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kumkaniudaku · 28 days ago

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White Lies

Summary: Terry and Patrice work together to a little white lie.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,521

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Caught, Me and Your Mama

MASTERLIST

Something was…off.

From the moment Patrice and Terry stepped into Marvin and Diedra's freshly renovated two-story home, which was primped and primed with all the luxury finishes one could ask for, Patrice could sense that their carefully crafted plan was in jeopardy.

Terry's father was far too cheery. Diedra was always high energy, often smiling and hugging to celebrate a cloudless sky or the fresh sprouts of garlic cloves in her window sill garden, but Marvin was more even-keeled. In her teenage years, Patrice often questioned whether he liked her because of the lack of meaningful communication with her until she became a legal Richmond when he acknowledged her as something other than "the Ellis girl" at their wedding reception. In reality, Marvin carried immense respect for his daughter-in-love and regularly sang her praises in private despite carrying an exterior that felt more like casual indifference than familial affection.

That's how Patrice knew their surprise announcement had been compromised. When Marvin greeted her with a hug so tight around her shoulders that she felt the bone pop from the pressure, her intuition perked up, sending red alerts to every corner of her brain. Still, Patrice kept quiet. No need to throw accusations when she couldn't prove her suspicion.

Terry knew something was up when Rosalyn called him out of the blue to reiterate that she was excited to see them for dinner an hour before they arrived to share a feast from their collective favorite local soul food spot. Rosalyn rarely called him. If she needed to speak to Terry, she called Patrice and relayed a message through her daughter. If the situation was urgent, she'd send a text as a last-ditch effort. While he loved his mother-in-law dearly, finding himself in a 15-minute conversation about the weather felt strange. He hung up with the nagging feeling she knew more than what she was letting on. But he buried the thought to keep Patrice stress-free and excited about revealing their news to the grandparents-to-be.

In the dining room, with an Aretha Franklin CD playing softly from Marvin's old standing radio system, the Ellis-Richmond clan conversed around a decorated maplewood dining table featuring all of their favorite Sunday dinner staples. They passed around Diedra's expensive glass bowls full of potato salad and pristine china platters of baked chicken between discussions of matters equally important and frivolous in nature. How was your vacation? Did you hear what so-and-so said about such-and-such? Your cousin is having a baby. Isn't that great?

That revelation made Terry pause as he spooned collard greens into his mouth. He chewed quickly to expedite a response to his mother. "Sure. Gerald has had a lot of kids, though, Mama. Ain't this number five?"

Five that they knew of at least.

"I know," Diedra sang after a sip of lemonade, a smile fighting its way past the neutral expression she'd been trying and miserably failing to maintain. "But a baby is a blessing every time. Especially when you're a grandparent getting to love on all those little ones. Sheila calls just to brag about them babies every weekend."

Patrice rolled her eyes internally when Rosalyn added her two cents as if she didn't already know how her daughter felt about having a child one day.

The older woman adjusted her black-rimmed glasses on her nose and hummed to signal her agreeance. "You know you get to treat your grandbabies different. Get 'em all hyped up on sugar and toys so they can go back home and be out of your hair until next time."

"That's exactly what I plan on doin'," Leon laughed, the sound booming throughout the room. "Have fun with Pop-Pop, then go right on back to your mama 'nem."

Terry tried to ease the annoyance emanating from Patrice's bouncing leg with a short chuckle and a soothing rub on her denim-covered knee under the table until she slowed to a halt. "If this is y'all's way of asking when we'll have children, I feel like I gotta remind everybody we just got married. Can't we enjoy some time alone for a little while? We haven't really dated, you know."

"And I have shared my very detailed five year plan for us, which does not include trying for a baby until year three. Please, let's not rush my well-thought-out process, people!"

Part of what Patrice said was true. Her laptop had a detailed five-year plan tucked neatly inside a folder labeled "Crack In Case I Marry That Man." She shared it with her mother a few weeks before Terry's surprise proposal, and there was a multi-page section on when and how they'd prep for parenthood after exactly three years of marriage. It was all there in 12-point Times New Roman and adequately disseminated to all interested parties to reference when the timeline called for them to reconvene.

The lie was that they were still following said plan to the letter.

Their parents exchanged knowing looks they assumed their children wouldn't understand. Terry and Patrice let them live in their bubble without calling attention to the many side eyes and allusions to pregnancy by frequently changing the subject but always ending right back at the starting line.

Forks scraping against bright white porcelain signaled the end of their main course, just as an attempt to steer the conversation toward sports proved successful.

Marvin waived his arms in a spirited attempt to direct Terry and Leon's attention toward an invisible clipboard of surefire inbounds plays for the Charlotte Hornets after another regular season loss. "See, this is why they didn't win the other day. The damn coach don't know what he doin'," he rambled without interruption. "Why the hell is Bridges inboundin' the ball with five seconds left? He oughta be in the paint waiting for the lob!"

