Glen Powell RPF One Shot Pairing: Glen Powell x Reader Words: 5.5K

You glance down at your phone for the hundredth time, inhaling a long breath when you see no new notifications on the screen.

You sigh, lips stretching into a somber smile at the sight of your two smiling faces pictured on your home screen.

God you missed him.

It had been 18 whole hours since you'd spoken to Glen - not since he'd face timed you at 12.01am, determined to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. You'd answered within three rings, feeling your whole body warm when his gorgeous face appeared on the screen, teeth flashing in the effortlessly handsome, all-American smile that you loved so much.

Glen.

Even ten months later, you still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that you were dating Glen Powell, and if you were being honest, you weren’t sure you ever would. If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be in a serious relationship with one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, you'd have snorted and laughed out loud.

You'd met Glen when you were solo traveling through the USA last June. You'd been about halfway through your twelve week trip, having started high on the west coast and working your way down South and across, making it to Texas. The plan had been to spend a few days there, first in Austin, then Houston and a couple of other places, before moving onto Louisiana to New Orleans.

Two days into your Austin visit - staying in a modern little air BnB not far from the city, you'd been coming back from a run through the suburbs when you'd come across a little tan and white dog standing alone on the sidewalk. You remembered stopping and looking around, waiting to see if anyone would appear, hoping that someone was walking their dog off lead and hadn't caught up yet. No one appeared to be out searching for it, the surrounding houses seemingly quiet.

You'd knelt down and whistled for the dog, smiling when it wandered over to you immediately, tail wagging and panting happily. You'd cooed at the tiny animal, patting its fluffy head, sitting down on the grass beside it so you could get a better view of its collar.

The dog's name had turned out to be Brisket, a fact you'd found both adorable and amusing, flipping over the metallic name tag to find a phone number engraved on the other side. Deciding that Brisket must have wandered out of his yard and was now lost, you'd picked up the tiny dog and walked the rest of the distance home to your air BnB. Letting Brisket out into your yard, you’d gotten him some water and set about calling the number from his name tag, sitting down on the back porch next to him as you’d listened to the phone ring.

The phone had ended up ringing through to voicemail, and you’d soon discovered that Brisket’s owner was a man named Glen with a deep Texan accent. You still remembered smiling at the sound of his voice, some part of you internally swooning as you listened to him tell you to leave a message after the tone.

You’d left a quick message, telling him your name and how you’d found Brisket, and that you’d brought him home with you to get him out of the afternoon heat. You’d sent a quick text as well, detailing the same, in case he was otherwise indisposed and unable to take a call.

Fifteen minutes later you’d been relaxing on the backyard grass with a trashy romance novel, Brisket snoozing peacefully by your side, when your phone had started ringing. Immediately recognising the number as Glen, you’d answered, not at all surprised to hear a panicked voice greeting you instead of the calm, easy going one that had spoken to you in a voicemail.

You’d reassured him that Brisket was fine, healthy and laying happily by your side, explaining that you didn’t have a car, but that you could get an uber to wherever he needed. Glen had offered to come to you but you’d politely declined, not entirely comfortable with giving your address to a stranger when you were traveling solo, instead asking where he was and insisting that you’d go to him. You’d soon discovered on your maps that he was only a ten minute drive from your air BnB, promising that you’d be there soon and that he had no reason to worry about Brisket as he’d thanked you profusely.

Exactly twenty-three minutes later your Uber had arrived at what you could only describe as a modern Texas mansion, and you remembered the way your jaw had instantly dropped as your eyes had run over the sheer expanse of the property. Telling the Uber driver to stay put, you’d lifted Brisket into your arms and made your way up the palatial driveway, feeling the beginnings of sweat at the back of your neck from the hot Summer afternoon as you’d knocked on the enormous wooden door.

The Texan royalty, as it turns out, was Glen Powell.

You remembered eyeing off the huge black Ram in the driveway, an expensive black SUV and a smaller white BMW next to it, deciding that you must have stumbled onto some kind of Texan royalty judging by the house and cars in front of you. You’d chuckled to yourself at the thought just as you’d heard the sound of the front door opening, turning around to find a sight that you’d not at all been prepared for.

You’d tried your best not to stumble over your words, certain you looked like a gaping goldfish as you'd introduced yourself and passed a happily wrigging Brisket over to him, thankful for your sunglasses as you’d looked back at him. You remembered thinking that he somehow looked even more handsome in person than he did on screen - a fact that you didn’t think was at all possible, assuring him that it was no problem when he’d thanked you again for finding Brisket. It had taken everything you had not to audibly moan at the sight of him, hoping that your blatant staring wasn’t totally obvious as you took in his stubbled beard and effortlessly charming smile, golden tanned skin and thick, muscled arms.

God.

What you hadn’t known, and would eventually discover weeks later, was that Glen was just as shocked to find you when he had opened his front door - a gorgeous young woman standing alone with a smile that had quite literally stopped him in his tracks and left him momentarily lost for words.

He’d thanked you again and you’d promised him that it was really no issue at all, offering a small wave as you’d turned to make your way back to your waiting Uber. Just when you'd been thinking that meeting Glen Powell had to be the highlight of your trip, you'd heard Glen call out your name and tell you to wait. You remembered turning around to face him then, only to find him taking a step towards you with Brisket still in his arms.

