#soft Joel before tragedy

[joelmillerisapunk]

Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

[netherfeildren]

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you. 

She'll still come for you. 

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States 

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her. 

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer. 

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature. 

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear. 

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people. 

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega. 

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates. 

Joel had been one of these people. 

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom. 

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity. 

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand. 

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too. 

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either. 

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit. 

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite. 

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was. 

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father. 

He did not want to be an alpha. 

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures. 

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever. 

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized. 

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately. 

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do. 

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever. 

-

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all. 

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.” 

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby. 

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside. 

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet. 

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are. 

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want. 

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you. 

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear. 

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence. 

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like. 

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same. 

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched. 

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop. 

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?” 

He could never have forgotten.

-

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely. 

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled. 

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting. 

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding. 

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him. 

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older,  sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday. 

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky. 

You want to see the sky every single day. 

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him. 

You want to know things. You want to know him. 

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement. 

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him. 

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him. 

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet. 

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen. 

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well. 

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long. 

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big. 

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations. 

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even. 

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate. 

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness. 

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping. 

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely. 

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of. 

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you. 

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[tightjeansjavi]

Joel Miller | Pre Outbreak | AU | Masterlist

Series

The Rite of Movement Explicit | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader Welcome to Miller-Co, Real people, real sex, professionally produced for your pleasure

blue jeans n’Texas dreams Explicit | complete | horseback riding instructor f!reader Joel Miller, single father; total soft dad has an astronomically enormous crush on you, his daughters horseback riding instructor.

That Girl is a Problem | AU Explicit | tattoo artist f!reader Joel & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Sarah’s Treasures Explicit | thrift store owner! Joel | f!reader Joel Miller single father to Sarah and Ellie, (his adopted daughter) Joel lives a simple life with his family. Outside of being a carpenter, he opened up a thrift store in town named, Sarah’s Treasures. Sarah, Ellie, and Tommy all encourage Joel to get out in the world and make new friends. You’re new to Austin, a fresh pretty face. You find yourself inside Joel’s thrift store when an online date bails on you.

Sunlight Explicit | Ghost! Joel | f!reader Edisto Beach; a small beach town located in South Carolina. Tragedy strikes September 26th, 2003 when single father, Joel Miller, leaves a bonfire unattended just outside his beachfront property. His daughter, Sarah Miller perishes in her room; the upstairs attic after Joel attempts to save her, but is too late. Driven with grief, two days later Joel Miller takes his own life in her room. The house has long since been abandoned due to documented strange disturbances that the grieving father resides within the home, and is unable to pass onto the other side. Joel Miller must learn how to love and forgive again before he can finally be at peace. Will you be able to help him on his journey?

One-Shots

Sunday Scaries Fluff | Smut | f!reader

From Eden AU | Pirate!Joel | Mermaid f!reader

Barbie Girl AU | Fluff | f!reader

Dinner & Diatribes AU | Bounty Hunter/cowboy!Joel | Runaway f!reader

Girl, I’ve never loved one like you Prom Night AU | high school student! Joel | high school student! f!reader

your mind, your needs Fluff | soft! Joel | f!reader

The Birthday Boy Fluff | soft! Joel | f!reader

take a moment to breathe Fluff | medical trauma | soft! Joel | f!reader

honey pot Smut | neighbor!Joel | f!reader

his eyes still glisten angst | comfort | f!reader

Tinsel Fluff | Smut | f!reader

My Dearest Angst | f!reader

My Joel Alternative Ending | f!reader

Guilty Pleasure Smut | Fluff | f!reader

Knee Deep

[1donoow]

VIDEO GAME REC

PT.1

......

♡ - smut

Most of them are fluff

......

<a/n>i somewhat explain why there's alot in my pin post

poppy playtime

security breach [montgomery gator][sunnydrop/moondrop]

the last of us [ellie williams][joel miller]

call of duty[task force 141][alejandro vargas][simon 'ghost' riley]

———POPPY PLAYTIME———

@clanwarrior-tumbly - reader being a same model as huggy

- Reader being an older janitor who never left

- bunzo learning that it's reader birthday

- the toys reacting to the reader carrying a kick-me-paul

- reader being the creator of huggy wuggy pt.1 pt.2

———SECURITY BREACH———

@clanwarrior-tumbly - security breach with a facepainter reader

- gregory and freddy finding the technician's secret office

- security breach with a mouse animatronic

- Canon animatronic meets y/n a kangaroo

- the animatronic receiving a tiny version of them self

@rainbowapocolypse - first encounter pt.1 pt.2 (animatronic! maintenance! reader)

@blueberrys-writings - scary dog privileges

———————————————————————

montgomery gator

@clanwarrior-tumbly - monty with a small moth animatronic

———————————————————————

sunnydrop/moondrop

@srslysierraa - hand in hand

@g00mb13 - headcannon

@clanwarrior-tumbly - sun and moon with a swordfighting fox animatronic

- Reader apologizing after getting banned

- sun helping overnight worker!reader clean

- reader calming moon when the light go out

- separate bodies

————THE LAST OF US————

ellie williams

@gonzo-rella - helping out ellie when she gets her period (platonic)

@elliesmainhoe - headcannon with a feminine s/o

@bubbles-for-all-of-us - that's my mom (platonic)

———————————————————————

joel miller

@forever-rogue - before

- hey kid

- bookish

@multific - a little friendlier

@luveline - grumpy x sunshine

@yelena-bellova - twenty years later masterlist

@peterparkersnose - christmas vibes

@nexusnyx - miss sunshine ♡

- my fellow, my guy ♡

- imagine being loved by me

@joels6string - cup o'joel

- haircut

@joelsgeetar - ___

@baevillier - regulars

@adora-but-ginger - sparks fly

@nanatargaryen - beach day

- grumpy x sunshine (platonic! immune!reader)

- joel and sarah miller x daughter!sister!reader

@wardenparker - for her

@from-the-clouds - savior complex

@orangevtae - I'm right here

- walking sins, lost tragedys

@talaok - incentive

- hunting lesson

- interrupted

- stay

@ourautumn86 - stray pt.3

@heartpascal - I am good (platonic)

- the crooked kind (platonic)

@angelltheninth - rescued by joel miller

@joshuagrayboy - jealous joel miller hc

- more than friends

———— CALL OF DUTY ————

task force 141

@sant-riley - random task force 141 x gen z member headcannon pt.3

- headcannon pt.2

@meatonfork - grim x platonic 141 hc

@itzclouding - becoming a shadow

@venomous-ragno - ghost and könig wirh a reader who has a big dog

@gatorbites-imagines - ___

@imaginesheaven - medic reader x tf 141 hc

@starstruckmiraclekitty - with a reader who sneeze like a kitten

@mangowafflesss - s/o who plays the sims

- Cod Boys Noticing their S/O Phone Screen is of Them

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - The 141 with a reader who's a cybersecurity specialist

@thesharktanksdriver - being the youngest member of 141 pt.1 (platonic)

@personwhowrites - putting stickers on them

@ghosts-bandwagon - ___

@mockerycrow - reader catching them looking at her ass

@gomzwrites - finding out about your soft spots

———————————————————————

alejandro vargas

@ragingbookdragon - ___

———————————————————————

simon 'ghost' riley

@sm8th0p - date (medic!reader)

@ragingbookdragon - babysitting

- ___

- ___

@halfmoth-halfman - the little things

-little treasures, life's pleasures

- our little secret

@clairdelunelove - things simon 'ghost' riley finds attractive about you pt.1

@euovennia - simon being a mom/dad friend to reader

[astroluvr]

oooohh how about a fluffy joel where reader works in the garden or something jacksonville and she's a little bit younger than joel and so soft and sweet and he's nervos to ask her out :(((((

From the Garden

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 2.6k, not proofread

a/n: this is my first joel miller fic, and i hope it lands well! i'm very open to suggestions, given that i've like never written for characters before, but i am very excited to share this & write more. my requests are open, and i hope you enjoy!

***

Everyone could see the tragedy and strife of Joel’s past and present deep in the lines of his wrinkles, and the fight he’d put up to make it to a place where he could know anything even resembling peace was apparent on the rough skin of his knuckles that seemed to rest in fists. After twenty years, and experiencing the unimaginable in the most literal sense, the last place Joel would’ve thought he’d end up in was Jackson. With a little girl on his tail that he was still trying to figure out what to do with- in the most affectionate of ways.

It took him a while to settle, though, to stop grimacing at everyone that crossed his path and holding onto his pocketknife that he kept in his front pocket when anyone got too close to Ellie or himself. He was quiet, reserved, remaining in the tiny house Tommy and Maria set him up in until it was time to go on patrol- a past time he quite looked forward to, but would never admit. He liked having the balance, knowing that he could go out and do something without it being for his survival, knowing that he was needed and helpful, and then being able to go back into the tall walls and lay in a warm bed where he could sleep without jeans.

Which is why the surprise that rippled through the community when you were seen leaving the dining hall with Joel was easy to imagine. You were young when the outbreak happened, not young enough that you couldn’t remember, but young enough to not have lost as much as Joel did. You didn’t have so much life under your belt just yet, given that it was just you and your mother, she was able to get you two to protection rather quickly. After she passed just a few years ago, you were out on your own, but luckily enough stumbled upon Jackson.

You can remember the first day that you met Ellie and Joel. You were settled in Jackson for a good while before you saw Joel Miller, word got around that he was Tommy’s brother, and you immediately felt a sense of trust being that Tommy and Maria took you under their wings and still kept you close. It was Ellie that came out of that little home first, who bumped into you while she was chasing a group of kids a little younger than her.

“Oh!” You gasped, a bundle of tomatoes tumbling from the woven basket and onto the dirt ground.

“Oh, shit!” Ellie said at the same time, and your eyes widened slightly at the language, but you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shit, sorry. I mean, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said quietly, grabbing as many of the tomatoes as you could. Ellie was a little clumsy, dropping more than she could pick up.

“Ellie!”

The demanding tone of the voice was enough to make you pause in your movements, too, looking at the approaching figure in a thick pair of jeans and blue button up, similar to your denim jeans that were so worn they’d become soft, paired with a flannel over a white tank top.

Joel approached the both of you quickly, and Ellie rolled her eyes before standing up, dropping a few of the fruits back into the basket. “Chill out, Joel!”

“What are you doin’?” He stood a foot or so away with his hands on hips and you struggled to keep your eyes off him. “Shit, ‘m sorry about Ellie.”

“Who said I did anything?!” Joel looked to you silently, and you shrugged your shoulders towards Ellie who kicked at the ground and muttered, “I apologized.”

“She did.” You stood up to face Joel and realized that he was a lot bigger than you thought he was. Closer to him, the white hairs that littered his beard and hair were a lot more obvious, and somehow made him more handsome. “And it’s okay, I was carrying way too many to begin with.”

“Alright, let me help you. You’re takin’ ‘em to the dining hall, right?”

“You don’t have to help me… Joel.” You were hesitant to say his name, but Joel didn’t show any sign of uncertainty when he bent down to pick up your basket, turning around and starting the trek to the dining hall.

From that point forward, the three of you were your own little group. Ellie would often skip her classes to come help in the garden, and when Joel wasn’t patrolling, he’d conveniently just be passing by the garden and ask if you’d need help with anything imaginable. Over the past few months, he’d become your best friend, your closest confidante, but he also wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent person out there. It was easy for you to tell Joel about your frustrations, and he’d nod and try to offer some words of sage advice, that would ultimately be met with an eye roll, but it always pained him to see you so upset- especially when it was out of anyone’s control.

Joel knew you’d been upset over a few pests in the garden that were slowly ruining a small portion of the crop. It wasn’t quite anything to panic over, but it still tacked on a lot more stress to your daily load, and it was significantly dampering your mood.

“Hey.” Joel said behind the white picket fence and you turned to face him, standing up and brushing your hands on the knees of your overalls.

“Hi, Joel. You alright?”

He nodded as he opened the fence and walked through. You frowned when you noticed how tired he was, and you were ready to invite him for a break, but Joel seemed hellbent on making his way into the garden with the heavy tote in hand.

“I’m fine.” He grunted, and you smiled tiredly at him. “Hey, did you ever figure out what’s eating at your plants?”

Joel always called anything that came from the garden yours, as if you were tending to each plant for your own gain, and not having it hauled away to the dining hall. You shrugged, and kicked at the ground, pretending that there wasn’t a mound of no-good kale in the corner of the garden.

You’d been too freaked out to tell Maria, worried that she might kick you out of Jackson or something worse, and Joel was the first and only person to hear of any of those concerns. The look on your face and the wild look of worry in your eyes scared him at first when you nearly ran into him when you got to his house. It had only been a couple of days now, but you were still plagued.

“No. I- I mean, I know what it is. They’re just little pests that have found their way in- I don’t know how. I-”

Joel couldn’t stand to watch you wring your hands for another moment before he finally took the tote from his shoulder to set it on the ground and pulled out a plastic red canister. You looked down at the little thing, and back up at Joel.

“It’s- It’s pesticide. I got it on patrol today. It shouldn’t be too harmful to the plants, but it is old, so I’d be careful with it. Also, not much.” You bent down slightly to pick it up, and look at the words across the label, before beaming at Joel in shock.

“Oh, my goodness, Joel!” You squealed, bouncing on your toes a little before giggling. “Oh, thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

Every part of you dissipated except for your heart and eyes on Joel. You let your hands, your body, your mind take over you, and you cupped Joel’s cheeks, feeling chills strike you as the hair on his chin pricked your fingers.

Before Joel could speak or react, his own hands met your waist as you kissed him. You and Joel had never touched ever besides the light guiding hand to your lower back. This was different. It was electric, it was months and months of wanting for the both of you. When you finally came to your senses at the feeling of Joel’s fingers digging deeper into your flesh, you tried to pull away for a breath, but he only deepened the kiss.

When you two finally pulled apart only a second or so later, it was like seeing you took away all of Joel’s passion, and you never wanted to feel the way you felt under his gaze in that moment ever again. You never wanted to feel his hands leaving your body and running across his face as he cursed under his breath.

“Joel, I’m sorry.” You whispered, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I wasn’t thinking straight, and-”

“I’ve gotta go.” He licked his lips as he turned around, and you clasped your fingers together.

“Joel-”

“It’s not your fault.” He said over his shoulder, his eyes avoiding the canister and your face.

You stood in the garden feeling more confused than ever. You aggressively wiped at the tears that sat at your waterline, kicking at the canister. You hated yourself, hated yourself for thinking that Joel could ever feel the fire you felt when you were around each other, when he would look at you with a tired smile after you laughed at one of Ellie’s lame jokes, or when he would sit out on his porch with you after the both of you had a long day.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, you thought, in a world where you could never have anything you truly wanted, you certainly would never have Joel.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was about you, but something about you reminded him of his past the same way that Ellie did. As bittersweet as it was, he couldn’t help but imagine that maybe, just maybe, if the outbreak had never happened, you two would’ve still found a way to be together. Maybe you’d be running a florist shop, and he’d run into you on his way to some contracting gig with Tommy. Or at least that’s how he liked to imagine it.

Ever since that evening, Joel wasn’t himself. Or at least, the version that everyone had grown used to. He was still grumpy, and grunted more than he spoke, but he wasn’t letting bullshit slide as much as usual. When he had to go on patrol, he was focused on the mission, getting there and back. He didn’t make conversation as usual, or slow down to look at anything that seemed interesting. At dinner, he ate alone, only keeping a close eye on Ellie as she schemed with the other kids her age, As much as he would always counter against, it always found its way to you, watching as you always angled your body away from him and talked to the other members of the community.

It felt like a never-ending game, and for some reason, neither of you were ready to throw in the towel.

“This is stupid.” Ellie finally gave in, grabbing Joel’s hand on their way home.

“Ellie, what are you doing?”

“You’re going to talk to Y/N!”

Joel stopped short, snatching his hand from Ellie’s grip. “Stop it, Ellie.”

“What happened between you two? You love her.”

Joel bristled at the accusation, frowning deeply in his thick jacket as he rolled his eyes. “You don’t know shit about this.”

“I don’t-” Ellie turned to face him and scoffed before blinking exaggeratedly. “Look, you were literally the only human I had contact with for, I don’t want to know how long, so I know you, Joel. I can tell that you like her.”

“I get along with her.” Joel admitted, doing his best to get out of the conversation. “I just… I don’t want her getting attached. This world is too unpredictable, and she doesn’t get that. I can’t give her all this time and attention when I know it won’t last. I know you’re too young to get what I’m sayin’, but I can’t do it, Ellie. I won’t do this to her.”

Joel was forming a nasty habit of turning his back before he could realize he was doing it. He knew this wasn’t one of those things that Ellie would badger about, it was an argument about fish or ravioli for dinner, this was about something that mattered to her, too.

Joel was alone for a few hours before he got a knock at the door. It was closer to dawn than dusk now, and he was about to give up on waiting for Ellie. He stood up from the creaking reclining chair, rubbing the crook in his neck to get ready to scold the girl for running rowdy in the quiet community, but he was greeted with a surprise.

You stood before him in a large sweater, worn and faded, with a pair of tights on your legs. You looked tired and confused, as if you weren’t sure what bought you here. Joel didn’t greet you as he usually would, with a smile and short nod before sliding out of the way to let you in. Instead, you received eyebrows raised in surprise and his large frame blocking the light behind him.

“Ellie told me that you wanted to see me. She was with those girls she’s usually with.”

“Oh, I-” You cut him off quickly, wringing your hands nervously.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I get that you’re mad at me, and you probably never want to look at me again, so if you were calling me over to tell me that, then I appreciate your honesty. I’ll leave now.”

Joel couldn’t take that glimmering look in your eye and the way it seemed like you could hardly stand to look at him.

“Come in.”

“Joel, really, you don’t have to be nice about it. It was my fault; I shouldn’t have made a move on you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Would you stop apologizing and come in, so I don’t have to kiss you out here?” Joel could practically see all the air in your body trade places with shock after he spoke, and he didn’t have to repeat himself to get you stepping into his warm home.

You didn’t say anything when he shut the door and walled you up against it with his body. He bent at the knees to make eye contact with you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t ache because of it.

His hands, large and rough, held your face and you were close enough for your noses to brush.

“Why are you scared of me, Joel?”

“Scared of hurtin’ you.” He whispered, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.”

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”

“I already did, but I’m gonna spend a long time making up for it.”

A smile graced your lips, and Joel couldn’t wait to kiss you. A giggle bounced between you, and it wasn’t clear who it belonged to. When you two broke apart, Joel almost couldn’t believe it. It’s been so long since he’d even touched another person like this, and he couldn’t believe that after so long, he was lucky enough to have you.