"Probably a decoy, Pop. Get 'em to inbound, then he cuts to the basket. They just botched the play because they're a bad team. Which you know. I'm not sure why you keep devoting your time to them."

Marvin scoffed, miffed by the insinuation that his perpetually bottom-of-the-barrel team was ill-equipped to win. "Boy, I used to take you to Hornets games all the time."

"I know. And they were bad then. Why do you think the tickets were so cheap," Terry laughed.

Terry's father shooed him away with a grin that slowly turned into a laugh, joining the small chorus around the room. "Yeah, well, at least they're exciting and bad this go 'round," Marvin countered before leaning back in his chair, full from the feast. "Better to watch LaMelo Ball get 50 in a blowout than sit through 48 minutes of Keith Bogans."

"Hey, now. I had a Keith Bogans jersey!"

"Because it was cheap," Marvin winked.

More laughter filled the room, easily replacing the awkward tension marring their earlier interactions. Dinner was supposed to be fun and light-hearted to usher in big news for the year ahead. If conversations about the bleak future of their shared NBA team could offer a distraction, Terry and Patrice would watch every 40-point loss with glee.

Patrice cleaned the corners of her mouth and tossed her napkin on top of her clean plate in surrender to the indulgent meal. "I think some of my students are gonna sing Lift Every Voice at a game during Black History Month. We could go as a family. It'd be our first little mixed outing."

"You sure you'll feel up to it?"

Chatter stopped. Terry swore he heard Aretha gasp before the final track faded into silence. The air in the room felt stagnant as if it were also holding its breath in anticipation of the fallout. Patrice blinked twice as her head tilted to one side in the confused look she sported right before she picked her victim apart for answers. It was the calm before an ugly storm.

Rosalyn wished she could've put the words back in her mouth and swallowed them whole so they'd never come forth again. The question was meant for her internal dialogue and a side conversation with her good friend and gossip partner, not the group discussion.

She waited with the rest of the crew, breath drawn into tight lungs, praying that her daughter hadn't caught her innuendo.

Patrice smiled a tight-lipped smile, the expression looking more like a grimace than an indicator of true happiness. "Why wouldn't I be up to it?"

"Somethin' goin' on that day, Mrs. Ros?" When Terry said his vows, the part left in the margins was the commitment to join his wife in conflict, even if his parents were on the other side. They'd sort through the details later. And, honestly, he enjoyed a sprinkling of mess every once in a while.

Rosalyn released a cool titter to erase the lines creasing her forehead in worry. "I figured it'd be in the middle of the week. You know how P gets about her babies." Another slip to make Patrice's ears perk in curiosity. Leon wiped a large palm across his face to muffle a quiet groan. Diedra pretended to pick at sweet potatoes she had no intention to eat. Marvin nearly choked on a heavy gulp of water he didn't need. Rosalyn tripped over her words to clear up her mistake again. "She loves her students! Whew, is it warm in here, or am I having one of my personal summers?"

"It is a little warm. Must be that oven," Diedra rushed to confirm. "Mo, can you turn the oven off? I'm sure the cobbler is done by now."

"Leon and Ros, y'all ain't had my peach cobbler yet. Make sure you loosen up your belts and make some room by the time I get back." Marvin's deep baritone reverberating in uneasy laughter did little to lighten the mood. Everyone was in deep shit.

An unholy mishmash of utensils clanging and plates stacking interrupted Leon's response as Patrice scrambled to collect dishes before Marvin could push away from the table. "We'll grab it!" she blurted while tugging Terry to his feet hard enough to make him force down a cube of ice he wasn't ready to swallow. "Come on, TJ. I need your help."

"Shit," Terry hissed, rubbing his aching throat. "I'm comin', girl. Slow down."

Curses and grumbles about being far too rough with a pinch to the underside of his upper arm followed Terry and Patrice out of the dining room and into the sweltering kitchen across the narrow hallway.

Patrice chucked spoons and forks into the dirty side of Dee Dee's farmhouse sink before reaching the counter and gripping for dear life with both hands, her arms shaking in rapidly rising fury.

"Rinse the dishes with me and turn your back," Patrice instructed the moment they were safely out of earshot. She waited impatiently for Terry to drag his feet toward the kitchen sink, already exhausted and ready to rip the bandaid off the whole ordeal if it meant he could get back home enough time to fall asleep on the couch with Troy Aikman commentating in the background.

He sighed like he'd worked a full day's shift and reluctantly placed one of his mother's fancy ramekins under a steady stream of warm water.

After Terry's long, lip-flapping huff, he and Patrice spoke at the same time. "They know."