He’d proceeded to ask if you'd wanted to come in for a drink, adding that he had to somehow thank you for finding Brisket. You'd declined of course, reasoning that you had to get back to your Uber - and even now you could still remember the distinct feeling of every single fiber of your body screaming at you to reconsider as Glen continued to insist you stay.

“Please come in?”

He’d asked again, the look on his face making it near impossible to say no, emphasizing that the least he could do was offer you a drink and temporary reprieve from the afternoon heat. You remembered standing there for a moment, seemingly frozen in place, weighing up your potential options.

Get back in the Uber and go back to your air BnB.

Or;

Take up the offer for a drink with one of the most attractive men you’d ever met.

Thinking back to that moment now, you wondered how you ever possibly considered otherwise.

Giving in to Glen, you'd jogged back to the Uber and thanked him for waiting, telling him he could go before making your way back to Glen at the front door. It was at that moment that you’d felt Glen’s eyes on you - running subtly over your figure, suddenly becoming self conscious that you were still sporting the shorts and tank activewear combo you’d worn on your run earlier.

On the transcript of your life, this was certainly not the outfit you’d envisioned wearing if you ever came across a gorgeous Hollywood celebrity.

Anyway.

He’d invited you in and you’d accepted gratefully, instantly thankful for the cool of the air conditioner as you followed him down the enormous hallway. He’d since put Brisket down, the tiny dog now happily trotting alongside his owner, the sight making you long for Flynn, your three year old Australian Shepherd dog back home.

The sound of voices at the end of the hallway made you stop in your tracks, Glen turning around and looking back at you concerned. You’d stammered wide eyed, telling him you didn’t want to interrupt if he had people over, instantly feeling like an intruder despite Glen’s genuine insistence that you weren’t. He’d stepped towards you then - close enough that you remembered the exact moment the scent of his sweet cologne hit you, his sage green eyes looking back at you earnestly and promising that you weren’t interrupting, that it was just his family that was over for a barbecue.

That new information had sent an instant tidal wave of nervousness crashing down your spine, your heartbeat immediately heavy in your ears. Now not only were you being invited into Glen Powell’s home, you were also seconds away from spontaneously meeting his family.

Fuck.

You remembered laughing then - a short, giddy bubble of laughter, Glen’s face splitting into a smile as you did so. Your laugh had been one of incredulousness, your brain unable to fathom the situation that you were currently in.

Of all the things you’d imagined you’d do whilst on your solo travels, this was most certainly not one of them.

Glen had gestured with his hand for you to follow him and somehow your frozen feet were able to oblige, the hallway opening up into an expansive open kitchen and living area, complete with enormous glass french doors that opened onto a luxury deck and pool outside.

You remembered not knowing where to look first - at the enormous turquoise pool, or the insanely stunning view of rolling hills and a lake behind it, the luxury styled interior of the house or the adorable little blonde girl in her swimmers that was staring curiously at you from the back doorway.

Almost immediately she’d spoken, pointing and asking her uncle Glen very loudly who you were, her voice making the rest of the people outside stop and look inside. You remembered your face flaming then, embarrassment flushing your skin as you'd fought the urge to sprint back towards the front door.

You didn’t have a fear of public speaking but in that moment it felt like you had spontaneously developed one.

Glen had informed his niece - who you’d soon discovered was named Gwen, of your name and explained that you were the girl that had found Brisket and brought him home, an older lady suddenly appearing from somewhere inside the house and clapping her hands happily when she’d spied Brisket at Glen’s feet.

As it turned out, it was Lauren’s and Will’s house - Glen’s sister and brother in law, and Witt, their son and twin brother of Gwen, had accidentally opened the back gate and Brisket had wandered out, unbeknownst to everyone at the barbecue. Glen, who had just finished grilling had whistled for Brisket to offer him a cut off of steak, only to find that Brisket had gone missing and that the back gate was open. Just as everyone had scrambled to find keys to go out and look for him, Glen had picked up his phone and seen the text from you, prompting everyone to relax knowing that Brisket was safe.

The lady had turned out to be Glen’s mother Cindy, Glen immediately introducing the two of you as she offered her own thanks for finding Brisket before pulling you in for a hug.The gesture had taken you by surprise but offered a surprising amount of comfort, the nervousness that had your knees threatening to give way slowly easing.

Fifteen minutes later, you’d been introduced to the entire Powell family and were seated on an outdoor lounge by the pool next to Glen’s younger sister Leslie, wine in hand and nominated an additional judge of the pool diving contest between Gwen, Witt and their dad Will. You’d clapped and laughed your way through it, thankful for your sunglasses for the second time in less than twenty minutes when Glen had taken his shirt off and joined as a fourth participant in the contest.

God.

You remembered biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’d drawn blood, using every ounce of strength you had to look away when Glen had emerged from the pool, water droplets sliding down his golden, muscled form.

Later you'd found yourself sitting and talking with Glen’s other sister Lauren and his dad Glen Senior, telling them all about your trip in the US so far and how you’d come to find yourself in Texas. They in turn had asked you about yourself and you’d shared about your home back in Australia, your job, Flynn and your family, Glen coming to join at some point later sitting down on the lounge beside you with a drink refill.