He wasn’t sure when you went from the door to the couch, but he did remember hearing the lock turn with you laying on top of him, your face in the crook of his neck with his hand on the small of your back. He lifted his head up slightly just in time to see Ellie walk through the door with a smile on her face.

“Did Y/N stop by?” she asked, and Joel hushed her quickly, earning a wide grin from Ellie. “I’m a fucking genius.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel laid back down, closing his eyes as Ellie dropped a thick quilt blanket over the two of you.

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 • 𝐄.𝐖

synopsis: in which the new girl in jackson attempts to easen her way into ellie williams’ heart after a tragedy

pairing: ellie williams x reader

warning: set in an alternative universe where ellie stays in jackson after joel’s death though she is dealing with severe depression, self harm and health issues, mentions of alcohol and drug usage

authors note: this is very much a sensitive topic very self harm focused as i made this heavily based on john keating and camille preaker from ‘sharp objects’ so please do not read if you are sensitive on this subject!

Ellie had grown so familiar to nightmares they barely stole a shiver out of her, the ever present foul feeling of poison building up at the pit of her stomach a mere proof of survival, tickle of life and its horror burned into her body as other things had been before.

But bad dreams, those were different. Skilled knives of the subconscious, aching for blood in the format of Joel’s aged face. I think you’d be a dog, kiddo, he stated simply shutting down her coyote self image. Loyal, he said.

Ellie had been a hound, certainly. Stared at herself through the mirror to face a rotten animal, monster-like dog with canines falling out of its gums, a beast not worth loving back. Her eyes had grown so sunken their green turned hazel, hair too long, existence bloodshot. The kids called her Scary Ellie. The bitter drunk at a dimly lit corner. The frozen in time and space, left to gather dust in greyer memories.

She glances at her bitten arm under the shower, traces the tattoo with water drops at the edges of her finger, twists the knob into closing the reservoir and drags a knife across the bite. She wants it out, needs it out. Joel’s death was etched into her skin and she needed more than a tattoo to rid herself of those thoughts. The tiled floor quickly filled with red. Part of her wished the reopening of wounds would finally turn her. Wished they’d have to shoot her in the head. She passed out soon enough.

“Morning, sunshine” You said softly, the banging in Ellie’s had from the fall still insufferable as she adjusted her eyes to the newly bright lightning of the infirmary, a girl she has only once seen before standing above her, wrapping her arm in lightly stained white gauze “You had us worried there for a moment”

Jackson’s people baptised you flower, from the gentleness and gardens and all throughout personification of a love practice like bouquets. There had been whispers at first, once you arrived a deer in headlights bloody, shaken and wide-eyed, how someone so careful could’ve survived so long alone in this new world that set out to kill all remnants of good fragility. The mystery of your ever so long sleeves even in summer and odd screams midst the night that carried your history were to remain hidden from the general public. But Ellie knew, because she had fucked you. She had felt it underneath her fingertips, and she had dismissed it.

She had been exhausted that night, two years since Joel had been killed, she wanted a distraction and you were breathtaking and lively in a way that inspired hatred inside her and Ellie wished to ruin it, to dig her fingers inside you and stain you with her own suffering, have your sunshine kneeled and begging, taste you senseless. It had been the opposite. You had dragged out softness out of her touch, so foreign it quickened her own heartbeat. Somewhere in between hunger filled kisses it had dawned on her you could not be corrupted, as though your souls found similar suffering within eachother in a perfect puzzle fit. Ellie thanked the broken lights for masking the tears that escaped her from your loving touch. She was tired and God, you were comfortable and you held her. There was no energy to fight back, secretly she did not want to. The next day she pretended you did not exist– you had never stopped waving her good mornings.

“What happened?” Ellie croaked out, throat dry.

“You know what happened, Els” You sighed and she cringed in response, defensive, sitting up on the bed before her body was fully ready to do so, head reprimending the feeling.

“I’m not some sort of suicidal if that’s what y-“

“You don’t have to hide from me” She scoffed in response, opening her mouth for a snarky retort that could not be left as you continued “Let me take care of you”

“It’s rotten work”

“Not for me. Not if it’s you.”

She rolled up your sleeve and squinted her eyes, an attempt to comprehend the lines that painted your skin as an artist examined a painting’s brush strokes, the self consciousness of the situation eating up at your insides, forming an emptiness pit. Ellie was adamant on her hold, a searching, sweet look plastered across her eyes so unfamiliar to you. It was exhausting to hide as you did, over a decade devoted to concealment, never once an interaction where you hadn’t anticipated which scar would reveal itself and blow your cover to a friend, a fellow patroller, even the damn clickers who surely had no conscience to mind. It had dawned on you that freedom looked a lot like Ellie’s gaze. There was no need to hide from someone courting oblivion as ardently as you were.

She rolled up your other sleeve, and there sat your exposed arms, so naked it made you breathless. The intimacy of it threatened your composure with a quivering a lip, both afraid to meet her eye and eagerly searching it for a reaction, met with a tenderness that contrasted the rough exterior she held.

“No one’s seen this?” Ellie asks quietly and you shook your head, the lump in your throat too strong to allow a proper answer, she accepts it regardless.

Ellie sucks in a sharp breath and stretches her arms above her head, removing the long sleeved fabric that covered her torso to reveal a now wretched forearm tattoo, ferns and a moth artistically arranged and destroyed by a needle and thread attempt to reconstruct it from her hurt. She faced you once before taking hold of your soft hand in her calloused ones and patting it down the ink, a feeling of high relief beneath your fingertips unveil the existence of scarring beneath. You gasp with a chuckle of understanding.

“You’re beautiful” you mutter before lowering your head to her reach, planting a soft kiss atop the centre of the tattoo, it is Ellie’s turn to be surprised. She opens her mouth as though you did not understand her, ready to claim herself a failure at the top of her lungs like a confession for an absolution she felt unworthy of, but the words failed to come out as you continued your venture in softness and lips “you are worth something as you are”

Ellie’s eyes swelled in tears, free falling out of control for the first time in a century, your warmth had given her a strange gift, the agony coming to surface past her protective walls. She felt her skin on fire, thought this to be the closest anyone could come to raw, took it upon herself to return you the favour, pushed your sleeves further up, kissed you in the middle of broken.

“I see you too” she said, running her fingers over the scars until you got a chill of goosebumps “Let me see it all”

Ellie pulled your shirt over your head as you sat still like an obedient child, wanting desperately to be praised for your newly found openness. Eased off yours shoes and socks, pulled down your slacks, and once only in a bra and panties, shivers covered your body in the frosty room, the air conditioner blasting a chill over me. Ellie pulled back the infirmary covers, motioned for you to climb in, and you did, feeling feverish and frozen all at once.

Her hands ran all over you, and you allowed them to, reaching your back, your breasts, thighs, shoulders. Her tongue in your mouth, down your neck, over your nipples, between your legs, then back to your mouth, you tasted yourself on her lips.

You both felt exorcised.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 6 Precious girl’s

Tragedy at the Miller’s chapter 6

A/N- We’re close to the end

Warning- ANGST, swearing, blood and wounds, violence, long chapter, fluff :) and talks of suicide

Pairing- Joel Miller x daughter!reader, OC x fem!reader, Henry x Fem!reader

Episode- 1x08 & (part of) 1x09

(If you want to be tagged let me know!)

————

*Crunch. Crunch.*

“Come on…”

*Crunch. Crunch.*

There’s no one out of the house yet, but the stupid rope around your legs and hands isn’t coming off.

“Stupid. AGH.”

*Crunch—*

There’s a falter in the person's approaching footsteps, so you peer back and this time see some grimy man under the door looking at you trying to take off your restraints.

Fuck. Fuck!

Trying to leave with both restraints tied around you wouldn’t get you anywhere so you continue to try and take off the restraints you have around your ankles, while the man runs at you to try and stop you. Which is really a waste of time on his part considering David wanted to kill you. Then again it is really fucking convivent for you that the man decided to spare you for whatever sick fucking reason. YET! You can’t get the restraints off no matter how much you mess with the rope.

“Come on! Come on!” You yell at the rope as it refuses to get off. And nevertheless the man reaches you before the rope can loosen and kicks you down to the ground.

“You aren't going anywhere,” he grumbles and climbs over you, causing you to cry out and tense.

Fear hits you, complete terror that threatens to paralyze you under the dirty man, heart racing panic grows out of the thought of what he was capable of doing as you’re restrained; as his nasty rancid breath swept over your nose and his sweat dripped down on your own sweat covered face. Especially as his eyes darkened as he studied your face.

“Let me go!” You bellow and try to drag yourself back, but he suddenly lays his fingertips on your waist, making your breath hitch and your body freeze.

Rather than being unable to move, pure raging adrenaline strikes you and let’s you swing your hands up his jaw. The man yelps and lifts his hands off you to grab his offended area, so you then don’t fret and pull your legs back and muster enough strength to kick his groin.

The musty man falls back and groans in protest, and out of a desperate attempt you begin to crawl away since your weapons were swiped. Which is why the man ignores his pain and flips around on his stomach to grab your legs and drag you back towards him.

You shriek and quickly hit him back rapidly until he lets you go when he can’t handle anymore hits. And luckily when you were kicking and he was pulling, you managed to loosen your restraints enough on your ankles that the man actually slipped them off when he was pulling, letting you push yourself to your feet.

Instead of running off back to the house you spin around on your heels with the thought to beat the man up and demand him to tell you where they took Ellie, but as you turn to face him you actually see…your dad, it’s actually him, limping and grabbing at his wounded side. And it’s the most heart-warming and reassuring sight, he doesn’t fail to erase all that fear you had just felt.

Furthermore, your dad storms over and kicks the man down with fury. Even once the man is laying back your dad stomps down on the man’s groin before using a rifle that isn’t his to knock out the man that had antagonized you.

“Daddy,” you gasp as you study him in disbelief.

Said man snaps his head towards you and immediately drops the anger that was painted on his features to look at you with a soft look before approaching you.

“Daddy,” you breathe out with a wobbly smile as you finally fully comprehend that he isn’t some vision. “But,” you mumble and look down at his side, catching that his shirt was stained with old blood, but nothing else since he does have his wound covered. “How?”

Your dad closes the gap between you to loosen the restraints off your wrists. “I don’t know how,” he mutters. “I heard Ellie and you and I just knew I couldn’t stay on my ass anymore.”

You let out a breathless chuckle and then look up at his face with a relieved smile. “I thought I almost lost you. I was so scared.”

He manages to rip the rope off your wrists and then snaps his eyes up to meet your gaze. “Not yet.” He says and cups your cheek to turn your head to the side to focus on something on your face. “They cut your cheek but luckily missed your eye.”

With all the panic and fear you didn’t even feel the pain on your face until he pointed it out.

“You’ll be okay,” he assures you and then tilts your head again to meet your gaze. “Did he hurt you in any other way?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, no,” you tell him.

He lets out a relieved sigh, and you can actually see his shoulders slightly untense before he pulls you in for a surprising embrace that you quickly melt into.

The need to cry grows in the comfort of his arms but there’s one concern that doesn’t let you actually relax, so you pull back but keep your hands on his arms as you face him with anguish. “I’m sorry,” you mewl out. “I’m sorry…I was only trying to help but I lost her,” you ramble out from actual regret and worry, but also an already rooted fear that begins to regrow, making you tense under his hold. “It should’ve been me, I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to go that way. I was just trying to help you…” you trail off as you drop your head.

“Hey, hey,” he calls for your attention and lifts your head so you can once again face him. “I understand. I do. It’s not your fault….”

Your breath hitches and tears now roll out of your eyes at the sound of those exact words.

“Just help me find her. I…” he pauses and glances down, you follow his line of gaze and catch him looking at his wound. “I need your help.”

You sniffle and meet his gaze to nod quickly without hesitation.

“Do you know where they took her?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “There’s another way we can find out,” he explains and looks over at the man he had knocked out. “There’s another one of them around here. He should be coming around soon, come.” He let’s go of you so you can follow him to hide behind a fence.

You wait for the other man then, but not for long just like he had said.

“Timothy?” The man calls out for his friend and unknowingly passes your dad and you as he walks in the yard. Once the man spots his friend's limb body on the ground he stops, making you grab your dads rifle and stand up from your crouched position.

“Oh, shit,” the man mutters and walks closer to check on his friend. You quietly sneak towards him and slowly begin to raise the rifle.

Somehow the man seems to feel your presence, or manages to catch you from the corner of his eye so he turns his head and catches you approaching him. Before he can move though you bring down the end of the rifle on his face and knock him out.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” your dad interjects as he pulls away from his previous spot.

You hum to press him while you snatch your backpack off the man that had you; Timothy.

“We’re going to take the two of ‘em, and make sure they’re not facing each other to question—”

“Oh,” you cut him off as you take back your pistol, knife, and lastly snatch back your rifle and both of the men’s bullets as well. Which they had plenty of. “It’s uncle Tommy’s method, yeah?” You turn and face your dad now standing near you. You knew all about that considering you’ve witnessed it multiple times, and done it by yourself once.

Your dad nods and doesn’t waste time to grab the feet of the man you just knocked out. “Grab him by his arms,” he tells you.

You step over Timothy to grab the other man’s arms and help your dad take him inside and tie him up against the wall. After that you proceed to bring Timothy in and tie him up against a chair, all before he could gain consciousness again—Which actually turns out to be quite a hassle since you don’t have time to wait for them to wake up.

Now torture wasn’t something you enjoyed doing, or were proud of, you made sure to avoid it when you could and rely on other tatics. But there are some moments that can only be solved with violence, and a coldness in your persona that you didn’t enjoy demonstrating.

Then again Timothy nor his cult of creeps deserved any kind of soft approach. Which is why it’s easy to shove snow in his face to force him to wake up from his slumber.

“Wha-Where the hell am I?” He yells out and begins to squirm under his restraints.

You walk up behind him to grab a cluster of his oily hair and yank his head up so he can see your dad in front of him.

“You!” Timothy sneers. “You’re that bastard that killed Alec.”

Your dad narrows his glare on him and ignores his comment to get right to the point. “Where’s the girl your friends took?”

Timothy tries to turn his head to look back, but you turn his head back to only face your dad. “I don’t know no girl,” he spats out.

Your dads eyes bounce to you to raise his eyebrow and tilt his head up slightly to share a speechless ‘your turn’.

You smirk and let the man go to slowly stride around him. When you’re in front of him you crouch down so he can meet your gaze. “Really?” You query with feigned curiosity. “You, know no girl?” You shoot him a smirk that makes his scowl falter—“I don’t quite believe you. Tell us again,” you press him one more time. “Where’s the girl David took?”

Timothy scoffs and shakes his head, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Oh well isn’t he a damn good gaslighter? Fuck him.

From one second to the next your dad then walks over and swings his fist across the man’s face, landing a harsh right hook that makes you flicker your eyes away. Yet you don’t stay looking away, as the man refuses to answer, you watch as your dad violently throws one punch after the other until he can’t handle the pain on his side and steps back, but meets your gaze.

He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that he wants you to continue hitting the man, he was still silent after all.

“I’ll ask again,” you interject as you step towards Timothy in hopes he’d give in this time. “Where is she?”

There’s no glance, or groan, there was nothing so you clench your hand and swing your fist, landing blow after blow. Each time tapping more and more into your anger over losing Ellie, and what this man wanted to do to you before your dad came.

There even came a point that it felt like you were blinded in some moments, but not because you enjoy it and get lost in the moment, but because even if there were reasons for the use of this violence, actually having to use it wasn’t something you enjoyed doing. You just have to mask that distaste well so the target won’t see you falter. And it’s because of that same dislike why you hoped the man would give in and spill the truth, but no, he keeps denying.

“Leave him alone,” the other man’s voice cuts in from the ground, startling you a bit.

You snap your eyes to the man and form a smirk on your face to intimidate him as you throw Timothy one last punch.

“You’re next,” your dad says and pulls his knife out, making you let out a deep breath and step back.

“Please,” Timothy begs now that the knife is pulled out. “I don’t know any girl.” He shakes his head.

You scoff and glance down at your raw and red bleeding knuckles and only catch the sound of your dad stabbing the knife in Timothy’s flesh instead of actually seeing it.

“Oh, fuck!” Timothy cries out.

“Jesus!” The other man complains, causing you to fist your hands before crossing your arms over your chest to then look up at the bloody scene.

“Marco,” Timothy groans and tries lolls his head back, but your dad quickly grabs him by the hair as he interjects.

“No-no, no-no-no,” your dad mutters and pushes the man’s head back to face him. “He can’t help you. You focus right here. Or I’ll pop your fuckin’ kneecap off.” He shakes his head and presses one more time. “Okay?”

“She’s…” Timothy begins to say between raspy breaths. “She’s alive.”

You feel your eyes brighten as you grow curious. “Where?” You ask and step forward.

However, Timothy hesitates to answer, making your dad twist the knife in the man’s knee. “She asked you a question,” your dad spats and only twists the knife more. “Where?”

“Ah, fuck! Fuck! Ah, the town!”

“What town?!” Your dad bellows.

“Silver Lake,” Timothy answers between pants.

Your dad lets Timothy go now, only making him cry out again. When your dad pulls out the map he had in his pocket, Timothy interjects.

“It’s not a real town name. It’s a resort.”

“A resort?” Your dad questions as if in disbelief to what was said.

And when Timothy doesn’t answer your dad pulls the knife out of his knee, causing him to yell. Your dad takes advantage of that and sticks the end of the knife in Timothy’s mouth.

“You’re gonna point to where we are,” your dad says as he gets the map close to the man. “And where your “resort” is. And it better be the exact same spot your buddy points to.”

“Okay,” Timothy mutters, and doesn’t hesitate now that he’s in pain and scared to point to where your dad said. Once he’s done he spits the knife out, letting your dad take the map whilst Timothy interjects. “That’s where we are.”

Nevertheless, your dad shows you the map and the bloody points Timothy marked down. “This look right to you?”

You squint your eyes and sigh. “David did say it was 2 miles away from here.” You confirm.

“I swear it’s right,” Timothy mutters. “Go ask him. He’ll tell you. I’m not lying.”

Only seconds later your dad catches Timothy off guard and stabs the knife in his stomach, making the other man now protest out of fear.

“No, no!”

Once again you mask your dislike well and look over at him to smirk. And that only makes the man more distressed.

“Shit! Jesus! No!”

Your dad lets go of the knife once Timothy is dead and now heads to the other man.

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” The man yells out. “He told you what you wanted!”

While your dad approaches the other man he first picks up a metal pipe before closing that gap.

“You motherfucker!” The man snaps. “Fuck you. I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”

“It’s okay,” your dad assures him. “I believe him.”

“No, no.”