The pressing, the slips of the tongue, the looks across the table like there was a joke Terry and Patrice weren't in on – they knew. But when? And for how long?

"Did you tell your sisters?"

"No, I didn't tell my sisters. I know how to keep a secret." Terry answered, taking exception to the insinuation that he would be the one to blab despite their ironclad pact.

Patrice kissed her teeth. "Oh, whatever. I asked you not to tell Robert Mitchell what I said about the senior formal, and not only did you tell, you punched him in the mouth!"

"I did not tell him what you said. I punched him in the mouth first, then went to class. No words were exchanged."

"You are a liar, Terrence James, but that is not the point." Patrice whisper-yelled as laughter swelled from the other room. "Think. Have your parents said anything weird since we got back?"

Terry directed his eyes to the ceiling to rewind through the previous two weeks but came up empty save for an insignificant conversation the morning they got in from D.C. "My mom did ask if you felt okay. Something about not being able to smell like you used to."

"I never told her that. The only person who knew I was having trouble with certain smells was –"

"Your mom. When she called on Christmas Eve."

Like the missing piece to a puzzle, an innocuous conversation unlocked the key to their Scooby-Doo mystery. The mention of cinnamon and its all-out assault on Patrice's senses must've been the first domino to fall. That's why her mother rushed off the phone when they'd typically spend no less than an additional 15 minutes pretending to hang up while sparking insignificant nuggets of conversation until someone broke the seal. That's why Terry received a call from his mother asking if Patrice was feeling sick. And that's why, despite supposedly being entirely in the dark about the reason for their first-ever Sunday dinner as a family, none of the older adults in the room could stop themselves from talking about babies and parenting.

As the realization that their surprise was ruined long before it could take shape, fresh, hot tears began to cascade down Patrice's cheeks. Terry sprang into action, shutting off the water to softly catch the evidence of his wife's inner turmoil on his index finger's knuckle. "It's alright, baby. Come here."

Faint cries joined shaking shoulders as Terry pulled Patrice into his chest by her elbow before peppering kisses at her crown. Her arms encircled his waist, squeezing tight while he ran his hands up and down the back of her oversized sweatshirt to soothe her second emotional outburst of the day. "Talk to me. What's the matter?"

"It's all fucked up," Patrice heaved before muffling a short sob against Terry's body. "I want to go home. Fuck today! I don't care anymore!"

Assuming the role of reliable comforter didn't deter Terry from smiling down at Patrice with a plan that made his eyes twinkle like an excited child. "That's no fun, sailor," he cooed into her hairline before a quick kiss. "I planned to make this worthwhile, and I need those acting skills I love so much."

"What's the plan?" Patrice sniffed as she looked up at her knight in shining armor to wait for his day-saving plan.

"Terrence James is a liar, remember?" Embers of mischief animated thick eyebrows wiggling on Terry's forehead, leaving Patrice silently begging for more context. He kissed her nose and held his lips in place to keep their plan confined to their bubble of solitude. "We're gonna lie, and I need you to follow my lead."

"You have to tell me something! Don't leave me in the dark."

Clamoring in the other room snapped their attention toward their parents, who were still waiting for the sweet treat they'd been promised.

"What's goin' on in there?"

"My sugar dropping, now! Stop all that kissin' and bring the cobbler before I pass out."

"And make sure you wash your hands!"

Minutes were dwindling into precious seconds, which required more spooning cold ice cream on top of warm dessert neatly packed into bowls for a room full of antsy elders.

Terry quickly started an assembly line, with Patrice falling in line but still pressing for answers. He carefully pulled vanilla ice cream from the ice box, procured his Mama's good scoop, and hummed while he worked like the world around him hadn't capsized into chaos. That didn't stop Patrice from pestering him incessantly until he turned to briefly kiss her forehead in the process of preparing worthwhile servings.

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" When she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, Terry cut her off with a rough finger on her pouty lips. "Don't answer that. What I'm saying is trust me. I got the three of us at all times. What I need from you, gorgeous, is to give me that winning smile, put some sweetness in your voice, and…" Terry held his final word as he plopped hefty round dollops of sweet vanilla ice cream onto three servings of cobbler then carefully balanced them on a serving tray with the needed utensils. "Follow my lead."

"How will I know what to say, Terry?"

Terry tapped her nose and gently pushed her toward the room's threshold before gathering three additional bowls in his hands. He winked as he walked past her. "Takes a liar to know a liar. Come on."

Patrice didn't refer to her truth stretching as lying. She preferred to view it as world-building, taking a page from her lesson plans to explore weaving exciting narratives together for entertainment's sake. And, sure, she was the only one who would derive any pleasure from falling into her elaborate storytelling, but so what? Plus, that part of her life was long gone. She was rusty, unprepared, and dreaded having to be the supporting actress to a leading man she hadn't seen in action since they were teenagers.