You’d talked and laughed with the Powell’s for the rest of the afternoon, all of your nerves from earlier having seemingly disappeared. It was like you’d known them all for months rather than only an hour, feeling right at home with the bubbly, extraverted, Texan family. They’d asked you about your plans for the remainder of the trip, offering their own tips and recommendations for the rest of your time in Texas which you’d accepted gratefully, making mental notes to adjust your itinerary.

Eventually the afternoon had faded into early evening, Glen Senior and Cindy saying their goodbyes and wishing you all the best for the rest of your trip, Leslie following suit soon after and making you promise that you’d say goodbye before you left Texas.

You’d grabbed your bag announcing that you should probably get home too, Glen interrupting and insisting that he’d take you on his way back home. You knew better than to decline his offer, concluding that based on the day you’d had there was no reasoning with him. You’d said your goodbyes to Lauren and Will, thanking them for their hospitality for the afternoon, comforting Gwen with a hug when she’d gotten teary at you leaving - the two of you having bonded earlier when you’d told her that her diving was as good as a dolphin's and she’d told you that they were her favourite animal.

Glen had driven you home then, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence, Brisket snoozing peacefully on your lap in the passenger seat. Pulling up to your air BnB, Glen had asked what your plans were for tomorrow and you’d informed him that you hadn’t quite decided yet - but you were tossing up between going out to see Lake Travis, or heading out into the hills to visit the country sights.

Flashing you a smile that had made you momentarily lose your train of thought, Glen had offered you an alternative option - let him take you out for the day to show you a side of Austin from a local’s point of view. You remembered staring back at him then, your brain trying to ascertain whether or not you were dreaming that Glen Powell had just asked you to spend the day with him, looking at his perfectly handsome face and uttering an animated yes to his proposal.

He'd kissed you on the cheek and wished you a goodnight, telling you that he’d pick you up at ten AM before thanking you again for finding Brisket. You’d laughed and assured him for the tenth time that day that it was really no problem, thanking him for having you today and saying your own goodbye. He’d waited until you’d unlocked the door of your air BnB and you’d waved as you’d walked inside, your cheeks hurting from smiling as you’d closed the door behind you and leaned back against the wood.

Unbeknownst to you, the plans for the rest of your solo USA trip were about to be turned completely upside down.

The next day with Glen turned out to be everything you’d imagined and more, the two of you talking, flirting and laughing from the moment he’d picked you up. He’d started the day by driving the two of you out to Lake Travis where you’d spent the morning stand up paddleboarding, Glen showing you his favourite spots on the lake and telling you about his family’s lakeside ranch a few hours out of Austin. Next was lunch from what Glen had promised was ‘the best Texan barbecue house’ in all of Texas, ordering his favourite steak sandwiches which quickly became the best meal you’d eaten on your trip so far.

After lunch he’d taken you on a hike through one of Austin’s national parks, the end of which had brought you to one of the most incredible sights you’d ever seen - a waterfall that spilled over a huge bowl-shaped canyon into a large swimming hole below. Glen had convinced you to walk the perimeter through the cave-like canyon until you were standing beneath the falling water, looking up at the natural sight in awe as Glen had snapped several photos of you and then the two of you together.

Looking out at the sunset, sitting beside Glen with his arm around your shoulders, you remembered thinking that this day - a day that would forever go down as one of the best days of your life, couldn’t possibly have gotten any better.

After your hike he’d taken you over to wine country, where he’d introduced you to his good friends Daniel and Amy - owners of one of the most well-known vineyards and breweries in Fredericksburg. They’d given you a private tour of their venue before you’d sat down for drinks, looking out at the picturesque green vineyard and seemingly endless rolling hills, a stunning Texas sunset bathing everything in a gorgeous, orange glow.

And then, just like that, it had.

Glen had driven you back to your air BnB and you’d promptly invited him for a drink, not quite ready to end your day with him. He’d happily accepted your proposal, parking his truck and following you in, sitting down on the living room couch as you’d gotten you both a beer.

What followed was an evening of more stories and laughs, more flirting and mischievous teasing, the tension only growing between you as the night went on. Eventually though, as if neither of you could no longer fight it, Glen had leaned in and kissed you, his lips moving against yours with a soft, passionate want.

That passion quickly became tangible, like a craving neither of you could satisfy, lips and hands growing desperate until you’d both lost several items of clothing and Glen was asking where the bedroom was.

You remembered thinking in that moment - when Glen was carrying you to the bed, his lips pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the hollow of your throat, that there would be no coming back from this. You’d sleep with Glen Powell, and tomorrow this would become nothing more than a fond memory for the both of you.

After all, he was a Hollywood celebrity and you weren’t.

He lived in Texas and you lived in Australia.

It would never work.

And so you’d decided, as Glen had laid you down on the bed and kissed his way down your body, that you’d forget all about tomorrow and just enjoy tonight.

Every single, sweaty second of it.

And all three delicious rounds of it.

When morning had arrived you’d fully expected to wake up to an empty bed, pleasantly surprised to instead find yourself wrapped in Glen's arms, his chest pressed firmly against your back. He'd felt you stirring, pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck, his actions teasing soft moans from you that quickly turned into a tangle of sheets and naked limbs all over again.