Your dad lifts up the pipe and then violently swings down, bringing the man to death with one mighty swing.

“Are you okay?” Your dad immediately asks and throws the pipe aside to turn and face you.

You rip your eyes away from the now dead man and nod. “Yeah, just bloody knuckles that’s all,” you mutter and instead walk up to him to check on his wound. “What about you? Is it bleeding?” You ask, and let him lift his shirts to show you his wound.

“Given that they’re shitty stitches,” he says and glances down. “No.”

You narrow your gaze on the wound since you don’t want to touch it with your bloody and dirty hands, and just make sure that he really isn’t bleeding before you leave.

“Okay,” you mumble. “Looks good.” You step back and point to the door. “Let’s go.”

Now to tread through mountains of untouched snow, to witness as the cloudy sky darkened and sent a heavy blizzard that nipped at your uncovered face, and at your fingertips; that made seeing even beyond just a few feet impossible, and made walking that much harder already since your dad could hardly move. You know he was only keeping strong because of Ellie, because of you.

It’s very bad to admit but your dad and you were just navigating by pure instinct. Eventually there was some clearing as stationed cars came to view.

“We must be close!” You yell out over the wind so you can be heard.

Your dad drifts his squinted eyes to you and nods. “Yeah! Keep your eyes open for any lookouts!”

You nod and pick up your pace to walk ahead, you proceed to shield your eyes with your hand first before you slowly lift your head up more to look around for any gleam of a scoop, some kind of suspicious makeshift building, some kind of tower, or people. But there’s nothing.

Until finally there’s houses that you come across. Even then there’s no one, not even surprise attacks, besides the howl of the wind it’s quiet. It should be rather suspicious actually, considering that you also don’t come across any walls either, but then again after remembering that David couldn’t truly keep his people safe, just walking in without struggle wasn’t so surprising. The only problem you face now is figuring out where Ellie might be because the farther you walk in, the more buildings you see.

You can only hope she’s still alive, that creepy David hasn’t hurt her in any way, or that her bite mark hasn’t been revealed. You hoped that you’d hear something, gunshots even, something that’d lead you to her through all this mess. But there continues to be nothing.

Eventually after more walking, your dad grabs your arm to stop you. When you turn to face him he points to some kind of shop at your side, so you follow him but come to see that he immediately leans against the wall for a break….

What if it’s his heart?

“Are you okay?” You ask him and grab his arm as you face him.

He snaps his eyes to you and nods between pants. “I’m fine, I just—” he suddenly stops and his eyes focus on something behind you. You quickly follow his line of gaze and notice a blood trail lead inside the building. Can it be…Ellie’s blood?

It better not. It better not.

Before you can double check with your dad about walking in you turn on your heels and hurry to the door. You spot a lock so you don’t hesitate to break it to be able to walk into the dark room, your dad follows you in and closes the door behind you, welcoming darkness and some kind of warmth; also letting the metallicy smell of blood bombard your nose. Once you both turn your flashlights on you come to recognize that it’s a storage room of some kind; to the side there’s packets on shelves, and past that theirs bundled up clothes and backpacks on a shelf; one that your dad and you quickly recognize at the same time. Yet you don’t want to accept it at first.

There’s just…hard insinuations behind why Ellie’s backpack isn’t with her, all ones that make your guilt heighten as you can’t help but think of the worst.

“It’s hers,” your dad confirms what you tried to deny as he pulls the backpack out of the shelf.

You sigh and swallow thickly. That fucker better not have killed her, he better not have touched her.

“There’s more past there,” your dad breaks the silence and breaks your train of thought to make you follow where he’s pointing his flashlight to, another room behind a glass wall.

This time your dad slowly leads the way to the back room which remains quiet, you look around and try to hear if there can be additional footsteps, but there’s just your dad and you.

Once you’re able to walk into the back room you can’t help but let out a shocked gasp as the first things you see are the horses you came with dead on the floor.

“Come on,” your dad makes sure to pull your attention away from the horses by leading you ahead to find the exit.

Albeit just as he takes a few steps ahead he immediately comes to a sudden stop that you almost miss.

“What’s wrong—” you begin to proclaim, but stop the moment you look past the stacked canoes and catch what made him stop.

“Y/N,” your dad says and steps in front of you. “Don’t look, baby.”

Too late, he was too late to stop you from witnessing the gruesome sight of those headless bodies hanging from the ceiling. He was too late.

Regardless now if he blocked your view you still cover your mouth and shut your eyes. You gag and feel nothing but pure terror. Never in your past years of living through this apocalypse have you…come across uninfected people that…eat other people. Never.

Is that what they wanted to do with you? Is that what they want to do to—No. No, no. You won’t let it happen.

“She,” you mutter out as you move your hand off your mouth and open your eyes away from where the bodies are. “She’s probably not far, come on,” you urge your dad and walk ahead to get away from the gruesome scene.

The moment you walk outside though, the blizzard is worse and the snow is only thicker, obscuring your view that much more. However, even with the drifting wind you can still catch the smell of a nearby fire.

Maybe it’s her? It smells too much for it to be some chimney fire. So without hesitation you follow the smell, and your dad follows you without question.

Luckily you keep not running into any sort of trouble, it makes the resort almost seem abandoned. Plus the further you continue to follow the smell of smoke, the stronger it gets, and the further your heart sinks to your stomach out of concern that Ellie was caught in whatever fire is burning close by.

What would happen if you lost her too?

You can’t even think of the possibility. You ignore that thought as best as you can and only pick up your pace, coming close to the edge of the resort and spotting a lake just past a snowy field. The smell of the fire gets stronger, especially towards the side of you, so you turn the street and come face to face with flames breaking out the windows of some restaurant.

You want to get as close as you can to be able to see inside just in case, but alas, just across from you you spot Ellie walking out from the other side of the restaurant. Your dad spots her too and without saying anything you share a relieved look before he breaks away from you to grab her.

“No!” Ellie screams out the moment your dad touches her. “Get off of me!” She tries to fight away his touch, causing you to immediately halt in your steps just before you can also approach her, and just watch out of concern, confusion, and most of all guilt as to what happened.

“Get off!” Ellie keeps yelling out even as your dad turns her to face him.

“It’s me,” he tries to assure her, but she loses balance and falls on her knees and begins to hit him.

“Get—” she cuts herself and slowly stops fighting, but keeps hyperventilating.

“Hey,” your dad tells her softly as he holds her jaw. “Look.”

You take a step towards them on the ground and feel your breath hitch as you see blood splattered all over face, and the look of utter terror and shock written all over her face.

“It’s me…it’s me. It’s okay,” your dad consoles her as she studies him.

“He,” she mumbles, but doesn’t finish what she’s going to say for the first time, instead she pulls your dad in an embrace that he returns.

“It’s okay,” he keeps telling her as she cries into his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby girl. I got you. I gotchu.”

Besides feeling completely relieved to see her alive, you’re also hit with more guilt that strangles your heart. She’s feeling this distress, this agony because you failed, because you couldn’t keep her safe. She got taken because you failed her, she’s crying because of you. She’s hurt because of you. David hurt her because of you.

You let out a shaky breath and finally approach her as she pulls away from your dads embrace, and interject quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Ellie slowly lifts her gaze and watches you get on your knees by her and your dad.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat and slowly cup her cheek to wipe away the splattered blood that was on her face, while you cup her shoulder with your other hand. “I’m sorry.”

Ellie slowly places her hand on your arm as she studies you. And it seems that she actually looks relieved to see you, her eyes are soft as she holds your gaze, and her breathing keeps calming down instead of rising more.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” you mutter in a quivering voice. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

More tears stream out of her eyes, and she then lets out a small breath before she surprises you by pressing her forehead against yours.

You tense up, but only because she catches you by surprise. She should be mad, furious at you, but she isn’t. She isn’t, she’s relieved to see you. Knowing that lets you close your eyes and bask in the comfort that she’s okay, that she’s not gone too.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper. “I was so scared.” You pull back but only to wrap her in an embrace. Ellie hugs you back and presses her face against the crook of your neck, making you hold onto her tighter.

She doesn’t say anything, nor do you expect her to, you just hold onto her and feel grateful that she’s okay, that you didn't get lost again, and still have her; your unexpected light in your heart that Sarah had left dark.

——

*SOMETIME LATER IN SPRING*

“I had a weird dream the other night,” you mention to your dad as you lean against a kitchen cabinet whilst he searches the other cabinets.

“Okay,” he says. “Go on, tell me about it.”

You scratch the back of your neck and sigh. “So I’m on this big plane that’s full of people, and everyone is screaming and yelling ‘cause the plane is coming down, right.”

He hums and begins to search closer to where you are, so you peel away from your spot and shift to the middle of the RV’s hall.

“So I walk to the cockpit, open the door and there’s no pilot. I try to use the controls, but I obviously have no clue how to fly a plane, and,” you continue and watch him find two cans of food. “Right before we crash I wake up.” You draw out a deep breath and sit down on the bed. “I’ve never been on a plane. Isn’t that weird?”

Your dad scoffs softly and then turns to face you with the cans of food in his hands. “Well you know, dreams are weird.”

You bounce your eyebrows and nod. “Yeah.”

“But if you’re still scared of planes, then it makes sense,” he says and walks to you.

You press your hands on the edge of the bed and lean back as you watch him sit next to you. “Terrified. The few times I’ve been in a car I got really scared that suddenly a plane was going to come out of nowhere and crash near me. That’s why,” you nod. “Once we make out of this shit and they’re back on the sky I’m not getting on one. Never. Like what if we crash and explode, what then?”

Your dad shrugs and glances at the end of the bed. “You die.”

You blink rapidly in disbelief and turn your head to look at him, he feels your stare and slowly meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Simple logic,” he deadpans.

“Simple logic,” you mock him in a deep voice.

He begins to narrow his gaze and gets all serious, while you begin to smile. But it’s only for a minute because then you both begin to laugh.

Once you both calm down he hands you the cans he had found in the cabinets. You proceed to turn the can to read what it is, which to your surprise is something good.

“Mhm, 20 year old Chef Boyardee.” Your stomach growls, but it still isn’t time to eat so you hold back from opening it and hand it back to him instead. “My babysitter used to love cooking that for me. And when you had late nights at work that's what Sarah would cook for us.” You smile.

“He was always reliable,” he jokes.

You giggle and nod. “Still is, apparently.” You sigh, and look around the bed you’re sitting on and spot a broken guitar.

“She’s been…” your dad pauses. “Extra quiet today,” he points out what you had noticed as well—Well correction, that she’s been quieter than the other days because after leaving creepy David’s resort you noticed Ellie hasn’t been herself since.

“Has she talked to you?” He asks.

You glance down at your hands and sigh deeply. “No,” you admit but it’s not because you don’t want to, but well you understand what she might be going through. It’s not easy just bringing it up. “I,” you continue and blink to look at him. “I’m giving her space. I told her that when she wants to talk she can come talk to me.” It doesn’t take too much context to know what David wanted out of Ellie, you saw the creepy way he looked at her.

“It’s hard,” you add and turn your head to glance out the back window. “It takes a toll on you. I can’t say what she feels exactly, but as long as she knows you’re there for her that’s good, it’s the little things that matter.” You look at your dad and offer him a small smile before getting off the bed.

“Have you,” he adds but stops, and you hear him swallow thickly. “Have you been through something similar?”

You stop just past the kitchen and clench your hand into a fist and begin to gently hit your thigh. He’s just curious, worried, there’s nothing wrong with that, and it happened a while ago now.

Still, it’s never easy.

“Uhm, yeah,” you whisper. “When I was out on my own.” You peer at him over your shoulder and see a deep and sad frown on his face, and also notice his eyes are watery.

“You don’t have to worry,” you assure him. “I’m okay. I’ve,” you sigh. “Healed. She will too, just give her time.” You continue walking out of the Rv, but before you can walk down the stairs to get out, you point to the door. “Come on, let’s get goin’. The faster we do this thing the faster we get outta here.” You rush down the steps and jump down the last one, and immediately get greeted back by the brisky spring wind. Which in truth, it’s a lot more refreshing and better than the cruel and bitter winter winds, plus you don’t have to be wearing so much weight anymore either.

AND! The flowers are able to grow now, which is the best thing that you look forward to all the time.

“Ellie,” your dad calls out once he’s out of the RV. But nothing, she doesn’t respond or look back to acknowledge him. “Ellie,” he calls again and walks past you to call out for the girl again. “Ellie.”

Said girl finally looks back and meets your dads gaze from the back of the truck she was waiting on.

“D’ya hear me?” He asks her.

“No,” she says the truth. “What?”

You grab onto your backpack straps and try to read her face, but she’s a bit too far to get anything.

“Well,” your dad says. “I found this in there.” He points to the RV. “Beefaroni. Chef Boyardee.” He says as he lifts one of the cans to show her.

“Oh, cool,” Ellie responds with little energy.

Your dad walks closer to her, so you slowly follow behind him.

“And have you ever played this?” He asks her and shows off a box of some game you didn’t see him grab in the RV. “Boggle? It’s a word game.”

“Mh-hmm,” Ellie shakes her head.

“If you wanna beat me at somethin’ it would be this. Just don’t let y/n play, she's a cheater.” He scoffs in amusement and glances at you.

You shoot back a smile, and then tilt your head a bit to the side and notice Ellie simply nods as a response when he expected a witty response, when he wanted more. It’ll take her time, but it’s good to see him trying.

“Well, all right then,” he changes the subject. “We’re gettin’ close.”

Ellie nods. “Mm-hmm.”

“Hospital that way,” your dad points back, making Ellie look over her shoulder. “May be the one we’re lookin’ for.”

“Got it,” Ellie says and gets off the back of the truck now, letting your dad and you walk off so he can get his backpack he left close to the RV.

When Ellie catches up he pulls the rifle off his shoulder and looks to Ellie. “Take this for me?” He asks and hands her his rifle as he puts the stuff away. And as he does you slowly drift your eyes to the corner to look at Ellie, noticing her lose her gaze on the horizon ahead.

You want to ask her a simple question, but you also don’t want to be too pushy.

No matter how much you understand her desire to be quiet and keep to herself, you have to keep telling yourself that it takes time. That you can’t take her pain away no matter how much you hate seeing her look so upset and having her be so quiet.

Nevertheless, your dad takes his gun back and you all continue moving. This time you’re the one that interjects just to let her know you’re thinking of her.

“I’ve been thinkin’ now that the weathers gettin’ warmer, once we get back to Jackson we can go down to the lakes near there. I’ve heard that you can’t swim,” you mention and look at her, catching only a glimpse of her gaze. “I can teach you. Or we can. Would you wanna learn?” You look over at her again and wait.

However, Ellie doesn’t answer, making your dad cut in. “Ellie?”

Said girl blinks and looks at the both of you to query. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” She nods. “That’d be great.”

You offer her a soft smile and nod back. “Cool.” You then glance ahead to see the hospital sign that you follow before looking back at Ellie and noticing her lingering gaze.

She does look away when you turn, but she does a double take and parts her lips a bit. You keep walking, and wait as if you noticed nothing in hopes that would help her build the courage to say what you see her take her breath for. But no, she just slowly breathes out and remains quiet.

It’s okay.

“Once we get there,” your dad breaks the silence as you keep walking towards the hospital. “Is there going to be anyone you know?”

You let out a deep sigh and shrug. “Marlene, I don’t know about any others though. Besides, most of the fireflies I was close with are in Jackson, all the others well they’re gone. We’ll see.”

“Do you have a firefly tattoo, or what?” He asks, making you roll your eyes to the side to meet his gaze.

“No,” you answer. “Why would I?”

He smirks and shrugs. “Seems like you would. Maybe the catchphrase on your arm or somethin’.” He looks over at Ellie hoping she’d break a smile at what he said, but she remains lost in her own thoughts.

“My knuckles,” you joke and put your fists out. “One side one half and the other side the other half of the phrase.” You snicker and can’t help but glance over at Ellie too. But still nothing.

“It’d be stupid.”

“Yeah,” you agree with your dad and meet his gaze, he then looks to Ellie and back to you to pass a worried look that you respond with an assuring one as you pat his arm.

After that silence returns, this one is long since you do try to remain quiet when you enter the city, so as to not gain unwanted attention. Albeit the city is quiet, the deeper and deeper you get in that silence never falters. You would’ve expected some infected.

Then again if the Fireflies are really here then that would explain the lack of infected, and other survivors out—Still you can’t assure yourselves that there is no danger, you just can’t see that from the ground.

“Okay, so this is what I’m thinking—”

“Cut through that building to get around that stuff,” Ellie cuts your dad off, and refers to the rubble straight ahead blocking your path. “Find the skyscraper, go up and look around.”

You smirk in amusement since that’s exactly what he wants to do. And what you want to do too.

“Uhh, actually, this time I was thinkin’ we blast our way through that rubble,” he obviously jokes around, but you still snap your gaze his way. “I found some dynamite in that RV back there.”

“Really?” She questions him, making you smile softly as to how gullible she became when she’s with him.

“No,” he lets her down. “So we’re gonna cut through that building, find a skyscraper, go up and look around. But I had you goin’, didn’t I?” He queries as he looks back at her.

You watch her too and see her meet his gaze and nod. Not much, but it is something that you and your dad will take.

Anyhow, you now end up finding an easy way into the unfinished construction building that’s wrapped with sound kind of colored sheets.

“So,” you break the silence as you walk in after Ellie and your dad. “What are the covers for, huh?” You ask your dad as you study the orange covers.

“Uh, to prevent falling debris and dust, it was a safety hazard for tall buildings like these,” your dad answers.

“Huh,” you nod. “Makes sense. Always thought they were big presents. When I was a kid of course.”

Your dad peers back and snickers. “You sure about that one.”

You slide your eyes over to him and shoot him a pointed glare. “I'm sure.”

He shoots you a teasing smile and looks back ahead as you slowly continue cutting your way through. “Look at this place though,” he adds. “Talk about bad luck. Military drops bombs…not one of them hits the building you’re trying to demolish.”

“I think what’s even worse luck,” you add to his comment as you all come to a halt in front of more rubbal. “Wasting so much time on this and having it be bombed.” You scoff and look up in hopes there’s some kind of way up to get a better look, but, no, nothing.

“No way up,” your dad points out.

You sigh and turn away from the gap. “I guess we have shitty luck too. Long way it is.” You begin walking away from the pair, and spot a fenced up area you immediately head to in hopes there’s something there you can use.

The others follow, you can hear their approaching footsteps, and they’re easy to identify too; the heavier and faster paced ones are your dad, and the slower and softer ones are Ellie.