A deep exhale helped Patrice's still racing thoughts and put on a believably happy face in enough time to shuffle behind Terry into the dining room.

"Who wants cobbler?" Her chirping sounded too eager for someone who was shaking from rage moments earlier, but she was committed to the bit. It was too late to turn back.

Various answers in the affirmative provided enough of a distraction for Terry to shoot Patrice a warning look. Calm down. His eyes said it all, and Patrice didn't need a second eyebrow raise to get the memo.

They took their seats side by side, allowing their parents a few moments of unwitting happiness before Terry began his charade.

"So…we have some news. We thought about calling on New Year's Eve but figured this was something better shared in person." Like children anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus by Christmas morning, Terry and Patrice's parents practically jumped from their seats to hear what they already knew. Chairs scraped against the polished hardwood to get closer to the table. Eating stopped. Bodies leaned forward in suspense. Terry had their attention in the palm of his hand left hand while he placed the palm of his right hand on Patrice's thigh to keep up the facade.

"We're…moving."

The words didn't quite register to anyone but Patrice as she sat there fighting to keep her eyes from squinting in uncontrollable laughter. Moving? Of all things, moving was Terry's grand plan to catch their parents off guard. But, as she watched the light of expectation slowly turn into confusion, she made a mental note to give her man his props. He'd successfully thrown a cartoonishly large wrench into their assumptions.

Diedra cleared her throat and smoothed a hand over her auburn pixie cut. "I'm sorry, James, can you say that again? You two are –"

"Moving," Terry reiterated plainly. "When we were in DC, we talked about finally getting out of here and startin' somewhere fresh, right, baby?"

Patrice chimed in. "I disagreed with Terrence at first, but he convinced me. How amazing would it be to explore a new city together? And the DMV is perfect. There's government work for him…"

"And teaching work for P. We'd live in the suburbs, so y'all wouldn't have to deal with the city noise when you visit. It's perfect."

If they were ever asked to rate their improv for the afternoon, both Terry and Patrice would mark their performance at a solid seven and a half. There was room for improvement, but, dammit, they were a worthwhile team. Terry gave Patrice an appreciative squeeze, and she expertly played the role of sweet, innocent wife by wrapping her arms around his bicep while they waited for the shock on Rosalyn's face to transition into the only version of happiness she could muster.

Patrice watched her mother's lips purse in a tight smile until she found enough wherewithal to respond kindly. "That's great, but what's so wrong with Fayetville? Don't you two want to be around your Mama and daddy?"

"Exactly," Marvin chimed in. "Why now? What's there that you can't get here?"

Perfect. Terry couldn't have concocted a more perfect scheme if he was given weeks to prepare. The spontaneity of it all made for air so thick that he could've cut into it and served a slice alongside his daddy's famous cobbler.

Terry looked over at Patrice to defer, preferring to let her flex her strongest muscle. She seamlessly took on both questions without faltering. "New opportunities," Patrice exclaimed as if the answer was as clear as a summer day. "Fayetteville has been good to us, but imagine how we'll grow together in a new city. We love y'all dearly, but it's time for us to spread our wings as a couple. You understand, right, Daddy?"

"Not really, baby girl." Leon shook his head in silent disbelief as he wrung his hands together. "Can't say I'm ready for you to leave yet. Feels like I just got you back from A&T, and here you are all grown up and trying to leave again."

Crestfallen silence blanketed the room. In all her years, Patrice had only seen her father look so forlorn one other time. They'd just finished unpacking her freshman dorm. Once the sobering realization that he was leaving his only daughter behind to tackle new horizons, sadness overtook him faster than he could wish it away. Patrice could see him reliving that afternoon and so many more as he pushed bits of crust and peach chunks around in his bowl for a distraction.

"We'll miss y'all," Terry answered, still holding on to the lie for a few moments longer, hoping his mother would cave to set up their grand finale. Diedra tried to remain cheerful in the face of heartbreaking news.

She clasped her hands together and smiled wide. "Well, I think that is incredible news! You know, I have a realtor friend out there who is still selling houses. Let me go in my purse and grab her card. We'll get you two set up with a down payment, make sure we coordinate a moving plan and tour with you to make sure you're getting the best available, and oh, it'll be wonderful! Let me go and grab my purse!"

Mission accomplished. DeeDee had cracked like an egg, still trying to contain the runny yolk of suppressed feelings while the remains ran through her fingers and made a mess.

"Mama," Terry called out. The show was over. Curtail closed. Time for the big reveal. When Diedra didn't stop rambling, Terry dialed up the volume. "Mom!" Dee Dee stopped in her tracks. Terry released an easy chuckle. "Sit down. We have one more thing to tell you."

"Oh, hell. No more bad news, boy. It better be something worth hearing."