What followed was two more days with Glen, the two of you spending almost all of your time together - him showing you all of his favourite things about his hometown, and even catching up with his sister Leslie again when she'd joined you both at a live music night that had ended with the two Powell's introducing you to line dancing. There'd been endless stories and laughs and adorable cuddles with Brisket, constant flirting and stolen kisses, and several more rounds of what had quickly become the best sex you'd ever had.

You'd proceeded to become only more and more infatuated with Glen, even despite the constant nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that this would soon all have to come to its inevitable end. You’d known that conversation was coming, like a looming tornado that threatening to destroy your happy bubble with Glen at any moment, and on your last night in Austin as you’d sat on Glen’s couch with Brisket on your lap and wine in hand, it finally happened.

You’d told him that it was okay, that you had no expectations of him and that you’d known all along that this was only ever going to be a vacation fling, assuring him that you’d loved every single second of your time and adventures together with him. Glen had been silent for a long moment then, looking back at you as he’d sat beside you on the couch with his gorgeous green eyes boring into your own, eventually taking your hand in his and telling you just how wrong you were.

He’d told you that he’d never before met a girl like you.

He'd told you that he’d never felt the way he had about someone he’d known for only three days.

He'd told you that he’d loved every single moment that you’d spent together and that he knew if he didn't tell you how he felt, he'd be forever wondering.

You swore in that moment that you’d forgotten how to breathe, your heart in your throat as you'd realized the implications of what Glen was saying to you.

You remembered wondering if you were really going to do this, if you could actually be in a relationship with Glen - in a relationship that was not only long distance, but also with a famous celebrity. You knew it would turn your world upside down and back to front a million times over, but the longer you’d looked back at Glen, getting lost in the gaze that was seemingly looking right through you, you’d realized that above all else, you were willing to try.

You’d fallen into his arms then, falling into one another over and over again, first on the couch, and then the shower, and then finally in his bed, eventually drifting off to sleep wrapped around one another as the evening ended and morning brought with it the inevitable tomorrow.

The rest of your trip had seemingly flown by, seeing the sights and experiencing the best of New Orleans, Jackson, Memphis and Nashville, making your way north to Boston and later New York where your twelve week trip would come to an end. Though those six weeks couldn’t compare to the time you’d spent with Glen in Austin and you’d missed him terribly, you’d spoken to him almost constantly throughout the rest of your travels - sending photos and videos, texting and face timing, following his advice and recommendations of the best places to go and see.

What you hadn’t known and would only find out upon checking into your hotel room when you’d arrived in New York, was that Glen had organized to fly up to surprise you. You remembered feeling like you’d won the lottery when the hotel concierge had advised that you’d received a complimentary room upgrade to a suite, and just as you’d thought that your trip couldn’t possibly have wrapped up any better, you’d opened the suite door to find Glen waiting for you.

When you’d finally gotten over the shock of seeing him again, after you’d jumped into his embrace and kissed him with all of the emotions that you’d held in since Austin, Glen had taken you out for a romantic night on the town - and continued to do the same for every night that followed for the rest of your trip.

Eventually your solo travels had come to an end, Glen kissing you tenderly and promising that you’d see each other again soon, holding you tight in his arms as you’d sat outside JFK airport on the day of your flight home. You remembered trying to take in everything about your last few minutes with Glen then - the smell of his cologne, the feel of his lips on your hair, the warmth of his chest as he held you pressed against him, desperate to prolong your last moments together not knowing when you’d next get the chance.

A tender goodbye that you swore you wouldn’t ruin with tears, one final kiss that you’d forever commit to memory and a promise that together you could make this work, you’d waved to Glen and made your way through the departure gates, boarding your flight home to Australia.

The months that followed had given you a new found respect for people in long distance relationships, missing Glen more than you thought possible - even with your constant communication. Some small part of you had expected your relationship to fizzle out a week after you’d arrived home - that your time with Glen would be nothing more than a memory, a story you told people about when they’d ask about your overseas travels, but just as you’d promised on your last day together, you and Glen had made it work.

He’d come to visit you three months after your trip, staying with you for two whole weeks in October. You'd shown him around your city in the same way he’d done with Austin, introducing him to your friends and eventually your family after your sister had all but begged to meet him, your dog Flynn loving Glen just as much as Brisket had you.

Those two weeks had been incredible, and as close to domestic bliss as you'd ever gotten, loving waking up to Glen each morning and falling asleep wrapped in his arms each night. Then there was the sex - both of you obviously desperate to make up for the three months apart, spending the first two days of his visit practically locked inside and christening every surface of your house.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye again, but not before you'd made plans to see each other for Christmas. You'd flown back to the states for the holidays two months later, the Powell family welcoming you back with open arms, Brisket especially happy to see you as he'd happily licked at your face. You’d gotten to experience your first ever Winter Christmas that year holing up at the Powell's family ranch, eating, drinking, dancing and laughing all the way through to New Years Eve, feeling nothing but love as you celebrated with Glen's sisters, parents and the twins.

The rest of that trip had gone by all too quickly, and soon you were saying your teary goodbyes all over again before you’d headed back home to Australia. This time you hadn't been able to plan your next visit with Glen - his latest film projects beginning and finally introducing you to life as a famous actor's girlfriend. You'd found yourself feeling consistently grateful for your job, friends and family then, their presence keeping your mind busy and away from thoughts of Glen’s chaotic schedule and the fact that you had no idea when you'd next get to see him.