“Here,” you point out to the pair and pull the fence open to walk in. “Look,” you point to the weird metal tower thing as you quicken your pace to approach it. “We can climb up the edge, and…” you trail off and step back to look up. “….Maybe hop a bit to reach the top, but I think we can do it. Yeah?” You ask and look at your dad walking around the tower.

“Or,” he says and steps back to point at the floor above. “We use that ladder.”

You speed walk over to his side and follow his line of gaze to now spot that same ladder.

You scoff. “Yeah, or that.” You put your hands on your hips and share the idea that comes to mind. “We can get you up there, Ellie, you can drop that ladder down, maybe go through that way.”

“Mhm-hmm,” your dad agrees. “Come on, Kiddo, I’ll give you a boost.”

You turn around to look at Ellie, catching your dad mirror your actions. Albeit you come to notice that she isn’t facing either of you, instead she’s focused on some ancient piece of paper that was left behind. So out of concern for her lack of attention you let your dad approach her instead of you since she has known him the longest, and right now maybe she does need his comfort more.

“You okay?” He asks her.

Ellie looks back at him and responds. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s just you kinda seem extra quiet today, so,” your dad says to her.

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

Oh precious Ellie.

“No, it’s fine,” your dad assures her. “Did you hear what we—”

“Yeah,” Ellie cuts him off. “Boost. Got it,” she nods, and now breaks away from her spot to follow your dad on some wooden pallets.

As to not get in the way you watch first as your dad helps Ellie climb to the floor above. After some struggle you see her get up as you now walk up on the wooden pallets, and wait for her to push the ladders down for your dad and you.

However, just as she’s about to hand them to your dad and you, she freezes for a bit and then interjects with what sounds to be, wonder. “Whoa!” Ellie then lets the ladder fall down, and so as to not be hit by the fucking metal ladder you have to jump back off the pallets.

“God damn it, Ellie!” Your dad exclaims as you flinch and press yourself against a pole.

“Shit,” you exhale between heavy breaths.

Your dad snaps his head to you and looks at you with a mix of concern and annoyance due to what just happened. “You okay?” He asks.

You push yourself away from the pole and nod. “Yeah,” you nod. “Missed.”

He looks up again, and you bend down to pick up the ladder.

“You stay there!” Your dad yells out at Ellie as he helps you get the ladder up on the wooden pallets.

Once it’s placed against the floor, and steady on the wood, he helps you back up so you can begin climbing up first.

“You guys gotta see this!” Ellie yells out with what you detect seems to be excitement. Which is good? This is a sketchy place so you’re not so sure if you want to get your hopes up.

That’s especially even more true to you when you finally get on the other floor and spot a very odd large shadow passing by from the outside.

“Ellie?!” You yell out as you hear her running footsteps up the stairs.

“Up here!” She exclaims as you only hear get further. Of course you and your dad follow her, and there was another fucking large shadow that Ellie is chasing.

“Ellie,” your dad calls out.

“C’mon,” she encourages and only ends up running ahead, leaving the both of you behind.

You take one last glance outside before picking up your pace and jogging after her up even more stairs that lead to what seems to be like the back of the building. She seems to stop just past the bare door frame, so you slow down as you follow her, and notice the greenery that now trickles around the hole on the wall. And just past it is Ellie standing in front of another hole that overlooks the vivid green field outside.

“Ellie,” you mutter with concern between pants.

However, once you walk past that gap on the wall and take in more of what lays past that hole Ellie stands in front of, you come to a sudden halt and feel a breath escape past your lips as you come face to face with what Ellie had been after, that “creepy” shadow that had been walking around the building; a giraffe. It’s a giraffe.

You smile at the sight of it, but still find a hard time believing if it’s real or not. Ellie is seeing it too, but you still can’t believe what’s in front of you. It’s just….so beautiful, so calm as it eats the greenery that drapes over the gap on the wall. It’s not afraid or cautious about either of you. It’s just there, living.

When your dad catches up, and you see him stop beside you from the corner of your eye, you have to ask for reassurance. “You’re seeing what I am right?”

He hums in agreement, and that’s all you need to finally break away from where you had frozen to slowly approach Ellie and the giraffe.

“Don’t scare it,” Ellie whispers to you softly.

You beam at the giraffe but assure her in a sweet voice. “I won’t.” You get closer to the edge and carefully pull off a thin green branch.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks you.

You peer over at her and smile. “It’s all right. Come here, hurry. C’mon.” You wave her over with the leaves in your hand.

Ellie offers you a small smile. Finally after months she smiles at you as she takes the leaves you offer her to feed it to the giraffe. It’s a small moment, and you know this won’t just wash away all her pain, but it’s a sliver of hope, a hope you notice she lost at that resort, it’s a hope that you see rejuvenate her.

“Hey there,” Ellie greets the giraffe before she feeds it more leaves and giggles at the purity of it.

You grin brighter and glance over at your dad, who now stands nearby, and notice a happy smile on his face too as he watches Ellie smile, and hears her laugh. And that only makes your heart even more content.

“Come on now,” he encourages you as he meets your gaze. “Here,” he says and hands you more leaves.

You let out a nervous laugh and take a step closer to the giraffe to offer it what you hold.

At first it’s too busy eating what Ellie offers it so it pays no mind to you, not until Ellie’s done. After that it steps towards you and sticks out it’s long dark tongue to take what you have to offer it without hesitation, no fear; it actually manages to brush its tongue on your fingers, making you giggle at the very odd feeling.

The giraffe stays near you after, so you build up the courage and slowly reach over to pat the side of its face.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks.

You drift your gaze to her and grin brighter. “It’s okay. It’s not scared.” It’s soft, and it’s jaw feels funny as it moves under your hand. You return to look at the giraffe and feel your smile soften for a moment before it falters as a memory resurfaces as you watch the beautiful creature.

"I decided what I want to have in Wyoming…a giraffe."

Tears fill your eyes, but they’re not out of sadness, not this time, not here as you pull your hand back from the giraffe and remember Sam and Henry. No, this time the tears are happy tears.

They would’ve loved seeing this, especially Sam. And Henry would’ve been happy seeing his brother happy. He would’ve been happy seeing you happy….

That’s it…isn’t it? All this time, all these months you’ve been devastated, but they wouldn’t have wanted that. Henry wouldn’t want you overthinking his death, he wouldn't want you sad.

This giraffe is that sign you’ve been looking for ever since you lost them, that’s it’s okay to move on and not blame yourself anymore. They’re gone and you’ll never see them again, but at least they don’t have to live in fear, or in pain, they’re okay. You won’t ever see them again, you have no picture or any part of them to remember them by, but you’ll never forget them, you’ll never forget Henry or the peace he brought you. You'll never forget that thanks to Henry you learned to love again.

You’ll have them with you forever. You know that now.

“Aw,” Ellie breaks you from your train of thought. “Where’s she going?” She wonders.

You focus back on what’s going on and see the giraffe walk off, and Ellie run after it from the inside, once again leaving your dad and you behind.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on!” She encourages your dad and you.

You sigh and shift around, but stop and gasp as you're surprised by your dads gaze on you.

“You okay?” He asks softly.

You sniffle and offer him a soft smile. “Yeah,” you assure him with sincerity. “I’m better.”

He offers you a gentle smile and nods in comprehension before he grabs his rifle off the ground and begins to walk after Ellie, whilst you face the field, the city, and the blue sky ahead to pull out the sun pin that you still kept in your pocket.

You brush your thumb over the sun and smile.

“You comin’?” Your dad queries from the other side.

You lift your head and nod. “Yeah,” you agree and turn away from the light to join him further in the dim room.

When you make it outside, Ellie is there, leaning over the cement patio wall, watching the giraffes wandering around on the green field. You join her at one side while your dad falls by her other.

“So…” your dad interjects. “Is it everything you hoped for?” He asks her.

You slide a backpack strap off your shoulder to pull the backpack in front of you and finally pin the sun pin on the material after holding it in your pocket for months.

“It’s got its ups and downs,” you hear Ellie say. “But you can’t deny that view.”

When you finish, you hook the backpack back on to then prop your elbows on the cement railing, and rest your chin on your hands to watch the view Ellie made you fond of.

“Look, I don’t know exactly where this hospital is—”

“Yeah, we’ll find it,” she cuts him off before he can finish.

“Sure, it’s just—” your dad says in a tone that makes you shift your gaze to him—“maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.”

Ellie shrugs. “We’re still here though,” she counters.

“I know. I’m only saying there’s risk.”

Hasn’t there always been?

You narrow your gaze slightly as you continue to hear what he says to say.

“We don’t have to do this. I just—I want you to know that.”

You pick up your head, and slowly stand straight up whilst you let your hands rest on the railing.

“What do you mean?” Ellie asks what you were going to ask too. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Nothin’. We just go back to Tommy’s. We forget about the whole damn thing.”

No matter how much you just want to go home with Ellie now and not meet those fireflies to not run that risk of losing her, you understand that it falls to her. It’s her choice, your dad might be worried for her, but he can’t make her change her mind.

“After all we’ve been through…” Ellie doesn’t take a moment to think of her answer, she just does. “Everything I’ve done…” she pauses now, letting you step back to be able to watch the both of them. “….it can’t be for nothing. I know you mean well. I know you wanna protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want,” she says and looks between your dad and you now. “Tommy’s. Sheep ranch. The moon.” She smiles.

You mirror her gesture, while your dad lets out a soft chuckle.

“I’ll follow the both of you guys anywhere you go,” she continues to add, and offers you a smile.

You shoot her a small grin in return.

“But there’s no halfway with this,” she continues. “We finish what we started.”

Your dad stays quiet, he hesitates for a brief moment before he nods in agreement. Ellie then nods back, and you interject. “It’s your choice, Ellie, I’ll support it no matter what. You say we go, we go. If we stay, we stay and see it through.”

Ellie meets your gaze and offers you a small smile. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“Of course.”

She turns to face the scenery for a moment before she turns away to walk to the exit door. You follow her and don’t realize your dad has lingered back until you’re at the door.

Hopefully, he understands that it’s her choice and her choice alone. He can’t defy her with something she deems so significant, he’d only hurt her if he does. He needs to understand that. Let's hope he does when it comes down to it.

Nevertheless, the silence follows and the serenity lingers every step of the way back down to the ground. Yet honestly, the calmness of Salt Lake City is concerning.

There isn’t infected? Other groups of people? Yes you’ve only traveled a small fraction of the city, but there should be something out there.

“Was this a FEDRA thing?” Ellie asks as you come across an old abandoned medical camp.

“No. Army.” Your dad answers her, whilst you fall behind to spin around to look around as you continue to walk after them.

“They put these places up all around the first few days after the outbreak,” you hear your dad continue to explain. “Emergency medical camps. Obviously didn’t last.”

You were young then but you do remember coming to one of these. Unlike other people who’ve forgotten their childhood, you still remember yours.

“They had me in one just like this.”

“With Sarah and y/n?” Ellie asks, making you turn back around out of curiosity.

“No,” your dad shakes his head. “Sarah was gone already.”

“Oh.”

You sigh and hold onto your backpack straps as you now continue to look around.

“So what was wrong with you?” Ellie probes.

“It’s for this,” your dad says, and as you look over at him again you see him point to the scar on his head; one you remember seeing on him suddenly one day.

“Ah, the guy who shot and missed,” Ellie adds. “I figured that would’ve happened later.”

“No. Second day.”

You blink and focus on him whilst he comes to a slow stop.

“Well,” Ellie continues. “I’ve gotta hand it to the Army people. They were way better at stitching you up than I was.”

You stop too when you realize it wasn’t just a quick break, and shift your stance to look at him.

“It was me,” your dad adds, causing you to slowly loosen your hold around your backpack straps and blink in disbelief to what you heard.

“I was the guy who shot and missed,” he says and pulls the rifle off his shoulder to sit down on one of the cement roadblocks. Ellie takes a seat by him, but you linger where you stand as you unravel the dark meaning behind his words.

“There’s no story,” he continues softer. “Sarah died, and I couldn’t see the point anymore...”

Your breath hitches softly whilst your eyes begin to water now. As your heart, well that immediately sinks to your stomach.

But you need to hear him out before your emotions get the best of you as your mind races with doubt and guilt.

“I failed to keep her safe…”

Keep listening. Keep listening…

“So how could I keep y/n safe if I had failed her sister.” He says and slowly looks over at you. “I didn’t want to be the cause of her death too, simple as that.”

You let out a slow exhale but feel as if your heart stayed sunken now that you know he wanted to…kill himself out of tremendous guilt for losing Sarah, insecurity over not feeling strong enough to keep you safe, and grief for Sarah. You were being stupid just seconds ago with the poisonous feelings that began to resurface, those of not being enough for him.

It’s stupid. You were insecure. Stupid.

“And I wasn’t scared either. I was ready,” your dad continues to say. Now you break away from your spot and sit at his other side.

“I couldn’t have been more ready. When I—” he pauses and briefly drops head, before looking up again to continue. “When I…went to pull the trigger, I-I flinched.” He huffs out softly. “Still don't know why.” He looks over at you, so you gently caress his arm to comfort him.

“Anyway,” he goes on. “The reason I’m telling you all this—”

“I know why you’re tellin’ me all this,” Ellie cuts him off.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I reckon you do.”

It’s his way of comforting her, which is good, it’s sweet. As awkward as you feel their interaction to be.

“So time heals all wounds, I guess,” Ellie breaks the short silence that had built.

“It wasn’t time that did it,” he lets her know and meets her gaze, whilst he lifts his arm you’re holding so he can instead grab your hand.

More silence follows as he holds Ellie’s softened yet timid gaze. She nods very softly in what you understand to be comprehension, so he then looks over at you to meet your gaze so you’d know he was also referring to you.

You offer him a soft smile as your gaze gleams with tears, and then rest your head on his shoulder. As Ellie remains quiet he then looks over at her again.

“Well, I’m glad that…that didn’t work out,” you hear her interject in a quivering tone.

Your dad nods. “Me too.” He proceeds to sniffle and drops his head to wipe his eyes—or really the tears he couldn’t hold back.

It’s still quite odd seeing him cry since he wasn’t one to show it before. Not until Sarah died. He’s always tried to be strong in front of his girls. You admire that, truly from the bottom of your heart, but seeing him not hold back now is also quite refreshing, it’s okay. You let him know that with a gentle squeeze of his hand, whilst you also notice Ellie sitting there awkwardly just watching him.

It’s quite funny though that they’re both like that.

“We should…probably loot the place for supplies,” Ellie cuts off the silence. “We wouldn’t want to desperately search for some…again.”

“Yep.” Your dad agrees.

You smile down at the interaction, and then get up after Ellie to break off to a tent behind her.

Since there isn’t much left in the tents your search should be quick, but you use this time to finally share your own words of comfort.

“It gets better,” you say without referring to what exactly because she knows. “With time the pain…it becomes less, until it fades away when you least expect it.”

Ellie stops rummaging and quietly interjects. “Does it?”

You nod. “It does. Right now it seems like you’ll never forget. And you won’t…that’s the worst thing, but as time passes it becomes only a distant memory.” You find bandages in a drawer and twist your body around to shove it in your backpack. “It’ll feel like you can never be yourself, like…” you pause. “Like you’ll never recover what was lost.” You sigh and turn around completely to walk over to a stack of boxes beside the drawers she was searching in.

“But you do, you are.” You smile faintly. “Slowly, in your own way, you’ll find the light in the void. And my dad and I will be here every step of the way. I’ll be here for you.”

Ellie closes the drawer, and you hear her sigh before she breaks her silence. “Thank you.” She sighs shakily and gently hits her knuckles against the cabinet. “I appreciate it. You make it…easier,” she whispers and then glances over at you.

You meet her gaze and offer her a soft smile that she mirrors. She doesn’t add anything on the matter after that, nor do you, so instead you walk over to the drawers on the desk that’s in the tent.

“By the way,” you interject in a much uplifted tone. “I like that scar on your eyebrow. It’s very cool.”

Ellie scoffs, and you can practically hear her smirk. “Thanks,” she redirects.

You yank the top drawer open, and come to find a small bottle of vodka rolling to the front. “Cool!” You muse and pull it out.

“What?” Ellie queries and falls beside you rather quickly.

“Vodka,” you point at the words fading on the label. “Not my favorite, but it hits the spot.”

“Can I try it?” Ellie asks and reaches for the bottle in your hand. Albeit you quickly smack her hand away.

“Ow!” She complains and pulls her hand back to rub it as if it truly hurt. “What was that for?”

You meet her gaze and shake your head. “You can’t drink, you’re not old enough.”

Ellie furrows her eyebrows and snaps back. “I’ve drank before. You saw me.”

You also choose to put the bottle in your pack, and then turn to begin heading out. “So what?” You shrug. “That was then, and now I’m tellin’ you that you’re too young. Plus, you’ll just ruin your liver, you’re too young for that. Try next year.”

“I thought you were supposed to be cool,” she retorts sassily while she follows you out of the tent.

You smirk. “I am cool.” You correct her and pick up your pace as you spot your dad waiting for the both of you where you had been before.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Your dad interjects now that you continue to try and find the hospital.

“What?” Ellie asks before you could.

“Shitty puns,” he says.

Ellie’s lips pull to an immediate smile. “Oh-ho-ho.” She muses and slides a strap of her backpack off to take out her own pun book, and quickly flip to a page. “People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow.”

Your dad smacks his lips, and you squint your gaze.

“Too soon?” Ellie questions.

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s topical.”

Ellie laughs and then focuses back on the page. “Oh, I love this one. Moon rocks taste better than earth rocks. Why?” She asks and bounces her gaze between your dad and you.

“Why?” You press with a half smile.

“‘Cause they’re meteor,” Ellie gives the answer to a pun you knew, but let her tell regardless.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” your dad says, whilst you giggle.

“Fuck you,” Ellie counters. “That was actually good.”

“It was, I like it,” you back her up.

“That-that’s a zero outta 10,” your dad adds, making you roll your eyes in a lighthearted way.

“All right. All right,” Ellie says, and then continues on to read another pun. “What did the green grape say to the purple grape? Breathe, you idiot.”

You snort and nod. “That was a 3 outta 10. What do you say?” You ask and look at your dad, noticing his smile.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think you’re right.”

“Seven minimum,” Ellie tries to plead her case. “I mean,” she points at you. “You snorted.”

“I’ll give it a five,” your dad assures her. “Five outta 10.”

“That’s good,” You nod. “That’s the best it gets.”

“Five?” Ellie repeats.

“Yes,” you agree. “Five—” you cut yourself off immediately the moment you hear something small fall on the ground behind you. Ellie and your dad hear it too, so when you look to the ground your smile falls and your eyes widen as you notice that it's a bomb.