Marvin's exasperation drew stilted laughter from Terry, and then Patrice, who joined him with her eyes closed and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. A shared, all-out cackle they couldn't contain any longer helped further confuse the four sets of eyes looking back at them.

Patrice tried to calm down with a deep breath, but a look at Terry's smiling face sent her back to the top of her guffaw. "Oh my goodness! I can't breathe. Baby, help!"

"I can't stop until you stop!" They tried again several times over, waiting for the other to calm down until they could force the truth out between giggles. Terry wiped at his waterline, then chuckled through an answer. "We're not moving, y'all. It's all a joke."

Rosalyn blinked back her bewilderment. "I don't get it."

"That's not the news. We had to get y'all back for thinking you could know that we're our business before we knew our business and then laugh without us. How rude!"

"So it's true," Diedra questioned, eye beginning to buck with newfound hope. "Are you…"

Patrice nodded and leaned into an already beaming Terry. "It is. You're gonna be a grandma alongside that lady over there," she confirmed, pointing at Rosalyn.

"And y'all are going to be granddads. Or Pop-Pops. Whichever you prefer."

Terry's additional barely registered over the sounds of hands slapping together in excited hi-fives and high-pitched squeals full of the kind of love only a baby boomer with dreams of cradling children born from their children could exude.

Leon raised his hands to give the Lord a high-spirited thanks once he saw Patrice's grainy sonogram, which made the news all the more real. A grandchild was on the way, and not from his knucklehead of a son like he'd imagined—not yet.

Marvin rushed in and out of the room, returning with a black and Carolina blue onesie filling once empty hands. Terry looked on in shock. Where had his father been hiding that?

Rosalyn and Diedra immediately jumped into visions of floral arrangements for a garden party baby shower and talked about how their children could avoid childcare costs with both nearing retirement.

The youngest Richmond couple found themselves ushered out of chairs and forced into a group hug, surrounded by unconditional love and bubbling excitement to meet a person still developing lungs.

Patrice struggled to speak against their embrace. "I take it y'all are excited."

"Over the moon, little girl." Rosalyn gushed. "The babies are havin' a baby. You're all grown up! Congratulations!"

Terry used a little wiggle room to return his mother-in-law's excitement with a rub against her arm. "Thank you, Ms. Ros. We appreciate y'a– ouch! Mom! Let go!"

With her pointer finger and thumb, Diedra tugged and twisted a new spot on Terry's inner arm as punishment for his earlier antics. She let go with another harsh pull before smacking his arm for good measure. "You might be grown, but not that grown. Don't play with me, boy!"

"And don't think I forgot about you, Patrice Nicole!"

"Sorry, Mama. It was Terry's idea!"

Though things were changing, some remained the same. No matter how much Terry and Patrice grew and prepared to take on the responsibility of ushering their own child through the world, Terry and Patrice would never escape their parent's love or discipline.

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hunnylagoon · 1 year ago

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Right Where You Left Me

Pt 2: Jailbird

Ellie Williams x reader

I want to write a poem about you but I’m afraid it won’t be enough. I almost feel ashamed that I want you to fit into a word because we both know that you are beyond anything that can be put on paper.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood friends before you drifted apart. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find there way back to each other. While you both visit home for winter break, events unfold and it is no longer possible to avoid each other.

Warnings: Angst / homophobia / brief violence / reader has religious issues

Part one here!

Part three here!

Part four here!

I may have been wrong to say that I could never hate Ellie. Fuck she was vicious, in the most passive-aggressive way too. She's so sly about it that I can't even get mad without seeming irrational.

Winter break finally rolled around and I had yet to make any progress with Ellie it was whatever the opposite of progress is. If she wanted to hate me, that was fine, I could do the same, I could be petty. It's now December and all of this bullshit started in September, she could hardly be courteous.

Fuck her.

I had survived mid-terms and finals but the way Ellie was acting had me skipping happily towards the edge. She will wash a whole sink of dishes and leave just my fork, or Venmo request me if I ate one of her grapes. Everything had gotten worse when Dina, Abby, and Cat all left to visit their families for winter break leaving just Ellie and I, without the girls there to hold us to the house rules we were at each other's throats.

She was foaming at the fucking mouth to tear me apart. There was no level-headed Abby or fun-loving Dina, not even Cat who was just mellow. Just me and Ellie verbally abusing each other. "Fuck off, with your wild animal teeth," I spat, slamming the dish cupboard closed with a loud thud.

"Wild animal teeth?" She repeats "Wow, you're getting creative, I'll give you that," Ellie's gaze held a certain bitterness "Heard you were on your knees again last night and I don't mean praying."