It was at the Powell’s annual New Year's Eve party that Glen had told you he loved you, just as the clock had struck midnight and everyone had erupted into cheers of happiness. You remembered that moment vividly, your heart still racing whenever you thought about it, the two of you standing on the edge of the lake as Glen had wrapped you in his arms and kissed you, pulling away just enough so that he could whisper those three perfect words.

And so, that had brought you all the way to June - nearly five months since you'd last seen him, as Glen had worked insane hours on a four month long shoot for his newest movie. Alongside the Australian Winter, made worse by the fact that you missed your boyfriend more than you'd previously thought possible, June had also brought with it something else seemingly upsetting - your birthday, also known as your thirty second lap around the sun.

Still, your friends had pulled out all the stops to celebrate your day - your three closest girlfriends taking you out on a spa date complete with a full body massage, facial and pedicure, followed by a tasting and lunch at the most stunning of vineyards which had continued well into the early evening. Your boozy, extended lunch had later turned into dinner and cocktails at a rooftop bar in the city, which soon turned into singing and dancing at a nearby karaoke bar despite your vehement protesting.

That's how you'd come to find yourself sitting in the booth with one of your friends, looking down at your notification-less phone as the other two girls performed an intoxicated rendition of It’s Raining Men on stage.

Though the girls had spoiled and pampered you on your day, it hadn't quite been enough to completely take your thoughts off of Glen and that fact that you hadn't heard from him all day. You knew he was busy with his shoot - having since learned that sometimes they could go for several hours at a time, knowing that there were many occasions where he just wasn’t able to have his phone on him in the middle of all the chaos. Still, despite not hearing from him since the early hours of the morning, he'd still somehow managed to spoil you on your birthday - organizing your favourite coffee and breakfast to be delivered to your door this morning, alongside the biggest bunch of stunning red roses that you'd ever seen.

When you'd arrived at the winery for lunch later there'd been a second bunch of flowers, this one somehow bigger than the last, an exotic mix of eclectic tiger lillies and striking orchids, the colours bold, bright and beautiful. Alongside them had been a note, short and simple in the way that was classically Glen, telling you that he loved you with his whole heart and that he hoped you were having the best day with your friends for your birthday.

You and the girls had called it a night just before midnight, your own tipsy performance of Proud Mary signaling the end of your birthday. You kissed and thanked your girlfriends, incredibly grateful for the three of them in your life, waving goodbye to them in the taxi and making your way inside.

In any other circumstance, Flynn's lack of barking at your arrival would have alerted you to the idea that something was up, but in your several-drinks-too-many state you didn't quite pick up on that. So when you opened the front door to your house and found Glen standing in your kitchen looking back at you with the biggest smile on his face, all you could do was stare back at him momentarily - your brain a whirring mix of alcohol, surprise, overwhelm and love.

Eventually you separated enough that you could ask him what he was doing here and why he hadn't told you, Glen smiling and explaining between kisses that he was never going to not see you for your birthday. As it turned out he had the flight organized weeks ago, and had enlisted your friend's help to keep you busy while he made the long haul flight over, having planned all along to surprise you at the end of the night.

You ran at him then, bounding into his waiting arms and holding onto him with everything you had, burying your face in his neck as he whispered happy birthday baby in your hair. Depositing you on the kitchen bench he'd cupped your face and captured your lips in a tender kiss, both of you pouring all of the thoughts and emotions from your months apart into your intimate embrace.

Just as you launched into your next barrage of questions - about his latest project, about the film shoot, about his family and about Brisket, Glen had tilted your chin and silenced you with a slow, heavy kiss, the action leaving you breathless and momentarily lost for words.

“All of that can wait” Glen breathed, lips hovering over your own as his hand moved into your hair, “We’ll have time for questions later darlin’”.

“Later?” you asked, voice barely louder than a whisper, letting out a shaky breath when his free hand cupped the back of your bare thigh and pulled your body flush against his.

“Later” Glen affirmed, his silky voice low and his Texan accent thick, his intentions instantly clear when he rolled his hips into yours with a breathy, almost desperate groan, “First I’m gonna take you to bed and give my girl a proper happy birthday”.

---

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#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell fic #glen powell series #glen powell smut #glen powell fluff #glen powell x ofc

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crumbledcastle28 · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller: Talking Body

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Summary: After months of getting to know Joel Miller, your attraction to him finally comes to its peek with your mouth between his legs.

Excerpt: “You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

You could tell you were shocking him - you were shocking yourself - so much so that any semblance of his own voice seemed to be knocked from his lungs. He could only nod, a flush making its way up his neck.

You nearly kissed him right then, but you didn’t. Instead, you practically clamored over the back of the couch onto the cushions before taking another step onto the floor, standing up straight in front of Joel, admiring his legs fully spread and his eyes fully blown wide.

You then sank to your knees.”

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, undefined relationship, jackson!joel, SMUT, oral male receiving, so much praise kink on joel’s end, and just as much on reader’s end, cum play, reader is scared of commitment, ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This is so self-indulgent and dirty I am so not sorry.

read part II here

Pedro Masterlist

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(gif from pinterest)

He would come to you at night, only at night, seconds after the sun finally hit the west side of the earth. You would wait for his footsteps, mistaking every gust of wind or squawk of crow for them, your heart lurching every time.