It’s so sudden and out of nowhere that you can’t help but freeze out of disbelief. Luckily your dad throws his arms around Ellie and you and throws all of you to the ground as the bomb goes off and releases a thick cloud of white smoke.

However, it’s that same simple bomb of smoke that causes your ears to ring, and your vision to blur as your mind begins to spin and hurt.

Was it the fireflies, or another group?

“Y/N?” You can identify the muffled voice of Ellie, it sounds distant. “Joel?”

You slowly pick up your head off the ground and catch a glimpse of her right by you actually, she’s not far.

“Ellie,” you croak, and then cough out as the smoke burns your throat and clouds your lungs. You lift your hand up weakly, but try to reach over for her regardless.

Ellie notices your hand and begins to reach for you too, but before you can touch she's suddenly being picked off the ground.

“Joel?! Y/N?!” Ellie cries out as she’s now out of view.

“Ellie,” you can barely hear your dad call out.

“Joel!” Ellie’s cries gets louder and full of panic. You try to look back at her, but as you do you see some man in a vest over you.

“Wait,” you try to plead, and lift your hand to stop whatever he wants to do, but he doesn’t hesitate and lifts his rifle over your head before he brings it down, and brings darkness.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

Pain is the first thing that you feel, it’s throbbing and radiates all around your head, but, there is one spot to the side that the pain is sharp and hurts the worst.

There’s a chiller breeze you feel, making goosebumps grow on your skin. As your eyes slowly flutter open, a bright light from above blinds you, causing you to lift your hand to shield your eyes.

However, it’s at that moment as your eyes grow accustomed to the light above, as your daze fades away that you notice rundown bare white walls surrounding you. You’re on a small couch, and there’s no one with you. Not your dad, or Ellie.

“What the hell?” You grumble now and sit up quickly as you’re now riddled with fear.

Where is it that you are exactly? It’s an office you’re in, you notice the desk, the window on the wall, and the bookshelf, but where is this office? Where’s your dad and Ellie? It’s too quiet

“Don’t worry,” a voice startles you. “You’re safe.”

You snap your attention to the front of the room where the voice comes from, and gasp the moment you recognize the women standing against the door.

That’s right you were ambushed. But she wasn’t there.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she says.

You scoff and shake your head. “Marlene,” you greet coldly.

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @slut-f0r-u @star-wars-lover @maplecohen @givemylovetoall @itzagothamcitysiren @sammy-13@beloved-reblogger @emiriia @rues-daya @sunfairyy @littleshadow17 @mcu-starwars @bigtuffswordboy @riaqiax @dheet @queenofthekill@joliettes @d4rno @dgraysonss @rana030 @pedropascalluvr41 @ahoyyharrington @beaniebeensbaby201 @maeneedsabreak @maelartasch @adristyles @daughterofthequeen @alastorhazbin @ririvilliams @khaylin27 @hypatia93 @hummusxx @v4mpyk1tten02 @1donoow @your-shifting-gurl @g4ns3y @izzzzy-the-amazing @aphr0d1teh @lovelyygirl8

[prolix-yuy]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag @oonajaeadira! Funny enough I saw this go around a couple months ago and meant to do it, then life got crazy. This seems like a great time to jump on in!

How many works do you have on ao3?

48! Wowza! That's not counting fics I only post here (like my Writers Iron Chefs and the Bangathon)

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

338,089. That's kind of crazy, I'm not gonna lie. And some of those words aren't filthy :P

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe!

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Something New, One Very Good Night, Both Sides of the Door, A Sweet Response to Tragedy, and Good Company. 4 out of 5 of these are from I Think of You, which does warm my little heart. I did laugh that their popularity is completely out of order from the series.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes yes yes! Every single one I get! I'll even yank your tags out and comment on them when they make me especially happy. It's the best part of sharing my stories.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

TECHNICALLY One Very Good Night had the angstiest ending before I continued the series. Same with Cognitive Dissonance! Apparently I get to an angsty end then just write a part 2.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think that's tied with the real ending to my Whiskey & Westworld series, and all the gooey soft fun of my Javi G series. Both make my heart glow in different ways.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Knock on wood, nothing so far. I've gotten a couple of interpretations of my fics that have made me cock my head because I just don't think the person read the story, or if they did they skimmed over the character development part. But otherwise I've had a very nice time with everyone here <3

9. Do you write smut?

If you don't know by now, I'm not sure what you've been reading...

10. Craziest crossover?

100% Whiskey & Westworld. Golden Circle meets android theme park? Lusting over cowboys and having existential crises? It fit better than I ever thought it would and I still love the crap out of it.

(though as a side note, having Javi P be the person who helped Santi find his girls in the SW!Frankie AU is another fav)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not? Yeesh.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that would be pretty neat!

13. Have you co-written a fic before?

No, but I have had the distinct pleasure of @psychedelic-ink writing a fic in the SW!Frankie AU that made my whole life.

14. All time favorite ship?

HELP I'M TORN. It's a tie between Din and my Reader in I Think of You and Dieter and Murch in Best Laid Plans. I think about both of them so so so much.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will

I have a handful of small WIPs in a folder that who knows if they'll come to fruition. I think the greatest contender is probably the Post-Apocalyptic Frankie I tossed around because The Last of Us came out and it might just meld into a Joel story instead.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm good at pacing and giving enough description to keep a reader engaged but not bogged down with details. People connect with my reader characters in a way that makes me super happy. And I write damn good smut.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can't write outlines or my brain says "it's done :)" and I never write the story. I can't write out of order. I struggle with making characters have meaningful fights and arguments because I'm non-confrontational IRL and it makes me anxious.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language

Flavor! I love reading it! I tend to shy away from writing it because as someone who knows another language, it never feels natural to me to throw it in. Pet names are a nice way to use it, and I'll allude to speaking other languages in descriptions, but it's difficult so I tend to not add it much in my stories.

19. First fandom you wrote for

Gundam Wing when I was about eight or nine. Part of my username is in homage to that! My friends and I would write our fanfics and then read them all out loud at sleepovers together. Pre-internet, this was my Tumblr lol.

20. Favorite fic you've written

You know, I love all of my fics a whole damn lot, and my top ones are still hard favs. But I think for a story that came out of my heart in a really nice way and that I hold a little closer than the others, The Plan might just top them a tiny bit.

NP tags: @iamskyereads @psychedelic-ink @julesonrecord @wannab-urs @ezrasbirdie and anyone who wants to play!

[ak-vintage]

Please Note: This is an 18+ blog. Unless otherwise stated, all linked works can be assumed to contain adult content. Specific content and trigger warnings can be found on the individual posts/series masterlists.

Masterlist will be continuously updated as content is posted.

PPCU WORKS

Quarry - ONGOING

Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities. Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want. Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

I'd Like To - COMPLETE

Din has always struggled to prioritize his own happiness, even more so now that he is a single father. When some well-meaning friends create a dating app profile for him without his knowledge, he finds himself on his first date in years with a woman who seems determined to bring some much-needed softness to his life. Written for @hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge

Miller Tours | Secret Springs Resort - COMPLETE

Prompt: Joel Miller & Speedboat Rides Created for the Secret Springs event hosted by @secretelephanttattoo

Whiskey's Sour | Secret Springs Resort - COMPLETE

Prompt: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) & Cocktail Bar Created for the Secret Springs event hosted by @secretelephanttattoo

Sweet As - COMPLETE

Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave. Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes Written for the @happypedrohoursCharcuterie Board Challenge

Work of Art - COMPLETE

Your pregnancy brings out a vulnerability in Marcus you never would have expected. When he reluctantly shares his insecurities with you, you are more than happy to reaffirm your affection for each and every part of him.   Written for @joelmillerisapunkPPCU Body Worship Writing Challenge

The AK-Vintage Archives (works published pre-2023) can be found here.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Hi :3 If you're still doing the character ask game, may I request 4, 5, 19, 24, & 25 for Charles? Thank <3

Hello! I am still doing them!

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Hmmm I don't know!! I would put him in Boston Legal as a client involved in a lawsuit over something ridiculous just because DOS's humor would have been perfect on that show.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Where's the Orchestra by Billy Joel. This was my most inspired song choice. It's all about getting to this point in your life where you've achieved something and thinking "this is it?" and the metaphor it uses is an orchestra. To quote the man himself, "life isn't a musical, it's a Greek tragedy." (No I do not think Billy Joel was okay when he wrote this song, it was the last song he wrote for an album that he said he felt as if he'd died when he finished it.) Where's the orchestra? Dead, perhaps? Charles's whole goodbye dinner speech in GFA just tracks to this song so well.

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

If I could delete the Charles/Margaret ship tease from season 6 I would. I wouldn't hate it so much if they had ship tease in season 7 after she got divorced. But most of it happens when she's a newlywed and her marriage isn't even on the rocks yet and it just makes absolutely no sense for her after she made such a big deal about breaking up with Frank and staying faithful to Donald! I still don't think I'd ever ship them, but it wouldn't be such a hard no for me if it was handled differently in the show. It felt like they only wrote Charles flirting with her because Frank did, but she'd dumped Frank a whole season before! Some of their later scenes as friends make me understand why people ship them, but I never will because season 6 just poisoned me against it forever.

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

This is not a fandom I'm in per se and it's kind of a limited resemblance but it makes me crazy: in Downton Abbey, Sybil works as a nurse during WWI, and after the war she feels increasingly alienated from her noble family's way of life. She just can't pretend the rich people nonsense matters anymore. And from what we see of Charles in GFA, I think that's going to happen to him. He's exposed to so many things and forced to connect with so many people from different backgrounds, he can't just go back to how he was before. There are also some Charles elements to Josh Lyman, who is not nearly as wealthy but also a high-achiever Harvard legacy from a privileged background who lost a sibling as a child.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

I didn't like him at first! I mean, I like characters who suck, so I liked him because he was well-acted and funny, but I wasn't invested in him emotionally. I was like wow he's an asshole. I don't always like character who suck right away, either, because if I'm deep in a show I'm thinking about how likable they are, and my love of well-crafted characters who I would loathe as people comes later. Anyway after a couple of seasons suddenly I cared about Charles and I still do! He's a rich asshole who's a caring person deep down to me. I'm not super interested in soft squishy Charles, I like him to kind of suck but have a heart of gold. I haven't been engaging with a lot of Charles stuff because I've been oriented toward the Gelbart seasons more, but because of that when I do see Charles stuff I get to remember how fun he is! I have a soft spot for poor little rich boy characters.

[dino-fart]

The ‘Miracle’ | Chapter 5: The Fireflies

Summary + Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance, Tragedy

Chapter Summary: The three of you have finally made it to Salt Lake City. Saint Mary’s Hospital is in sight and Ellie is more determined than ever to finish this. Joel starts to have doubts about it all and you come to a horrific realization.

Warnings: Physical and Gun Violence, Mention of Past Suicide Attempt

You awoke on the couch as the sun’s rays peeked through the curtains of the cottage. You sat up slowly and realized Joel was no longer resting on you. You also realized you were no longer on the couch, you were on the bed. When did I get here? What happened last night? Your heart began to race and you quickly stood up to leave the room and search the house. You made it to the living room where the kitchen was and froze when Joel was standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand. 

“Mornin’...You alright?” He said with furrowed brows. 

You sighed in relief and nodded, “Y-Yeah...I thought I was having a nightmare.” 

“Coffee?” 

“Yes please...” 

“Have a seat on the couch and I’ll make a cup.” Joel gestured and you sat on the couch. The very couch where you confessed your dark past to Joel and where you kissed him. You began to wonder if any of that even happened last night. Shit, how disoriented am I? You rubbed your head. “Hope you like your coffee black,” Joel said as he sat down next to you and set the cup down on the table. 

You chewed on your bottom lip as you were deep in your thoughts, trying to decipher what was reality. “You’re startin’ to scare me,” Joel said looking at you gently. 

You finally met his gaze and gave him an apologetic smile, “Sorry...Thank you for the coffee.” You leaned over to take the cup and held it in your hands, letting the warmth thaw your fingers. Joel said nothing back and looked away from you. You were interesting to him, he couldn’t quite figure you out. After a long silence, you set your unfinished cup down and took a deep breath. “Joel...” 

“Hm?” Joel looked back over at you. 

“What happened last night?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean...I remember taking a shower, coming back here, and falling asleep on the couch but I woke up on the bed.” You explained leaving out other details to see what he would say. 

“Then you’re correct.” He simply answered. 

“Did I...Say anything?” 

Joel set his cup down and raised a brow, “I’m going to need you to be more specific, doc.” 

Doc...Not darlin’....Maybe you dreamt the whole thing? “I guess anything about me.” You shrugged feeling like you need to drop this conversation soon. 

“No...But if it’ll make you feel better you can. I don’t know much about you besides that you’re a doctor and saved my life.” Joel’s gaze was soft now, he could sense the nervousness. 

You forced a smile, “That was Ellie, I’m sure if I wasn’t there she would’ve handled it just the same.” Joel nodded and looked down at your hands and how shaky they were. “It’s probably coffee, I’m used to drinking tea.” You said, noticing his gaze. You grabbed your mug and walked over to the kitchen to get away from his intense stare. You had your back to him as you carefully place it in the sink. 

Joel was debating on where or not to tell you the truth, he wasn’t sure how you were going to take it. After you rushed out of dinner abruptly when Ellie mentioned your scars, he wanted to be cautious about his approach. “Last night, I found you asleep on the couch. You were shaking like hell but it wasn’t from the cold...I carried you to the bed, scared as shit that you were turning into an infected. But I couldn’t find a bite...You, uh, grabbed my arm before I could leave and said ‘don’t leave me’...So I stayed until you stopped shakin’. That’s all that happened.” Joel said. You were relieved he told you yet you were disappointed that you didn’t tell him about your past. You walked back over to the living room and Joel stood up. You moved your hands to slowly roll your sleeves up. 

Joel gently took your hand in his, “You don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” You smiled. Just as you were about to show him, Ellie walked into the room. You froze and looked over at the teenager. 

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She said softly. 

“No, it’s okay Ellie.” You let your sleeve go and smiled at her. 

“Okay...Are we ready to go?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded and left to go grab your things. Joel just stood there and sighed. 

“Okay seriously, what happened?” Ellie asked him. 

“Let’s get going.” Joel ignored her question. 

“So cool!” Ellie smiled widely after feeding a branch to the giraffe. You stood in the back, smiling at her interaction, it was nice to see her smile. 

Joel was also smiling and turned over to you, “Come on and say hello.” 

“I-I don’t know, I’m not a huge fan of...Giant animals.” You said nervously. 

“Seriously?” 

“Serious. I’m terrified of whales...” 

Joel chuckled and walked over to you and took you by the hand, “Well this ain’t no whale and giraffes a harmless.” He guided you to the edge of the roof and placed your hand gently on the animal’s long neck. You slowly petted the giraffe and Joel stayed right next to you. “See, not so bad?” He smiled at you. You stopped paying attention to the animal and your eyes were on Joel. 

His smile was sweet and sincere and you felt your heart skip a beat. Joel noticed your gaze and felt his cheeks heat up at the attention. It’d been a long time since anyone looked at him that way. He didn’t feel worthy of it. “Look! There’s a whole herd!” Ellie shouted. 

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked over to see it. You gasped and stepped back quickly when the giraffe moved its’ long body and turned around to follow the herd. “I’m glad we’re up here and not down there.” You chuckled. 

“Wow you really are scared of them...” Ellie teased. 

Joel headed over to the stairwell door and stopped before he opened it. “We don't have to do this. You know that, right?” He said. You furrowed your brows at his words. 

"What's the other option?” Ellie spoke up. 

“Go back to Tommy's. Just... be done with this whole damn thing.” 

You were quiet at this, it was a tempting offer to turn back but you made a promise and it seems Ellie has as well. "After all we've been through. Everything that I've done. It can't be for nothing.” Ellie smiled at you and Joel and joined Joel at the door. Joel looked at you now. 

“We have to see this through.” You said determined. 

Joel nodded and opened the door to the stairwell. 

The three of you walked into the empty QZ and Joel talked about how he was in one of the triage tents. You thought nothing of it until he hinted about his suicide attempt. You turned around quickly to face him as did Ellie. He sat down on one of the barricades and Ellie was quick to join him. You approached him slowly as he explained what happened. 

Your heart ached to hear this, you couldn’t imagine watching your son die in front of you. “I know the feeling of not wanting to live on...” You said softly. Joel looked up at you and even with those few words, he understood the scars. You stepped closer to him and gently put your hand on his shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“And I’m glad you’re here darlin’.” Joel nodded. You had butterflies in your stomach when he called you that. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re both here. Now let’s do this!” Ellie smiled. 

“Joel!” You shouted as you resurfaced from the flooding waters. You saw Joel giving Ellie CPR. You were a good distance from him and swam with the currents to get to him quickly. Right as you walked out of the water you saw a gunman heading toward Joel. “Joel, look out!” You shouted but you were too late. 

The gunman hit Joe in the head with the butt of his rifle. The other gunman aimed his gun at you and you raised your hands in the air. “Wait, you idiot!” The gunman who hit Joel shouted to the other one. He approached and studied you carefully, “Doctor?” 

“Yes...Are you a firefly?” You said cautiously. 

“Yeah, good to see you, doc, come on.” He gestured and you watched the other gunman carry Ellie. You were instructed to follow him and turned around to see Joel unconscious on the ground. 

“They’re both fine, doctor, calm down,” Marlene reassured you. 

You sighed and shook your head, “I want to see them.” 

“I’ll take you to Ellie.” 

You followed Marlene and rushed into the patient room where Ellie was laying in the bed. You gently brushed her hair with your fingers and sighed in relief. “It’s a miracle you three made it. I feared the worst...” Marlene smiled. 

“It was all her, she’s the miracle.” You smiled back at Marlene. 

“That she is...She’ll be prepped for surgery soon. I’d like you to join Dr. Anderson in the operating room.” 

“Don’t we want to wait for her to wake up? At least to tell her what’s going on?” 

“We don’t have that time. The doctors tell me the growth inside has somehow mutated. It's why she's immune. Once they remove it, they'll be able to reverse engineer a vaccine. And that’s where you come in. You can help with the vaccine process and both of our sufferings will be over.” 

You knew what this meant and sat down in the chair that was next to the bed. You buried your face in your hands. 

“We have to end this, doctor,” Marlene said softly. 

“She has to know...We owe her that. Explain everything to her and let her choose. The kid has a right.” You moved your hands from your face and looked at Ellie, “And you know Joel will not be happy.” 

“Do you know how much I’ve suffered? How much I’ve lost?” 

“How about me, Marlene? My reputation was slandered, my name smeared, and my family hunted! All because the government wanted to keep things a secret!” You snapped. 

Marlene stood up from her chair, “Then let’s make things right...Join the operating room when you are ready.” Marlene left the room and you sat there, contemplating...