My eye almost twitches at her words and it takes everything in me not to throw a ceramic bowl at her. I hated her, I hated her freckled face, and eyes as sharp as knives, just hearing her raspy voice, and seeing her sardonic smile made me want to keel over and let the earth wrap me in her flourishing greenery. I often wanted that to happen. I was trying to refrain from going home as I didn't want to spend the entire break with my family but I was starting to think nothing was better than this, I was set to leave the following day (Christmas Eve) anyway but I was seconds away from grabbing my bag and jumping into my car. "Can you just learn to be fucking civil?"

"Why would-

"Because we were sixteen years old when that stupid shit happened!" I spat "You're holding a grudge from when we were sixteen," I reiterated, searching her features for some sign that I'd gotten through to her.

"It's not like you've changed since any of that happened." She stands, unnervingly calm on the other side of the kitchen island. "You were always awful since we were young, always crying, always emotional, always explosive, my dad said you're like a birch tree, one spark and you burst into flames."

"Fuck off."

"You always had to have the attention," Her eyebrows furrow "Nothing was your fault, blame being fucking erratic and insane on your parents."

"You don't know my parents half as well as you think you do."

"What don't I know about them? They've been in my life as long as you have."

"Ellie, stop," I say, suddenly I'm taken away from the mood to fight, I just want to scream into my pillow.

"What?" She asks "You're going to say some shit like 'they aren't loving' or 'you wouldn't get it' Please, enlighten me, what wouldn't I get?" She moves closer just an inch or so "Wow, your life sounds so hard, you have two parents who love each other and a huge fucking house, oh shit," Sarcasm drips from her tone "Maybe it's that trust fund that's taking a toll on you."

"Please, stop."

"You could commit every crime known to man and you would still be their pride and joy, there is nothing you could say or do that would make them hate you-

"Here we go with your 'life is so fucking hard and I'm edgy and indie and I have a sad backstory that I'll bring up every second sentence even though I was seven when it happened' " I mock her.

She bites the inside of her cheek and I can tell that I've struck a nerve "You know when my lease-

"Don't even worry about it," I move out from the kitchen and begin towards my room, Ellie's eyes are trailing me "The minute my lease is up, I'm packing my shit and moving into student housing so I won't have to look at your fucking face while I'm eating!" I slam my bedroom door behind me.

I left that night, I couldn't bear the sound of her guitar strums, so repetitive it made me want to slam my head through the drywall.

You better believe that I cried my entire way home while blasting Julien Baker. My mother was pleasantly surprised to see me at her doorstep a day early, I knew Ellie would be coming down sometime tomorrow to spend the Holidays with her family, I didn't know when, I just knew that I didn't want to see her.

I never even told my parents that Ellie was my roommate and they hadn't heard it from Joel as they drifted when Ellie and I were fifteen.

My bedroom was exactly how I left, I cuddled into my twin bed that night sinking into the absolute silence of the the snowfall, with my dog Dusty curled at my side. I always loved the snow, the way it acted as soundproofing for the earth, when I was little I would just sit in the backyard so I could hear the birds sing in their purest and truest form.

Christmas Eve was dull to begin with, to say the least; my mom made Christmas tree-shaped waffles as she did every year, I was then dragged to an excruciatingly long church sermon. When we returned home I was sent to shovel the driveway, turns out visiting home from college doesn't excuse you from chores. I knew Ellie had arrived when I saw her grey sedan in Joel's driveway as well as Tommy's Range Rover. Bundled up in mittens and a hand-knitted scarf that Naomi gave to me I felt really tough giving the middle finger to Ellie wherever she was in Joel's house.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Elijah was cackling in the doorway. Dusty I happily bounding through the snow, paying to mind to my brother.

I immediately dropped my arm, trying to play nonchalantly "Uh, shoveling the driveway?"

His laughter only grew "You look so stupid," He huffed between cackles "You're standing in a foot of snow in the driveway giving Mr. Miller's house the middle finger in your cute little mitts."

"Say that louder, no one could hear you," I say, sarcastically.

"Hear ye, hear ye-

My eyes go wide and I drop the shovel to form a snowball and deck it at my brother "Shut up!"

"Ow!" He flinches, and his track and field hoodie from high school is now covered in powdered sleet. "Whatever," He yanks his hoodie off to shake the snow off of it "Just finish the driveway so we can watch a movie or something, I haven't seen you in months, Naomi and Aaron haven't shut up about you all holiday break."

I give him a mitted thumbs up before I try to speed run the shovelling, albeit slipping on black ice more than a few times. When I came back inside, I needed to change, my parka was dripping with snow that had melted into water.