You tried to convince yourself your heart wasn’t in it, these meetings at dusk, but the thought of them ending hurt more than the pain of everything about them being hazy and indefinite.

The worst part about them, however, was that they weren’t even for sex.

He would knock, knowing that the door was already unlocked, and you would kindly remind him of that from your living room couch. You had a working theory he did it just to hear your voice, but even you could not think about that long enough without seeds of doubt planting themselves in your brain. He would then open the door slowly, politely, and close it just as delicately. He would hang up his coat, untie the laces of his worn leather boots, and make eye-contact with you as he slid them off, whispering “hey.”

“Hey” you would respond in a whisper, grinning at the thought of him acting like 8:30 at night was late enough to be whispering.

He would rub his hands together, blow in them to warm them, and make his way to you, plopping down on the couch next to you.

And then you would just...talk. And drink. And laugh. And cry. For hours.

You looked forward to it more than anything you could remember.

Tonight, you had something special for the man you had come to know. He always drank your cheap, watered-down beer with a grin of contentment on his face, thanking you for it and offering something in return. Ever the gentlemen, even in an apocalypse. But earlier in the day, you had bartered for something you had been searching for for months.

In his own words, “the best fuckin’ thing to ever come out of Texas,” Macallan whiskey, distilled in 1988, as well as two bourbon glasses and fresh ice.

You could not wait to see the look on his face. His grins were common, but true smiles were rare. You were hopeful you could pull one out of him tonight.

The night was getting darker and darker as you double checked your set up - making sure the ice had not yet melted, the glasses were straight on your coffee table, and your makeup was perfectly casual - and waited for his familiar footsteps. Your heart pounded in your ears and the same anxious thought raced around your mind for what felt like hours on end.

What if he never comes back?

You were straightening the glasses for what had to have been the twentieth time when the distinct pattern of the scuff of his boots on the dirt that you had memorized to the millisecond hit your ears, and your breath escaped you.

You got nervous every time, and you knew exactly why.

The two-one-one pattern of his knock echoed through your house, and after a loud “it’s open” from you, the hinges of your door squeaked, and none other than Joel Miller was leaning on your doorframe, accentuating his shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe itself.

“Hey,” he said, breathily. It was almost a sigh. Whether it was of relief or exhaustion, you were unsure.

“Hey,” you said back with a smile. “Come on in. I have a surprise.”

He grinned and leaned down to remove his boots. Only this time, his eyes remained on the laces, not on you.

It didn’t scare you, but it did give you the slightest sting across your chest.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch as he headed over to you, rolling his shoulders as he walked, and plopped himself down on the couch - legs spread, hands flat on the cushions, and head propped up just so.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing your coffee table.

“Rarer than gold, that’s what it is,” you replied, leaning forward to grab the bottle off the wood and hand it to him. “It’s the real shit.”

He held it in his hand for a moment and tilted it around and around, feeling and admiring every inch of it, before turning to you and saying, “Thank you.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his and your heart picked up speed as you mustered up a reply. “You’re welcome, now get her open. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

He scoffed a laugh as he unscrewed the cap, officially breaking the seal, and you couldn’t help but notice the depth of the circles under his eyes being slightly more pronounced.

“Rough day?” you asked as he handed you back the bottle. The amber liquid coated the ice in your glasses to the brim.

He sighed, watching you pour. “Somethin’ like that.”

You handed him his glass and began pouring your own as you replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said as he leaned back into your couch, spreading his legs and pushing his crotch up to the ceiling, “I’m here now.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you topped off your glass, set the whiskey down, and leaned your body back to match his own.

You watched him take his first sip - throat bobbing as he swallowed, eyes closing as he soaked up the feeling, and mouth propping slightly open as it overwhelmed his taste buds. “Best fuckin’ thing out of Texas,” he exclaimed as he took another sip, and you took a sip as well.

“Excluding you, of course,” you replied as the burning liquid made its way down your throat. He scoffed once again, this time a bit more genuine.

The two of you sat like that for some time - sipping your drinks, glancing at each other, relaxing into the couch, and enjoying the songs of the cicadas. After a few more moments, Joel’s husked voice broke the silence.

“Is it alright if we just...sit?” he asked suddenly, looking at you longingly. “In the quiet?”

“Of course, Joel,” you replied, voice equally dry from the liquor, “whatever you want.”

He nodded, and with one last sigh, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Finally, you thought, finally I have the chance to really look at him.

And you took the opportunity for the rarity that it was.

You noticed everything. How his neck was slightly tanner at the front, littered with moles. How his jaw cut through the golden lighting of your lamps like a knife, and the small area of his cheek missing a bit more stubble than the rest did the same. How, when his eyes were shut, his long lashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones just so. How his thighs fit his jeans just right, highlighting their width. How his forearms peaked from his green shirt, highlighting the veins in his wrist and his hands. His right hand wrapped around the entirety of the burbon glass, giving your lower stomach a zap of heat.

And his shoulders, good lord. Just as broad as they were against the doorframe, only they still seemed...hunched, Tight. Like he was on guard still, despite his liberal body language.