You left the staff room and walked down the long hallway that would lead to the operating room. You were dressed in full PPE except for the face mask and head cover, you held those in your hands. You stopped in your tracks when you heard the gunshots and ran for cover. You hid there and heard the rushed footsteps of the firefly soldiers. One of them saw you and gestured for you to stay down. 

Were you all under attack? Was Joel okay? Would Ellie be okay? You knew you needed to get there to warn the doctors against whoever is attacking them. You wondered where Marlene was as well. You crouched over to another cover and peeked your head over to see which way to the operating room. In a few minutes, there was silence and you decided to stand up and ran toward the double doors that led to the operating wing. 

You saw the doors closing and ran faster, “Wait!” The doors shut and you banged on them. You tried to open it but the doors were barricaded. You looked at the door window and your heart dropped when you saw who was on the other side. “Joel...” You said in shock. 

Joel couldn’t look at you, his face had blood splatters on it and you had a feeling it wasn’t his blood. “Don’t come after us.” He said. 

“Joel, wait! You need to stop! Please!” You begged. 

“I’m not losing her.” 

“I don’t want to lose her either but -” 

“She’s not yours to lose.” Joel cut you off and glared at you. You were quiet at this and looked at him softly. “Last time, I’ll warn you, doctor. I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you or Ellie.” You said then stopped yourself as you realize what you were saying. You were dressed to go in and operate on her... You were trying to see if you went in there you could find another way. 

Joel noticed your realization and shook his head, “You’re just as crazy as the rest of them...You shouldn’t have survived.” Those words hit you like a dagger and you weren’t sure if Joel was just saying it to keep you away or if he meant it. Being the situation that it is...You knew he meant it. You felt tears form in your eyes and met his intense gaze. 

Joel gave you another look before turning around and heading toward the operating room. 

A few minutes later, the remaining firefly soldiers broke through the barricade and you ran into the operating room with them. You screamed in horror seeing Dr. Anderson dead. The other doctors were shaking in terror. You heard the soldiers shouting that Joel was heading to the elevator. You wanted to follow them and confront Joel but what difference would it make? 

You stood there in the operating room, frozen in time and Joel’s last words played over and over in your head. 

You shouldn’t have survived...

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[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over. 

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you. 

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity. 

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you. 

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that. 

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters. 

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?” 

-

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband. 

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open. 

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at. 

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her. 

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe? 

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized. 

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom. 

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away. 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time. 

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head. 

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full. 

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy. 

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you. 

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind. 

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game. 

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing. 

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you. 

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl. 

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now. 

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still. 

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again. 

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one. 

-

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat. 

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat –  fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now. 

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out. 

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now. 

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well. 

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him. 

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you. 

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all. 

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind. 

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard. 

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

-

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile. 

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes. 

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father. 

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for. 

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes. 

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something. 

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection. 

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now. 

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit. 

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad. 

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won. 

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone. 

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore. 

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house. 

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was. 

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers? 

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask. 

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved. 

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief. 

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never. 

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie. 

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say. 

-

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts. 

-

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were. 

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this. 

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that? 

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need. 

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you? 

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good. 

End.

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[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 16: Prairie Fire

TLOU (Western AU)

WC: 2150

Rating: T

Characters: Joel and Sarah

Warnings: angst, made up barn jargon, light language

A/N: this one turned out much longer than I was originally planning, but I think it’s one of my favorites I’ve ever written for them. Take a shot for Sarah Miller tonight

We like to think we know what we’ll be like in a crisis.

“I’ll keep a level head,” we tell ourselves, “Rise up and be a leader.” We’ve all seen the movies, and we’re not going to be the guy who chokes, becomes dead weight and stands, mouth agape at the tragedy unfolding before him. We’ll be quick and concise, the picture of cool. Thankfully, most of us never get the chance to prove ourselves in that way. Mundanity prevails.

For Sarah Miller, though, that day came one particularly hot and dry July afternoon. Twenty one years old, wild as a weed, sweet as a rose. She was loved by people and animals alike. Her gentle demeanor and soft smile won over every pair of eyes that drifted her way.

That summer had been dry. They were always dry, but daddy said the valley hadn’t seen a drought like that in forty years. He had been a teenager then, tall and broad shouldered. Work was hard to come by that season, everyone’s crops yielding nothing but shriveled roots and dusty, dry soil. It took years for the town to bounce back. Their normal trade routes halted for lack of bargaining power, and being a poor settlement, they had no extra money to pay for the processed foods to take the place of the missing crops. Everyone’s mama got creative with cooking that year, finding ways to stretch supplies and fill the bellies of their hard working families.

Today, they were in a better place to withstand a hit like that. Every harvest, each farmer put aside a portion for canning and pickling, making a sizable stockpile for everyone to live off of should scarcity hit again. Sarah had just finished picking up a few cans of corn and potatoes in town to last them through the end of the week. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose braid at the nape of her neck, and a crisp white hat sat perched upon her head. Somehow she managed to keep it spotless no matter what trouble she got into. The cans were tucked into a bag hanging at her waist, clinking against each other with each step Erebus took, his black coat shining with sweat in the sun. Her eyes rose to scan the azure skies, not a trace of a cloud to detract from the deep blue, an ocean taunting the dry earth below, the land cracked and groaning.

Beads of sweat lined her neck and clung to her collarbones like an adornment of pearls gifted by the sun. Her cheeks held a constant rosy flush this time of year.

“Let’s get home,” she whispered down to the stallion, running a hand over his broad neck.

They set off at a leisurely pace, no need to tire him out when it was already so hot. Her mind wandered as they rode in silence down the lane. She was making a mental checklist of things that needed to be done at home, the fence that needed repairing, the horses that needed shoes. She was pulled from her thoughts when she caught a whiff of smoke in the air. The acrid smell of burning wood caused her face to sour as she looked for the source. A plume of smoke danced through the air, like a river disappearing into nothing, jagged edges dividing the sky into two crude halves.

“No,” she whispered, “Gotta go, boy,” she dug her heels into the horse’s sides and tightened her grip on the reins as he broke into a gallop. Her breath sat like a coil in her throat. She did her best to not let it break out into a fit of hyperventilation. She didn’t even know if it was their house yet, figured panicking now wouldn’t do a lick of good.

Erebus’s hooves pounded the hard ground, sending clouds of dust up with each hit. The cans collided into her hip bones with each stride, sure to leave deep purple bruises that she could worry about tomorrow. Her sight was set on the line where the sky met the scorched earth, the trail of smoke becoming wider with each second. As they crested the last hill before their home, she pulled back on the reigns, slowing Erebus. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears while she inhaled one more time, preparing herself for the sight below. With a few more steps, she was able to peer at the scene unfolding ahead, and for a few seconds, the pounding in her head was dead silent. Their barn was up in flames. Starting at the back and quickly making its way to the front. Her dad was at Uncle Tommy’s today helping with Lucy, who was foaling. She’d have a few minutes at best to get the animals out and call for help.

She swallowed down her fear and hopped off of Erebus. Her feet carried her swiftly to the barn’s red doors, swinging them open with one big pull. A gust of hot air almost knocked her flat on her back. Smoke stung her green eyes, drawing tears instantly. She twisted them into barely a squint while they adjusted to the hazy scene in front of her. The flames had crawled all the way up the back wall and halfway across the beam running across the center of the roof. They licked wildly at the aged wood, kissing it black with ash before pulling it into the blaze. The animals were panicking, a cacophony of squeals fighting for dominance over the crackling of wood and flames.

Sarah dipped her handkerchief into a water bucket by the door and tied it snugly over her nose to try to keep some of the smoke out. Within seconds, she was unlatching stall doors and slapping haunches to direct the frightened animals out the doors and into the sun. Four horses, two donkeys, three cows. She counted over and over in her mind as she ventured closer to the blazing heat of the flames to open the last pens. The beam overhead buckled with a loud crack, splintering as it rained sparks down over her. The ash was thick in the air the further in she went. Coughs racked her lungs, the soaked cloth providing almost no protection against the thick smoke. Their oldest donkey was nowhere to be seen.

“Missy!” she screamed through a hoarse voice. She could barely hear herself over the all encompassing growl of the flames, like she was in the belly of a dragon looking for the light to follow out. Her vision was clouded was a wall of bright yellow tinged with grey, her head spinning as she realized her oxygen was quickly depleting. She looked in the last stall to find Missy cowering in the corner, panic and flames reflecting in her big brown eyes.

Sarah’s hand reached for the latch of the door, but instantly recoiled as the skin of her fingers burned and blistered. Her eyes searched for anything she could use to knock it loose. The glint of her father’s axe caught her eye, silver steel feigning golden in the light, the handle obscured by some fallen boards. Using the toe of her boot, she freed the tool and pulled it within arm’s reach. With one hard blow, she brought the blade down across the latch, successfully freeing the door. Missy came careening out braying wildly, long limbs scrambling for footing. Sarah pushed her towards the entrance with firm hands, doing a once over before heading in the same direction. The overhead beam gave one final, sickening groan before coming down hard. One crash, and everything was black.

“Thanks for stoppin’ by. I figured she’d have trouble with this one since the last labor was so hard on her,” Tommy said gazing down at the new chestnut foal trying to get his legs under him.

“‘S’alright, better safe than sorry,” Joel grinned at the new life taking its first steps before them.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for a drink?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head out. Got a feeling home needs me for some reason.”

Tommy nodded, “See ya ‘round, hermano.”

Joel clapped him on the shoulder before retreating from the barn. Amara stood out front, still saddled and bridled, chewing on some hay. Her long, white tail flicked at flies lazily while Joel hauled himself into the saddle.

“Let’s get home, old girl,” he clicked his tongue, guiding her towards the gate of Tommy’s ranch and down the path to their house. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, something had felt off in his spirit when he left. Like he had a storm circling in the pit of his stomach, threatening to pull him inward. The ride between their houses was only about twelve minutes. Halfway there, he heard frantic barking, and sped up to find Bud, their black and white border collie howling wildly and whining. When he saw Joel, he took off running in the direction of their home. It was then that Joel saw the smoke. The wind had shifted directions, blowing it west towards Tommy’s.

“Oh no,” Joel let out. He followed Bud with thundering hoofbeats carrying him. Although, with the adrenaline he felt rushing through his veins and humming under his skin, he bet he could’ve outrun any horse that day.

Everything was chaos. Smoke was thick in the air before he even approached the barn. Animals were running frantically while Bud did his best to head them off and keep them within the property lines. If the animals were out here, that means someone had to have freed them.

“Sarah!” Joel’s voice bellowed as he searched the sea of four legged bodies, not seeing a sign of her. He barreled into the barn and screamed for her again. By now, the flames had completely taken down the back wall. The light blue of the sky peeked in in several places contrasting the bright orange and yellow and pieces of charred wood. The stalls all the way up to the middle of the barn were now burning, and the roof creaked coming out like a wail, a promise that she would hold on as long as she could.

Joel lungs were already overcome with ash, coughs coming hard and fast, bringing more tears to his already stinging eyes.

“Sarah!” he called again as loud as he could muster.

Then he saw her. A white peek of her hat like a halo in the middle of a war zone. Part of the ceiling beam had seemingly come down on her, knocking her unconscious. She looked so small. His baby girl, the thing that made life worth living. He was on his knees in an instant assessing the damage. He saw her chest rising, and thanked the Lord that she was still breathing. She was trapped beneath the beam though the weight of it wasn’t resting on her. It had gotten caught on the edge of one of the stalls keeping it a mere few inches off of her. Any closer and it would’ve snapped her spine. He pulled her out by her hands and swung her limp body into his arms. One strong arm under the bend of her knees, one gently cradling her neck. The heat weighed him down as he pushed out and towards the light.

A group of nearby neighbors were making their way down the path when he emerged from the inferno. Comforting hands were on them in an instant, pulling them further away, offering water and medical attention. The sting of the sun against her eyelids stirred Sarah from her slumber and pulled her back into consciousness.

“Dad?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Save your voice. We’re gonna get you some help.”

She gave him a weak smile and closed her eyes once more.

“I got everyone out.”

“I know baby, I’m so proud of you,” Joel said, his throat raw from just a few minutes of smoke inhalation. He wondered how she must be feeling, how long she had been there.

“I got you baby. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, a wave of his own tears clouding his vision this time as someone approached them with oxygen masks and makeshift cots to lie down on.

Loud as thunder echoing across the plains, the barn gave in, roof crashing down on top of empty stalls and old tools. They would’ve lost everything that day if it hadn’t been for Sarah. And truthfully, Joel still would have lost everything if he hadn’t gotten there when he did. He looked over at her skin, tinted grey from the ash, and slipped his hand down to take hers into it. With eyes still closed, she gave him three quick squeezes that set his heart at ease.

“I love you too, kiddo,” he said, mostly to himself.

[prisonguards]

@astronomical-bagel

I am. SO terribly sorry about how long this took to reply to, my brain wanted to sit down and write an Essay for u but Ive been. SO BUSY. But seriously Ive been treasuring and hoarding this ask :) its SOOOO so so nice that other people enjoy them as much as I do and Im so happy I could help collect us a little with the tag ^--^ we are all friends now <3 EDIT ALSO TUMBLR ATE THE FUCKING ASK???? I did have screenshot of ur ask thankfully, Im soooo pissed tho idk where it went

So Im gonna go into my history with them a bit cause I kinda got into them backwards ig augshsg. Or at least different from how most ppl in the tag/posting abt them rn are. I was primarily a Traffic and Emp S1 smallidarity guy for the longest time! Funnily enough I was a late adopter of Emp S2 smallidarity (enemies to lovers usually isnt my thing) but the way the community latched onto it and got everyone talking about them really, really got me invested (also getting kin feels helped /shot. Who said that.) I think the other funny thing is that smallidarity is a dynamic where I like the platonic version (almost) equally as much as the romantic—I push for the romantic just because its easiest to collect ppl with a shiptag (although I did intend Smallidarity to be both a platonic and a romantic tag, ftr. Post both! Any! All!) and because I enjoy Complicated dynamics that are easier caught/categorized under a “romantic” lens sometimes even if they arent Necessarily that. But I just love when theyre important to eachother in general.

I actually have Such delusions abt their Traffic dynamic. Im so insane abt it. I think theyre good friends with Joel having slowly building romantic feelings for Jimmy throughout the seasons, which Jimmy is… pretty much aware of and would reciprocate—if Joel would ever ask (he never will). The Last Life dynamic in particular is one that haunts me, because it. Feels like their most amicable Traffic dynamic, at least in my memory, and in no small part of that is Joel pledging to avenge Jimmy (and Mumbo but this is a Smallidarity post isnt it). That small comment profoundly impacts my Traffic Joel characterization and Im planning to incorporate little objects of remembrance for Jimmy into my late game Joel designs. Traffic smallidarity… like many Traffic dynamics that captivate me… its about the missed opportunities, its about the lack of time, its about Tragedy… I just have such bad Last Life brainrot on the mind rn so this has been whats living with me Daily rn.

I also think their 100 Hours is one of the most funny and most OBVIOUSLY flirty dynamics, though I may get into that a bit more with another ask that I got recently, and, well. My Sorry Sir compilation covers a lot of it.

Double Life is what actually converted me but I cannot think of what the Exact moment was. I went back to my messages from when the eps were coming out and.

They immediately got me.

Theres so many good Traffic moments. One day I will make that clip compilation. I swear.

EMPIRES S1……… theyre best friends… I think it would be funny if Joel is independently dating both him and Lizzie and Then they all find out Jimmy and Lizzie are siblings and Joel is like. Oh jesus Christ my type is Even More specific than I thought. Fishkisser boy. Joel making the joke romantic montage of Jimmy before declaring hes gonna be proposing to Lizzie made me. Drop dead. This dynamic is Everything I craved out of them, watching this directly after Double Life and during Emp S2, when theyre most antagonistic, made me fully insane. I LOVE when theyre nice to eachother. So much. Best friends who kiss. Little design headcanon for them is like. Joel is Fully embellished by pearls he gets from Jimmy and Lizzie. I should give Jimmy n Lizzie azaleas to wear in exchange too auughh..

Okay finally circling back to Where We Are Now. Emp S2. These fuckers.

So Im delusional and like it best when theyre Soft right? So even though S2 lends itself So well to toxicity (and dont get me wrong. Sometimes I Gotta indulge) I rlly like making it cutesy as fuck. Joels obsession and complete infatuation and cute aggression is everything. Hes so infatuated with this guy he doesnt know what to do with himself and just is Relentless. schoolyard “hes bullying you because he likes you” type beats. Hes my moron hes my annoying king. I cannot remember if Ive talked abt my design headcanons fully but Im big on the Jimmy Was Human but Joels god powers are Changing That. I think its subconscious, hes not doing it maliciously, reality just bends to his will too much.

Also. Found my decision moments… these are from July 3rd.

I think. Overall the most enthralling thing about them is the care that underlies everything. That despite the endless teasing and bullying, Joel really genuinely care about Jimmy in a way he struggles to express sometimes. I think its really special and charming and compelling. I just have illnesses about them

[mothandpidgeon]

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✨ = smut 18+

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - SERIES ONGOING ✨ Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader) ✨ You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

Stiff (no outbreak!Joel x age gap!f!reader) ✨ As Joel's getting older, his body isn't working the way it used to. Luckily, you're happy to help him out.

Homecoming (no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader x Frankie Morales) ✨ Frankie asks his neighbor to keep an eye on things while he’s in South America and gets more than he bargained for.

Aunt Flo’s First Visit (pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader) After Sarah gets her first period, Joel is determined to be a supportive parent despite the fact that he doesn't know the first thing about menstruation. But when he goes to the pharmacy to shop for supplies, he finds himself in way over his head. Joel Drabble  A little drabble for the end of episode 7

Forgive Me (Joel Miller x f!reader/OFC) ✨ When Joel finds himself in possession of some sexy photos, temptation makes him question himself as he's fascinated by a woman he's never met. 

Reputation series (Regency AU Din Djarin x f!reader) ONGOING Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 ✨ - Chapter 3 ✨ - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 After scandal damages your reputation, you are finished with society. But a mysterious bachelor by the name of Mr. Djarin has a reputation of his own. And you are determined to keep yourself from getting mixed up with him.

Wanted (Din Djarin x bounty hunter!f!reader) ONGOING Chapter 1 The Mandalorian may have escaped Nevarro with the asset but he has the remainder of the bounty hunters’ Guild on his tracks. While you might not be a match for his strength and beskar, if you can gain his trust posing as a nanny, you’ll be able to single handedly bring down the best bounty hunter in the parsec. 