I bundle up into sweatpants and an old soccer t-shirt. Being in my old room digs up memories pinned on my wall with bright thumbtacks year after year of photos of my soccer team, in every single one Ellie and I have our arms slung over each other. We're smiling wide and not focusing on the camera but on one another. I tear the picture away from the thumbtacks and throw them into a random shoe box that sits at the bottom of my closet. After that, I take down every artifact I have of Ellie, the drawings she made me, drafts of songs we wrote together, and t-shirts she left in my drawers, I throw it all into a Rubbermaid storage bin.

Though I leave the little wood carvings that Joel made for me alone.

My family's famous Christmas Eve dinner rolled around and I couldn't believe how excited I was, I'm not the best cook and despite me and my mother going through spats every other day, she was one hell of a good chef and I had spent months craving her honey roasted carrots and creamy mashed potatoes.

Please don't judge me when I say this, but we are the family that dresses up for dinners at home. Nothing black tie, just something a little dapper, one time I wore jeans to our family dinner and I was grounded for a week.

I finished zipping up my white sundress and I let my little sister tie a matching bow into my hair, when she saw what I was wearing she changed into her white dress which was ankle length while mine fell right above my knees.

"Oh, my sweet girls are matching again," My mom fawns over us "Let me get a picture of this cute little moment," I smile for the picture, and Naomi does the same, hooking an arm around my midriff. "Adorable," Mom looks at the picture before tucking her phone into her pocket "Now girls, please set the table."

Even though I hadn't been at home for months, setting the table was like muscle memory to me, Naomi put the placemats down, and then I did the dinner plate and salad plate, Naomi would place the napkins and cutlery then I would set glasses and pour everyone water from the pitcher. By the time we finished setting the table everyone aside from my mother and Elijah were at the table, early awaiting what was sure to be a filling dinner.

Slowly but surely my mom brought the dishes with Elijah, placing them all through the center of the dining table. After everything was placed my father, who sits at the head of the table cleared his throat, that was his signal for everyone to join hands. "Dear God, We gather today with grateful hearts to thank you for this food before us. We appreciate the effort and resources that have provided us with this nourishment. May this meal sustain our bodies and remind us of the many blessings in our lives. We are thankful for the love of family and friends who surround us and for the abundance we enjoy. Bless this food, our time together, and those who prepared it. May it strengthen us physically and spiritually. This is your body, this is your love. We thank you for feeding us with your gracious hands. In Jesus' name, we give thanks and pray. Amen."

"Amen," My family repeats before we all ravishingly fill our plates with chicken, maple-roasted mushrooms, buttered green beans, bread rolls, and mashed potatoes. I was eating so fast, I was shocked that I didn't spill anything on myself.

"So, have you met any cute boys at college?" My mother asks me, she is the only one eating politely "I'm sure you could get a real smart guy with those looks of yours."

My father nods "Just make sure he's Christian."

"Or catholic," My mother adds.

I laugh awkwardly in response, I take a sip of my water, the condensation making it slippery in my hands. Elijah gives me an odd look that goes unnoticed by my parents.

"I think we should drop off some bread or cookies or something to the Miller's, just something to say hi while Tommy and Maria are still there." My mom tells us, she isn't speaking to anyone in particular.

"Is Ellie there right now?" Aaron asks.

Elijah shrugs "Probably, her car is in the driveway."

Now Naomi is looking at me "We should invite her over for New Year's or something if she's staying for the rest of break."

My dad shakes his head "I don't know if that's a good idea," All eyes fall on him "It's just- I think she's a bit of a bad influence." He takes a swig of his wine and attempts to suppress a burp but fails. I press my lips into a thin line and look down at my plate to hold in my laughter, Elijah does the same beside me.

"I don't remember Ellie being a bad influence," Aaaron furrows his eyebrows, racking his brain to think of a time that she had done their family wrong.

"It's just that there were rumours of her having-" My father searches for the words "Unnatural tendencies I suppose, and I tried to talk to Joel about it but he got defensive and said that she didn't need fixing, that's how I lost my best fishing buddy."

My mom looks at the discomfort on all of her children's faces "I mean, we all need a bit of fixing."

Dad is quick to catch on "Oh, yeah, of course, I mean it's not just Ellie," He fumbles over his words "And it's not her fault that she's that way, I think It's because she lost her mother when she was young so she got confused about the parental roles, Joel never remarried and he didn't date around much so Ellie didn't have a proper mother figure, it's not her fault she's a dyke and there's still time to fix it if she wants to choose the right path."

Stillness falls over the table, I had never heard silence quite this loud. Even my mother is at a loss for words. All of my siblings are darting our eyes at one another, we don't utter a single word but we understand each other clearly 'Dad actually said it'.

He noticed this and tried to backtrack on his words "I'm not a bad guy, I mean we've all read the bible cover to cover, we know it's a sin. I'll wrap this up, you all know that we love you no matter what and all I'm saying is I'm glad we could distance ourselves away from it."