Your fingers tingled to...touch them. Feel them in their entirety and bring them back down from their proximity to his ears.

Before you let yourself think, you were setting down your glass and moving behind the couch, letting your hands hover over his clothed shoulder blades.

Had they become tighter since you moved?

“Joel?” you asked from above, looking down at the top of his head.

“Hm?” he questioned, his voice slightly shaking.

With equally shaky hands, you pressed down onto his shoulders with your thumbs, and began to roll them. “Is this okay?”

His mouth opened, his tongue wet his lips, and his throat bobbed as he said, “Yes.”

And so, you did exactly what you had wanted to do for months: turned Joel Miller into putty with your fingers.

You began with the center of his back, rolling his skin with the joints in your wrists. You didn’t press hard, merely maneuvering the skin to find any apparent knots or sweet spots. It was when you finally did find one on his left shoulder blade that Joel couldn’t help but let his head tilt back, an exhale of relief exiting his now parted lips before he could stop himself.

“Good lord,” he groaned, “it’s worse than I thought.”

“I’ve got you,” you replied, “just relax.”

And he did. For what had to have been hours, you kneaded and manipulated across his shoulders and down his back as he exhaled and groaned, communicating only through sound. Occasionally he would take a sip of his whiskey, raising his arm behind him to offer you a sip every time.

You were happy to oblige.

After the sun had finally set and his glass was finally emptied, your fingers had made their way around to his right shoulder, targeting the area directly under his neck. He had been silent for some time, you were nearly convinced he had fallen asleep sitting up, but with one firm stroke of your thumb up the area, his head finally lost its battle against gravity, and fell back onto the cushion behind his head. His head hit quickly, but his exhale of the perfect mix of pleasure and pain hit your ears first.

And now he was staring up at you, your face hovering over his as you remained standing behind the couch, and everything in your body that had already been warmed suddenly turned molten.

His previously light brown eyes were now nearly black, and in that exact moment, a beam of understanding passed between your intersected gazes.

He wanted you to kiss him.

Luckily for you, however, you still had an ember of self-control left in your body, and despite how fiercely your body burned to give him exactly what he wanted, you wanted something else. You wanted to feel his body, know his body, before knowing how his heart felt for you. Because, eventually, that meant he would have to know how yours felt for him, and that scared you more than the apocalypse happening outside your window. A kiss, even a peck, was much too close to that grand reveal for your liking.

So instead, you did the other thing you had been wanting to do for months: memorize the exact texture of Joel Miller’s skin.

You carded your fingers through his slowly greying scalp, digging your nails in slightly, and his eyes fluttered, slightly, nearly breaking your matched gazes. Your fingers moved on their own accord, once again finding the spots that made him exhale a bit deeper than the others, and they found themselves slowly migrating down to his face - tracing the jaw you loved so much, his curved nose, his pouted lips.

A voice that had to have been your own suddenly filled the air. “I want to touch you, Joel. More of you.” Your thumb traced over his bottom lip. “All of you.”

His hot breath hit your thumb as he replied, “Yes.”

You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

You then sank to your knees.

“Wait,” Joel said as you reached for the faded-brown belt on his waist. “Darlin’, don’t you want...somethin’? From me?”

You knew what he meant. Don’t you want to come too? Be touched too? Be worshiped too?

You smiled up at him and said, “Joel, I don’t want anything from you.”

To any other person, the statement sounded vile. But to him, it sounded like heaven.

I don’t want your protection. I don't want your help. I don't want your advice. I just want you.

“Alright,” he replied, grinning, and slowly leaned back into the couch.

Finally, you had him.

You proceeded to remove his belt - slowly, methodically - and unzip his jeans. His dark grey boxers were soon revealed to you, and you could not help but grin at the teepee beginning to form in them.

“It’s the whiskey,” he joked, “can’t help it.”

You laughed, and without missing a beat, began to palm him through the fabric. His laughter swiftly turned into a groan, and his left hand gripped the leather armrest so fiercely the squeak of the fabric on his sweaty hands echoed throughout the house.

“Y/N,” he exclaimed, “God please.”

You smirked, “okay.”

You then dragged his jeans down his legs, taking the time to admire the sculpture that was Joel Miller’s thighs, before you pulled them completely off his feet. You then took the opportunity while you had it and kissed and nibbled all around his exposed inner thighs. His breaths increased in pace and depth so much that it was almost comical.

“Still want my mouth on you?” you asked as you began to suck a hickey onto his right thigh.

“Fuck yes,” he replied, “fuck yes.”

You tucked your nails under the waistband of his underwear, and pulled until he was finally free.

Even at first glance, you were unsure if you could fit even half of it in your mouth.

You made eye-contact with him once again, noting how fucking good he looked fully revealed for you, and began to slide your hand underneath his shirt. revealing just the beginnings of a happy trail and a tummy -

- before a soft, gentle hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“Not - not my shirt,” Joel said, still panting, but with a tensity back in his shoulders. “Not right now.”

You nodded, and quickly removed your hand, moving it back down to his thighs again and kissing the marks you had made previously.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he said, so weakly you couldn’t help but pity him, “I’m just -”

“I know what you are, Joel,” you stated firmly, “I know who you are.”

With one final glace up at him, you wrapped your hand around his length, giving it a pump, and said, “That’s why I’m on my knees.”