Stitched (Din Djarin x GN reader) Din learns to knit. Pure softness and yearning.

Prizes Writer Wednesday ficlet at the fair.

While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader) ✨ The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences... (written for #mothandbirdmothersdaychallenge) Helter Skelter (cult leader!Ezra x f!reader)✨ - COMPLETED Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 When you meet a mysterious thinker named Ezra, you join up with his followers and become a part of their family. Your new life is full of psychedelics, sex, and mind bending experiences. But there’s something dark lurking in Ezra’s philosophy. Will you discover it before it’s too late?

It’s a Bad Wind that Don’t Blow Somebody Some Good (Ezra and Cee) Cee deserved a fresh start after escaping the Green. She could’ve been somebody if a series of tragedies hadn’t befallen her. And Ezra was one of those tragedies. A chance encounter years later gives him the chance to make things right. Or at least explain why he abandoned her and left with everything they had.

Close Shave (Dave York drabble) Just a drabble about Dave shaving his face. The One That Got Away (Dave York x f!reader) - ongoing Part 1 - Part 2✨ - Part 3 You’ve been on the run for years but you’re finally ready to turn yourself over.

Extra Credit (Professor!Dave York x f!reader)✨ [mind the warnings] With graduation on the horizon, you just have to pass Professor Dave York’s class. But a bad choice on the final assignment leaves your grades in jeopardy. But he’s willing to give you extra credit if you can follow instructions.

Looking (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Dave York)✨ Although you're married, Marcus Pike takes you up on your proposition. Your husband, Dave, doesn't mind if you sleep with other men...if he can watch.

The Sins of the Father (a Molly York story) - ongoing Prologue - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 Dave York starts training his daughters young. One day Molly might have to put her training to good use…Grappling with the sudden death of her father, Molly York grows up trying to fill the gap he left in her life. And looking for revenge.

Looking (Marcus Pike x f!reader x Dave York)✨ Although you're married, Marcus Pike takes you up on your proposition. Your husband, Dave, doesn't mind if you sleep with other men...if he can watch.

Homecoming (no outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader x Frankie Morales) Frankie asks his neighbor to keep an eye on things while he’s in South America and gets more than he bargained for.

Be Kind Rewind (Frankie x f!reader x Santi x Benny x Will) The boys find Frankie’s sex tape.

You're Breaking My Heart (Frankie x f reader) Angsty 500 follower drabble.

Making Out to Pablo Honey (virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader) ✨ Dieter’s always tried to be cool. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. You, on the other hand, you’re cool.

Southpaw (Dieter Bravo solo) ✨ After an accident leaves Dieter without the use of a hand, he becomes acquainted with the other. 

Embers Undying (Pero x wife!reader) ✨ Pero returns from the Great Wall with a dazzling gift for you.

Ave Atque Vale (Marcus Acacius x f!reader) ✨ Marcus leaves without saying goodbye. Ave atque vale meaning hail and farewell,

My book: A Piece of the Action (fka Takes Two to Tango series) ✨ SEASON 1 PARTS 1-9✨ 1975. Dangerous mobster Victor Morales wants a piece of Esther Goldman’s strip club. He isn’t used to hearing the word no and she’s gotten under his skin.

Here I Go Again (Eddie Munson x OFC) ✨ Eddie’s become good friends with his new neighbor. Despite the fact that she’s got at least ten years on him, he thinks about her more often than he should (and in ways that he shouldn’t).

To Catch a Thief (thief x f!reader) ✨ The necklace shimmered hypnotically, a massive diamond at the center, even more beautiful in person. This was what he’d been after. The only problem was that this particular piece of jewelry was now hanging around your neck as you slept.

Pedro from the Phone (Pedro Across the Street x reader) PART 1 - PART 2 “Who is this?” “What? You called me.” Unexplainable phone calls keep connecting you and Pedro.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 8 In the meadow

Tragedy at the Miller’s chapter 8

A/N- Since I don’t know how long they’re going to make the timeskip for s2, I’ve left the time period unsaid, but I do know when I want it to take place so not to worry :)

Warning- FLUFF, swearing, long chapter, and talks of death and birth and babies

Pairing- Joel Miller x daughter!reader, OC x fem!reader, Henry x Fem!reader

Episode- After season 1

(If you want to be tagged let me know!)

————

*4 YEARS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK*

And then from the tension filled silence a sharp cry broke in the room. Breaking that thick fearful tension and bringing pure joy to everyone inside, especially him.

“Congratulations mom and dad, it's a healthy baby girl.”

Joel looks down at his partner on the bed and shares a wobbly grin before he presses a soft kiss on her forehead. “You did good, baby,” he whispers to the woman in a sweet voice.

The woman's grin brightens and she holds Joel’s gaze as she grabs ahold of his hand to hold it tight.

“Do you have a name yet?” The nurse asks as she bundles you up in those scratchy hospital blankets without caring that you're still crying.

“Yes,” the woman on the bed says as she watches carefully as the nurse handles you. “It’s y/n.”

The nurse meets the woman’s gaze and offers her a small smile while she begins walking to the bed. “That’s a beautiful name. Do you want to hold her before we take her?”

Without hesitation the woman nods and reaches her arms out for you with tears filling her eyes already. “Of course,” she agrees.

The nurse carefully places you in your mothers arms, making her gasp softly as you steal her breath away and cause those tears she held in to begin rolling down her cheeks. Whilst you, it’s like you had known your mothers arms before because as soon as she held you go went quiet.

“Hi,” she whispers to you as she brings you closer to her. “Hi,” she coos and carefully uses her finger to caress your cheek. “Look at you. You’re so perfect.” She sniffles and lifts her gaze to meet Joel’s gaze. “Look at her Joel, she’s so beautiful.”

Joel crouches and parts his lips to agree, but he finds himself speechless, so all he can do is slowly reach for your small little hand.

“That’s your daddy, Joel,” the woman beams at you. “Do you remember him? He’d sing for you?” She giggles softly and keeps watching you as she’s captivated by your face. “I’m your mama, Rue. And later you’ll see your sister, Sarah. She’s excited to meet you.”

“That’s right,” Joel whispers as he watches her with a soft admiring smile on his face.

“Oh,” she cries softly. “You’re so beautiful. My precious girl.” She quickly wipes her tears away and looks over at Joel watching her from the side of the bed. “Here…hold her.” She turns slightly and carefully hands you to your dad.

“Hey,” he whispers as he fixes his stance with you in his arms. “Hey.” He says again and reaches for your hand with his finger. “Look at you,” he laughs softly. “You’re so beautiful, babygirl,” he coos and then glances at Rue with tears gleaming his eyes.

But then, suddenly as he’s distracted looking at his partner, you wrap your little hand around his finger with as much force as you can muster, and steal his attention and a soft breath away; missing the way Rue’s face begins to contort with discomfort.

Joel doesn’t say anything, he just watches you hold his finger with a proud smile. And it’s as he’s watching you that you begin to flutter your eyes open, making him now look at you with an awestruck look and tears breaking out of his eyes. Making him miss the sound of Rue’s rising heartbeat as he’s captivated by the way you’re blinking.

“What pretty eyes you have,” he whispers to you while you watch him, or really leave your eyes on his face. “Do you wanna see your mom?” He asks and turns to show her, but in that exact moment the monitor that showed her heartbeat begins to go off as her heart begins to race.

“What’s wrong?” He asks her with concern.

Rue liked to hide her pain, she didn’t like to bother others with her problems, so it’s no surprise why she hadn’t said she was hurting before, not until it was obvious to him and everyone in the room.

“I don’t know,” she mutters out between slow labored breaths. “It’s hurting. It hurts…” she trails off.

Joel catches the sound of the nurses talking behind him, but he doesn’t comprehend what they say. it's all just a jumble. He’s just worried about his partner, his Rue, as her heartbeat keeps rising and he notices her grow more and more weaker.

“I,” she mumbles out. “I want to…see her.”

Joel watches her turn her head to look at you in his arms, but her gaze is distant. She tries to reach out, but her attempt is slow, and well then a nurse blocks his way.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse interjects quickly and doesn’t even ask before she begins to reach for you. “We’re going to ask you to step out of the room while we help your wife.”

The nurse tries to take you, but Joel secures his hold around you, whilst he keeps his eyes on his partner. “No, I want to stay with her. What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong?”

“She’s suffering through a postpartum hemorrhage, the doctor is going to help her, but he needs room, okay?” She explains to him with her hands still on you. “We’re also going to take the baby, okay? She’ll be fine. You can go see her at the nursery.” She then snatches you from his arms, and you begin to cry out, adding to the panic in the room and heightening the worry spiking in Joel’s heart.

“I just,” he mutters as he watches the nurse place you in the cradle before he snaps his eyes back to Rue, noticing all the nurses that begin to surround her.

“Mr Miller, if you can please step out,” another nurse cuts in and now begins to touch his arms to begin leading Joel away.

“My wife,” Joel says. “Will she be okay?”

The nurse hesitates since he doesn’t know the definitive answer, but he does answer nonetheless. “We’re going to help her. We’ll let you know when she’s stable, and when you can be with your baby again.”

Joel lets the nurse guide him out, but only because he sees them rolling you out. “My baby,” he then snaps out with concern even though he saw you breathing right, even if you still cried out for the comfort of your parents.

“Will she be okay?”

“Yes,” the nurse assures him. “They’re just doing a routine check up.”

Joel watches you leave the room and then peers back at Rue again. “Rue,” he calls out for her.

But he doesn’t hear her call back, he just hears the heart monitor. He can’t see her either, not even a glimpse, there’s just nurses. “Rue,” he calls out desperately and slows down before he can reach the door.

“Mr Miller please,” the nurse begs him as Joel waits for his partner to respond, to wait if he’d see for himself that she’d be okay. But he sees nothing.

——

*NOW. SOMETIME AFTER SALT LAKE CITY*

“How does that saying go?” Mia asks as she walks up behind you. “Something old…”

“Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue,” Maria finishes for Mia as she joins her behind you too. “I got the something borrowed; the veil I used for my wedding.” She then proceeds to try and clip the long white lace veil on the flower crown on your head, albeit she struggles a bit to clip it on.

Not like you minded, your head is too preoccupied by worry—what if you trip in front of everyone? What if the dress tears while you’re walking? What if…Apollo isn’t at the end of that aisle.

He wouldn’t do that, and you know you have your family to take care of it if he did, but it’s still a concern and a nightmare that plagues your head.

“Something new?” Mia asks and then walks around you to face you. “The earrings we found. Something old?”

“Tommy,” Ellie jokes, causing your lips to break into a smile as you let out a soft snort before you begin giggling for the first time all day today. When you look over at her sitting down by the door as she waits for Maria and Mia to finish getting you ready for the ceremony—your ceremony, she shoots you a small smile that actually provides you with ease.

“No, but really,” you interject after being silent for a long while as the women worked with you and around you. “The gold necklace Apollo’s dad gave me.” You then tilt your head to the side to get a view of yourself on the long mirror beside you, but you’re too nervous to check yourself out so you avert your eyes and continue. “And something blue, my flower crown,” you point to your head, “and my bouquet.”

You look down at the bouquet you gripped onto and stare off at the white daisies that are mixed inside, you then glance at the blue delphiniums that are mixed in the flower bouquet that was all picked from your own backyard, so you could have Sarah with you in your own way since she can’t be here with you now; helping you get ready for your wedding—god that still feels weird think about, you getting married!

And Sarah isn’t here to help you calm down as your nerves are eating you alive and overwhelming you. She isn’t here to stand behind you when you’re up in front of everyone, when you’re beside Apollo the man you’re going to marry. She isn’t here, so you carry her with you with the wildflower bouquet.

“What is that for?” You catch Ellie asking the group. “Is it like some tradition or something?”

You glance at her but don’t answer. You hardly know the answer yourself.

“Yeah it’s exactly that,” Maria answers as she carefully straightens out the small invisible wrinkles on your ankle length skirt. “People believe that when the bride carries or wears them the day of the wedding, that they will have good and happy marriages. It’s up to the person if you choose to believe that or not, but it’s such a used tradition that I think for some it’s just something to look forward to.”

Ellie hums whilst you hum as well.

“Okay,” Maria changes the subject and now you hear her walk around you to face you too. And this time you look up to meet her softened gaze. “You’re ready,” she lets you know sweetly and grabs your arm to turn you around so you can finally look at yourself.

It’s hard to believe it’s you at first reflected in that mirror, in that beautiful white dress that you spared no expense in as it was especially made for you by an older woman here in Jackson since you wanted nothing more but a gown inspired by, of course, Audrey Hepburn’s wedding dress in the movie ‘Funny Face’. The woman said special days like these don’t come often now so she said it was an honor to do what she once would do before. So, that’s not why you’re taken back by your appearance, or the fact that you’re all dolled up, because you’re used to the makeup when you use it for your plays or when you use it just ‘cause when you can. You’re baffled by the fact that you never thought you’d wear white.

No matter how much you’ve changed your mind about this stuff, you just never thought you’d be someone wearing white, someone only minutes away from being married. It’s crazy. It’s fucking crazy!

Yet you still are over the moon seeing yourself with makeup and a pretty white gown. It helps bring some bliss that eases a bit of those nerves.

“You look so perfect,” Maria murmurs with a smile as she stands beside you to admire your reflection in the mirror. You swear you even notice tears in her eyes.

“Look at you,” Mia points out with glee. “You’re so beautiful.” She covers her mouth with her hands, and she actually begins to cry.

You offer your friend a gentle smile, but that’s all, you can’t muster much of anything else.

“You’re going to get married!” Mia exclaims and clutches onto your arm to begin shaking you. And as she does, as you’re radiated by her energy, that realization hits you full on.

“I’m going to get married,” your murmur before your eyes widen, and your lips form back to a smile. “I’m going to get married!”

Mia squeals, so you do too and hold onto her now to begin jumping together with excitement, like a pair of teenage girls—or like the ones you see on tv anway.

Regardless, thanks to Mia you’re riddled with bubbling excitement at the thought that was just scaring you only seconds ago.

“I can’t believe it,” you interject as you come to a slow stop with Mia still in your arms. “It’s crazy.”

“Hell yeah it is,” Mia agrees and pulls back to face you. “But enjoy it. Okay? We don’t get a promise for tomorrow. So enjoy your new life, yeah?”

You nod, and then let out a deep and shaky sigh. “Is it…” You pause as you hesitate to ask her your question. “Is it weird after?”

Mia shakes her head with no hesitation. “Nah,” she assures you. “Besides, he's your best friend. It makes it all easier, that bliss new weds feel is heightened a hundred percent. At least that’s what it feels like with me and my husband.” She chuckles.

You muster a faint grin and nod comprehension. “Okay.”

“It will be good,” Maria interjects as she notices your worry return. “It’s all going to be okay. Like Mia said, just enjoy it.”

Mia lets you go to let Maria reach you again and grab your hands for a second before she cups your cheeks. “Deep breath in,” she instructs and does as she says. “Deep breath out.” She breathes out.

You do as she says and make her smile.

“It’s normal to feel this way,” she assures you. “You’ll be okay.” She then caresses your cheek before she pulls away. “It’s almost time I’ll see you out there, alright?”

You nod and watch Mia walk out with her, whilst Ellie stays in the seat she had been in this whole time. You don’t question her actions though, or tell her to go wait for you outside, you let her stay; you want her to stay as you take another moment for yourself.

“Does my flower crown look crooked to you?” You ask her and face the mirror to look at your white and blue flower crown. “Be honest.”

“I always am,” she rebuttals.

You scoff in amusement and reach for the crown, but only let your hands hover over it since you’re actually still unsure.

“You know,” Ellie interjects from her chair. “We could still go to the moon.”

You blink in surprise, and slowly turn your head to look at her.

“We can find a spaceship and fly to a space station to live in,” she adds and averts her gaze. “Or we can, pft,” she blows out and then suddenly stands up. “Go somewhere else, just you and me. You can become some famous actress,” she adds with a small smile.

You slowly begin to grin and slowly let your hands fall back to your side as you watch her slowly approach you.

“You can be a movie star. I mean someone has to be right? That can be you. Just say the word, I’ll run away with you.”

You scoff softly and turn completely to face her while she stops a few inches away, letting you notice her frown and an upset look in her eyes.

“Sounds like a nice plan,” you tell her sweetly. “But you know we can still do all those things after I get married. Marriage is just a promise of forever between each other, a commitment. I’m not going to be locked away and be some house wife slave.” You assure her and close the gap between the both of you to fix her yellow Rue flower pinned to her shirt.

Ellie drops her gaze and swallows thickly. “Basically is,” she grumbles.

You giggle softly and shake your head. “You say that now, but you wait, someone will sweep you off your feet so hard that you will change your mind. I know that I did.”

Ellie scoffs and meets your gaze with curiosity. “Really?”

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

Ellie shrugs. “It’s just you…always seem to know what you want. And well you’re the type to want all those pretty things.”

You hum and shake your head whilst you unhook a strand of her hair to roll it your finger. “No, I was lost for a long time. But, then I met Henry, and…” you smile and let her little curl go to leave it on her face. “He made me see things differently.”

Ellie hums, and that sadness in her dark eyes still remains, letting you confirm to yourself what this protest was really for. She was just afraid of losing you.

She shouldn’t be though.

“Don’t worry,” you add and grab her shoulders now. “I’ll still be here in Jackson. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I’m going to be just a few streets down from where you live. In that yellow house with the white fence around it. But…” you add in a whisper. “If you run, I run. It’s just after today, I’m going to have to bring someone else along.”

Ellie lets out a small breath and stays quiet as she just holds your gaze with a soft look. “But,” she adds bluntly. “If he does anything,” she threatens. “I’ll stab him.”

You chuckle and nod. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Ellie shares a timid smile before she pulls away from you and glances at the door. You follow her line of gaze and remember all your worries, only now your heart is racing so everything feels much worse.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I'm ready. Tell ‘em to come in.”

Ellie nods and doesn’t falter, albeit she stops just before she can open the door. “So I stand behind you?”

You nod. “Yep. Maid of honor right behind the bride.”

“Alright,” she mutters before she opens the door and lets your father and uncle Tommy know that it’s time. It’s time to leave this room and walk down that aisle.

Albeit you can’t leave your spot in front of the mirror, you can’t stop looking at the scar on your neck that only reminded you of the burden, and the secrets.

“Wow,” you catch your uncle Tommy say before he lets out a long wolf whistle.

You snap your eyes to the door and see him and your dad walking in slowly with their eyes on you.

“Look at you,” your uncle Tommy adds with a soft smile and an awestruck look. “My little Sunny, you are lookin’’ beautiful.”

You let out a nervous laugh, and a few nervous tears that makes him grow worried right away.

“Why are you cryin’?”

You approach him and finally share what’s been plaguing you all day since you woke up. “I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” He retorts and studies you once more. “You’re used to the crowd—”

“Not that,” you cut him off and sigh. “What if he ain’t there? What if I—I don’t know! Trip! Or-or—”

“Whoa, whoa,” your uncle cuts you off and cups your cheeks. “Calm down. Breathe.”

You draw in a deep breath, and nod as you breathe out slowly.

“One, Apollo is out there waitin’ for you. Everyone is. Two, you aren’t fallin’,” he offers you a grin. “‘Cause I got you.” He caresses your cheek and shoots you a much brighter grin. Tears even cloud his eyes but he doesn’t let them out, instead he carefully wipes yours off. “Now why didn’t you cover up this tattoo?” He points to the little penis tattoo that shows on your sleeveless arm.

You glance at it and smirk. “‘Cause I like it. And maybe it's my somethin’ old, beside you.” You giggle, and he scoffs.

“Why don’t you get on with it?” He counters, letting you pull back and now face your dad who still has his eyes on you. However, right now his eyes are soft, tears are rolling down his face and his smile is trembling.

“Please stop cryin’” your voice quivers whilst you begin to approach him. “Because I’ll cry more.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to cry today.”

“Well I am, who’s gonna do somethin’ about it?” You quip with a teasing smile.

Your dad chuckles softly and then glances down to pull out the yellow rue flower from his shirt pocket, he then leans in and tucks it in your flower crown. “There,” he says. “Now she’ll be with you too.”

You draw in a deep shaky breath and nod as more tears sting your eyes.

“You look,” he sighs softly. “Absolutely breathtakin’ baby girl.”

You gasp and then quickly throw your arms around him to cling onto him for comfort. And as you do more tears stream down his eyes as he’s reminded of those time when you were a little girl who'd greet him after he got home from a long day at work, when you’d cling onto him in the mornings after waking up refusing to let him go because you were heavily attached to him, and at bedtime when you were fast asleep and he was taking you to bed. He remembered all that and held in his sob and only clinged onto you harder hoping he didn’t have to let go.

“You’ll stay,” you mewl out. “You’ll stay with me, right? You won’t leave?”

Your dad scoffs and takes offense to your question. “Of course not. I’m stayin’. And if you want to leave now all you gotta do is say the word and I’ll take you.”

You laugh and shake your head. “No, thank you though. I’m glad I can count on all of you.” You pull back and wipe away your tears to face the both of them with a small but eager smile. “Okay. I'm ready.”

“Okay,” he nods, and your uncle Tommy offers you his arm first.

You carefully hook your arm around his and then follow your dad out to the hall where you can hear the chatter of people outside waiting for you to walk out, you can feel the soft summer breeze sweep in through the open doors, and you can feel your own heart thump in your chest. Maria then catches a glimpse of the three of you now approaching the exit doors and gives the signal that you’re coming, making the chatter slowly come to a stop, and the musicians slowly begin to play a sweet and slow tune.

“Now’s your chance kiddo,” your uncle Tommy whispers as you walk to the door. “If you want to go, we can.”

Without hesitation you shake your head softly and come to a stop under the door frame. “No. I want to do this. I’m ready.” You let out a deep and nervous shaky breath before you glance down at your fathers arm and hook your arm around his too.

There was no way you could choose between the two, they were both too important to you, so as to not have to choose you asked the both of them to walk you down the aisle. And they happily obliged.

Now they both held onto you, whilst you gripped onto their arms out of the racing nerves that ran within you and only ran faster as you slowly begin to walk down the pink flower petalled aisle. The music that played was overpowered by the heavy thumps of your heart, and your stare was averted as you feared seeing an empty space at that other end—so you miss Apollo’s reaction to seeing you in your dress for the first time.

However, just as you reach that last wooden bench placed at the sides of the flower aisle, you finally blink to look ahead of you, and immediately whatever fear that plagued your mind about him not being here vanishes. Because there he is, in that black on black suit with the yellow Rue flower poking out his pocket, with his hair brushed to the side like he usually wore it, with his bright smile, and with a soft and awe-struck look. There he stands waiting, your best friend, partner, and now future husband. There he stands all beautiful under the yellow shining summer sun, and now you’re filled with a blissful joy and comfort.

When you finally stop before him your lips slowly pull to a beaming grin that matches his. Your uncle Tommy lets you go but you don’t notice because you’re captivated by Apollo, it’s not until you feel a kiss on the side of your head that you look at your uncle.

You hadn’t seen it before, but now his eyes were watery and his smile was faint. You don’t say anything even if you want to, but you do press a kiss on his cheek and whisper, “thank you.”

Your uncle sniffles and offers you a soft nod before he joins his family at the first bench, leaving you to turn to your dad who didn’t want to let you go.

“It’s okay,” you assure him and cup his hand with your free one. “I’ll be okay.”

Your dad draws in a deep shaky breath and nods before leaning in and pressing a kiss on your forehead. Your smile softens, and he finally lets you go to give your hand to Apollo.

Apollo takes you away gently but with pleasure. After that you watch your dad sit by your uncle, and then glance over at Ellie to shoot her a small smirk before you look back at Apollo and shoot him a quick smile he matches.

It’s then that the ceremony starts, beautiful words are spoken, vows are shared and cherished; but unlike hearing them from other people and on tv, now they’re special because they’re yours and his. Now they’re a promise between each other, a promise of however long your own forever is.

“Apollo Holloway, will you take this woman to be your wife? To live together in matrimony, to love her, cherish her, honor her, in sickness and in health; forsaking all others, be faithful to her for as long as you both shall live? If so, say, ‘I do’.”

Apollo’s smile softens, and his eyes gleam brightly as he holds your watery gaze and looks at nothing else. Because the truth is no one else exists at this very moment. It’s just you and him in this vast world, it’s just him and you standing in the center of town basking in each others never ending love.

“Of course I do,” Apollo says, making you chuckle softly out of relief.

“Y/N Miller, will you take this man to be your husband? To live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live? If so, say, ‘I do.’”

You grip onto his soft hands and nod. “I do,” you say back, causing Apollo to smile.

“With that said,” the officiant says, “I pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Without a second to spare, as if he’s never kissed you before, Apollo slides his hands up to your cheeks and pulls you in for a deep and passionate kiss that you melt into and deepen as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You probably would have taken longer since you’re so consumed by one another, but you’re both reminded of the people watching as they clap for the new couple, so you pull back first.

“I love you,” Apollo murmurs against your lips.

“And I love you,” you redirect with ease before pressing a gentle kiss on his lips before you both completely pull away and face the crowd that now stands there to celebrate.

And the very first person your eyes land on is your dad, you offer him a happy smile and then look away, but he keeps looking at you. In fact he can’t stop watching you, his eyes follow you around all day, when you run down that aisle, when the banquet starts and you sit by the man you now call husband, as you share glimpses with him as if you’re not right next to each other. He watches you laugh, talk with your uncle and his family, with friends and Ellie, he watches you cling onto Apollo like if somehow one of you was going to disappear. And he watches you dance happily under the soft rays of sun that only brighten your face.

Your dad watches you and hopes that somehow that little girl that once wished to never let go of him came back to him so he can keep on holding you. He was happy for you, of course he was, you were living your life, he wanted nothing more but for you to know normality in this messed up world, but he still wished that time could go back….

“Have you told him yet?” Apollo asks by your ear as you sway along to the music.

You smirk and shake your head. “Not yet. I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment.”

Apollo lets out a deep sigh. “You think he’ll be happy?” He queries.

You giggle and nod. “I think he will be ecstatic.” You look away from your father and watch Ellie talking with some of her friends far away from your dads table.

Their distance washes your smile away and brings back that guilt. “What am I gonna do about Ellie?” You ask and feel thankful that you told him the truth about Ellie’s immunity and what happened at that hospital, otherwise you’d probably go crazy with so much kept in. “I mean…” You trail off and sigh, making Apollo pull back to meet your gaze.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he assures you. “Their choices all fall to them, you can’t force them to do anything. You made your choices and now all you can do is live with them.”

You scoff and avert your gaze. “I was expectin’ some solution.”

Apollo rolls his eyes and pulls you back against him. “That is a solution. An honest one. If I couldn’t be honest with you then we wouldn't be married or best friends.”

You let out a deep breath and drop your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah. You’re right.” You look away from Ellie before you can be consumed by that guilt, and this time you catch Atlas swaying and chugging that alcohol in his bottle.

“I’m glad that we chose to have people write down their toasts,” you say. “Atlas is drunk as hell, who knows what he would say if he could now.”

Apollo chuckles and looks back at his brother playing some drinking games with other drunk people. “No, I think you’re right. But,” he mutters with a teasing smile. “You know we can actually share ours, right now.”

You snicker. “Oh can we? Okay,” you give in and throw your arms around his neck. “Well, you’re my best friend for one. Someone who always knows how to make me laugh, someone who can always make me smile even in the darkest time. Someone who never gave up on me and who never left,” you sniffle and his own smirk fades to a smile. “If I could choose to share my life with anyone, it will always be you, in every lifetime, in every universe.”

Apollo lets out a deep breath and can’t muster a word for a few seconds, all he can do is look all flustered. “Wow,” he interjects. “Now I feel bad that I only wrote you a song.”

You stop dancing and look at him with a serious look. “Don’t mess with me,” you tell him as you slide your hands down to grab his hands. “Did you? A song? For me?” You ask and touch your chest.

Apollo nods. “Yeah. For you.”

You gasp and then squeal with excitement. “I want to hear it! I wanna hear it!”

Apollo gets all cocky now and retorts. “I need my guitar.”

“No,” you snap back, “if you get your guitar then everyone else will hear. I want to hear all by myself first,” you let him know seriously.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Fine, come here.” He says and pulls you in so you can be pressed against him again as he continues to sway you to the music that plays. You may not dance to the beat of what’s playing, but you don’t care because you’re too captivated by his words murmured against your ear as he sings you the song he had written for you. A song that was only for you and no one else. A song so beautiful and meaningful that you shed tears with a smile that hurts your cheeks.

Once it’s over you’re only more in love and feel more desire to just leave the party with him.

Yet you have to hold on for a bit longer.

“I loved it,” you assure him. “I really fucking loved it!” You exclaim and the press your forehead against his. “Now how is it that you know me so well? I mean a song? I’ll never shut up about it.”

Apollo shrugs. “Oh well you know me, and you are only my best friend.”

You giggle and pull him in for a kiss that you Iinger in. When you do manage to pull away Apollo straightens up and begins to show off a playful smile. You quirk your brow and shoot him a confused look.

“Now, my beautiful wife,” he says and puts one hand behind him whilst he stretches out the other to offer it to you.

“Yes, my love,” you play along.

“Would you give me this dance?”

You smile ear to ear and nod before you rest your hand on his, letting him grab onto you before he pulls you in and secures you against him with a hand around your waist.

Rather than leading you in a slow dance like before, regardless of the tempo, Apollo begins to lead you around the dance floor really fast, maneuvering past other dancing bodies and making you laugh the entire time. When he stops it’s to grab your forearm, and it’s an action you don’t question and instead choose to grab his arm to then dance around. You then switch sides quickly and spin around again with giddy smiles on your faces.

There comes a point where you let go of each other but continue to dance together all wildly without caring about the others, letting those who didn’t know already that you in fact are best friends, two kindred souls.

And lastly as the song reaches its end Apollo grabs your hand, and you spin into him and secure yourself by grabbing onto his shoulders, while he grabs your hips to then dip you down for the big finish.

“Swept off your feet?” He probes teasingly in between heavy breaths.

You shrug and let him pull you back up. “Eh, I think there’s been better dance partners.”

Apollo scoffs. “Has there? Who may I ask?”

You smirk and shrug. “A lady cannot tell,” you joke.

Apollo leans in. “I’ll make you,” he whispers before he cups your cheeks and smashes his lips against yours. You giggle between the kiss, and he keeps repeating tell me, but you instead kiss him right back repeatedly. It’s almost like a never ending loop until you hear footsteps approach and stop by you. When you both pull away and look, you see your dad standing there awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just wanted to dance with my daughter, if I may.”

Apollo lets you go and nods. “Of course.”

You watch your husband walk off before facing your dad and grabbing his hands. “You want to dance again? Well ain’t that a surprise?”

He scoffs and holds onto you tightly to begin swaying you to the music, letting you slide your hands to his neck. “I dance. I liked dancin’ with your mom—Well she dragged me to dance all the time and I let her.”

You grin. “That’s nice to hear.”

“And I danced with you all the time when you were a little girl,” he adds.

“Yeah when I was a little girl,” you counter. “That was a long time ago.”

“Well I'm not as young as I was then,” he says, making you laugh.

“It’s diaper time isn’t it?” You tease, making him chuckle and nod.

“I’m gonna need a cane too.”

You chuckle louder and add on. “You’re gonna be those cranky old men who are like ‘get off my lawn you heathens!!” You mock his deep voice. “And,” you laugh. “You’re gonna keep their toys that they throw over the fence.”

Your dad narrows his gaze on you with a serious look, but he can’t help but break into a laugh. “Exactly,” he plays along.

You hum and hold his gaze with a adoriation.

“You havin’ fun?” He asks.

You nod. “I am. I'm lovin’ today. It’s perfect.”

He nods and sighs softly. “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“You,” you point out. “You havin’ fun? Met anyone yet?”

Your dad lets out a soft scoff. “As long as you're enjoyin’ yourself I’m happy.” He avoids your second question.

You would press on what you asked, but you let it go and instead press yourself closer to rest your head on his shoulder, reminding him of simpler times again.

That’s why he hung onto you for as long he could, why he secured his hold around you, because he didn’t want you to go. If he could he’d keep you in his arms forever, but alas he couldn’t so he let go. But before he could let go of your hands, he stops you.

“I need to give you somethin’” he says and then digs in his suit coats pocket.

You watch him with anticipation, and only grow intensely more curious when you see that it’s a folded up paper.

“It’s the toast that I turned into a letter since, well, I’m not so good with sharin’ what I feel,” he continues and hands you the letter.

When you take it you want to take a peek, but he pushes your hands down.

“Somewhere quiet,” he lets you know.

“Okay,” you breathe out and swallow thickly as you feel even more curiosity fill your mind. “Okay. Uh, I’m goin’ now I can’t wait.”

He lets out a breathless chuckle and nods. “Yeah, I know you couldn’t. Go on.” He points his head to the side.

So while the party rages on, you find an escape under a tall birch tree decorated with green leaves and lights around the trunk providing a perfect light to read the letter that was itching your curiosity.

To you, my youngest daughter, y/n.

You said to write a toast so I took advantage of this moment and wrote you a letter of all I have to say.

First I want to say that I’m sorry. There will never be an end to my apologies for what I did to you. No matter how dark my time felt, that wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have hurt you because of it. I’m sorry. And thank you for forgiving me even if I didn’t deserve it.

Second, one time you told me the things that reminded you of Sarah, now I get to tell you the one thing that reminds me of you when we were apart, and when we’re together. The sun, the way it shines so bright reminds me of you, of your bright smile that never ceases to make me happy even on the worst days when life throws me down. The sun reminds me of your kindness, the same one that would greet me everyday after a long day at work, and the same one that you haven’t lost even now—

You let out a soft scoff and sniffle to avoid crying and staining the paper.

—but most importantly the sun reminds me of simpler times. Times that I sometimes wish we could go back to so I can live forever with Sarah and you, so we can eat breakfast all together again, watch tv and eat all the junk food you want.

But maybe the truth is that I don’t want you gettin any older, I want to hold onto you forever, keep you safe in my own way. But if time didn’t pass then we wouldn’t have Ellie, I wouldn’t get to see this amazing, strong, and beautiful woman that I am so proud of—

You can’t hold back your tears now and draw in a shaky breath to cry out softly in your hand.

—and even if hearing you talk about getting married, even if seeing you in that wedding dress will make me cry and want to turn back the time, I couldn't be happier that you are livin your life, babygirl. Because that’s all I want, that’s all I ask for, all I wish for when you make me blow out my candles on my birthdays, that Ellie and you get to live your lives the way you want them to be.

And yes, I know that it’s hard in these times. I know it’s hard lovin, opening up to someone, and being vulnerable cause of all the horrors outside, but if you ever want to listen to me about something, it’s this; live. Live in the present, don’t think about what might happen tomorrow, next week or next year, live now, cherish today, laugh, smile, cry, just live.

Just know that no matter what happens with the rest of your life you will always be my babygirl, my daughter, and you will always have a place in my heart. So if that guy you’re marrying ever makes you cry just know that I’ll be there for you with my arms open. I love you y/n.

Love, dad.

You beam brightly at the paper and watch as those tears that you refused to let stain the paper before, now fall on the delicate surface.

He’s right he’s never been one to just express what he feels with so much ease, so reading what he held in his heart makes your heart swoon, and makes this day that much more special.

Alas, you fold the paper again, and wipe away your tears to then get up and try to join the wedding feast again before they coming look. Yet just as you press your hands on the ground to try and get up, you hear heavy footsteps approach. When you peer back you see none other than your dad stopping just past the birch tree when he sees you spot him.

“Daddy,” you greet with that same smile, and then push yourself to your feet to run over and throw your arms around him. “Thank you,” you whisper and feel your heart flutter.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he says as he secures his hold around you.

You hum softly. “I loved it.” You then pull back to face him, and out of the whirlwind of happy emotions you can’t contain what you’ve been hiding any longer. So after a deep breath you change the subject. “I have somethin’ I need to tell you.”

“You’re seperatin’?” He jokes.

You giggle and shake your head. “No.” You proceed to grab his hands as you hold his gaze with a bright smile and say it before anyone can interrupt you. “It’s about me—well Apollo and I. And beside the two of us, you’re the first person to know. I mean I wanted to tell you first.”

Your dad begins to narrow his gaze on you as you prolong the news and leave him waiting.

“I,” you sigh softly. “I’m havin’ a baby.”

Your dad stiffens, and his breath catches, making you quickly fill with worry that he didn’t like the news. Yet you don’t ask for reassurance, you hold onto his hands and watch him.

You watch as he slowly breathes out and his eyes gleam with tears. You watch his lips slowly pull to a wobbly but bright grin before wraps you in a sudden hug that takes you by surprise.

“Congratulations, baby,” he whispers softly, letting you sigh with relief and melt into his arms.

“You like the news?” You probe regardless of his comfort.

Your dad lets out a chuckle and nods. “Of course,” he assures you. “Of course I do. It’s the best news I’ve heard. I’m so happy for you,” he says with tears rolling down his cheeks and a happy smile on his face.

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A/N- What? Joel is getting everything he wants out of his new life? YAY!

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