And that’s when Joel Miller did anything but relax.

As you pumped him, slowly, his chest puffed and his arms flexed, so much so you were surprised it was not ripping at the seams. His face became sweaty, his ears turned bright red, and his mouth officially lost any shred of the filter he had before.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned as you slid your hand up and down his shaft, finding a rhythm, “you...how are you doin’ that so well?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” you replied, slowly working your fingers down to his balls, “because you deserve this. Your body...you’ve got a perfect one. You know that, right?”

His throat bobbled as he stared down at you, obviously not used to any sort of praise. You’d have to fix that.

Without warning, once again, you cupped his balls and slid his dick down your throat, fully tasting the heat and fragrance of it, and Joel could not help but push your mouth deeper into the motion and release a noise guttural and raw. He sounded like a man possessed, wounded by the feeling of a woman’s mouth around him.

And lord was the taste of him mixed with the leftover whiskey on your tongue a perfect cocktail of heaven and hell.

You began to bob your head, moving the way he guided you with his hand tangled in your hair, and through his groans and whines, you could make out one specific sentence that sprouted from Joel’s mouth.

“You’re the best - best - goddamn thing to happen to me in... a long fuckin’ time.”

He had lamented to you before about his struggles with Ellie. How she had eventually figured out his lies, what he truly did at that firefly hospital, and how she had yet to forgive him. Every night you met, he would find a way to mention it, and even now with his dick so far down your throat you could feel his hairs tickling your nose, you found a way to understand.

And the fact that you - you - were what he needed, your talks with him were giving him what he needed, so much so that you were “the best goddamn thing to happen to him in a long fuckin’ time...”

...the only way you could think to show him how much his words meant to you was to pull away from him, and start licking lines up his veins, making eye-contact with him once again.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, gripping the leather once again, “look up at me like that.”

“Why?” you questioned, continuing to trace all of him with your tongue.

“Because it’s the reason I’m so fuckin’ tired today,” he replied, his shirt beginning to change shades around his chest, “fuckin’ dreamed of this - of you doin’ this - last night. Felt so fuckin’ dirty I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus on patrol. Couldn’t look you in the eye while takin’ off my boots.”

You whined around his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, causing him to gasp.

“Look so much prettier than I could - could have imagined.”

You hadn’t been grinding on yourself until that moment - wanting to focus on him, pleasuring him - but the depth of the drawl of his voice that you had come to know so well saying those words about you gave you no other choice. Suddenly, your heel was against your clit, and as his precum dripped from your mouth when you went in for more and more of him, your heel gave you the perfect relief.

It took him a few seconds to catch on to what you were doing, but once he did, his eyes glowed in the lamplight, and his face formed into a real - true - smile. One that touched his eyes, crinkling them slightly, and was so wide that his tongue touched the roof of his mouth.

He looked almost...boyish. Sincerely joyful. Sincerely present. Sincerely Joel.

And that was enough motivation for you to stick the entirety of him in your mouth.

Within seconds, his hand in your hair tightened, and he began rocking his dick into your mouth. Your eyes watered, and his did too.

“Can I... can I come?” he asked. “Right now?” His voice was nasaled and desperate.

You nodded, and with one last thrust, he spilled into your mouth, filling it completely. You swallowed as much as you could, but some dribbled, mixing with the tears already streaming down your cheeks. You looked up at him as he came into your mouth, continuing to grind into yourself as his eyes squeezed shut, his lips trembled, his eyebrows came together, and the veins in his neck bulged.

Maybe, in that moment, he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

When his eyes finally opened and met your own was when you released him from your mouth with a slight pop, and as you did, a small bead of cum and spit stretched between his dick and your mouth, dribbling onto your shirt when the distance between the two finally became too much for it.

He looked at you like you were an angel sent from heaven, baptising him with the dirtiest things.

“Hi handsome,” you said, still staring up at him, and he wiped the cum away from your chin with his thumb. He cupped your jaw with that same hand, and just...admired you. For those few seconds, everything was perfect. For those few seconds, he was yours, and you were his.

Until, after he traced your cheekbone with his thumb, he whispered, “I’ve gotta go home.”

You were positive the hurt showed on your face, but the logical side of your brain screamed right back at it.

Of course he would leave. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. No matter how late he stayed, the depths of what he revealed, or how intense the glances between you, he always went home. Always.

You were a fool to think otherwise, even after this.

You nodded, swallowing the remainder of his cum in your throat, and backed yourself onto your butt so he could pull his underwear and jeans back on. You couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at you.

He stood up, extended an arm to help you onto wobbly feet, and with one last look into your eye, he began his walk back towards your door.

“Keep the whiskey,” he said as he pulled his shoes on, not even bothering to tie them, and he was out your door.

That same torturous, vile, nauseating thought that fell over you every time he left your home, fell over you when he drank your drinks, and filled you with the apprehension to not kiss him in the first place ratted in your brain when the ache of the absence of his presence hit you.

Will he ever come back?

Taglist: (please let me know if you would like to be added :))

@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @aninnai @darling-murdock @daphne-turner @ellesvoid @morks-watermelon

#Joel Miller #joel #joel and ellie #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x #joel miller x reader #thelastofus #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandolorian x reader

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