"Hey Dad, did you watch the Canucks game last week?" Elijah swoops in to change the topic. It's too late, a wave of sickness has already overtaken me.

While my family discusses nothing in particular, trying to ignore what Dad said, I am sick to my stomach, I push my plate away and prop my elbow the the table for my hand to support my head. I am nearly shaking. My dull eyes peer across the table and meet my father's drowsy gaze.

"Honey, are you feeling alright?" My mom pauses whatever conversation she is enwrapped in.

I don't respond, I don't know how.

My family's eyes find a resting place on my figure. Mom pushes herself away from her chair and walks over to me, she places one hand between my shoulder blades, the other takes my cold hand and she slowly rubs a circle on my back to comfort me. "Sweetness, whatever is repressed inside, say it, let it out, we're all family."

Naomi nods in agreement, her wide eyes full of concern. "I don't know how to say it," I tell them.

"Air it out," My dad says, finishing off his glass of wine and pouring himself another "Today is the perfect day, tomorrow is the birth of Jesus, a fresh start."

My heart is racing faster than it ever has before, faster than when I broke my wrist in Ellie's backyard or when I had been on a rollercoaster for the first time. "I like girls," I say, my voice is quiet, and my three words take my family with silence. My mother freezes and takes a step back, her comforting hands leaving me.

"You're joking," My dad scoffs "Tell me this is a joke and you're normal."

"I can't," My voice cracks and I can already tell that the tears are oncoming. I think briefly back to Ellie's words 'There is nothing you could say or do that would make them hate you' if only she could see what was about to happen.

"All of those sleepovers with Ellie?" He is disgusted, his face contorting with horror "Were you dating her?"

"no-

"How can I believe anything you say, you lied to us for nineteen years when you knew you were sick."

"Dad, I'm not sick-

"How many sinful acts have you done under this roof?"

"None, I swear," I shake my head, it took less than a minute for me to be filled with regret at my words. I shouldn't have even come home for the holidays, actually, I never should've found Dina's listing and jumped at the deal.

"Get out," Any light tone in my dad's voice is gone, replaced by pure resentment.

"What?"

"You heard me, get out."

"Dad, it's Christmas Eve-

"Get out!" His voice rumbles through the dining room like thunder "I thought we fixed this phase when we sent you to boarding school."

"Please, dad-

"Get up and get out or I'm going to make you,"

"Fine- make me," Tears prick in my eyes but I cross my arms trying to muster up that false coolness Ellie is so good at feigning.

My dad slams his glass down so hard that it shakes the table, and the partially empty wine bottle my parents had been nursing all night is knocked over by the abruption, tipping over the deep red liquor to travel down the tablecloth and drip onto what was once my pure white dress. "Get up!" He grabs a fistful of my hair and I scream from the shock of pain. He yanks me off my chair and my face slams against the hardwood when his arm slumps, impact heavy from the sudden drop, it doesn't take long for my nose to start bleeding. He drags me to the door pushing it open; my siblings don't do anything they're petrified in horror and my mother begins to cry, covering her eyes from the scene before her.

My dad doesn't stop at the door, I thrash on the ground and he pulls me over both of my hands trying to pry his away from the roots of my hair, he drags me into the snow, finally releasing me. I shake as my hand gently finds the way to my burning scalp where I fully believe he has pulled out clumps of my hair with his harsh and unforgiving grasp.

From the doorway the rest of my family watches, Naomi has a hand covering her mouth her doe eyes brimming with tears of her own. My father disappeared into the house, it didn't take long to see what he was doing he slammed the window to make the bedroom open and began to throw all of my belongings out of the window. My pictures, my old soccer uniform, armfuls of clothes from my old beaten dresser, candles, books, paints, and shredded posters were torn straight off my wall.

"Dad, stop, I'm sorry, I'll get better!" I am on my knees, hands clasped together pleading with him. My skin is burning from the contact with the snow, I know that it must be a horrific sight to behold. White sundress, stained with wine, tangled hair, red-tinged skin, puffy eyes and incoherent sobs.

The snow makes everything so quiet the only sound travelling through the night are my sobs. I can no longer see my father in my bedroom, he is coming back down and somehow that is worse, he pushes past my family and throws the presents I was supposed to receive on Christmas morning beside me, I flinch at the movement.

"I'm sorry!" I plead like I'm bargaining with the Grimm Reaper for my life "Give me a job and I'll do it, just tell me what to do to get better!" The screaming carries through the night, alerting the neighbours in what was supposed to be a calm and quiet neighbourhood. Across the street, Joel turns on his porch light, squinting his eyes at the scene on the opposing lawn and trying to make sense of it. "I want to get better!" I shake with every sob. I could hear my dogs barking from the loud noises.

My dad shakes his head "You're too far gone, I didn't raise a fucking dyke," He is almost crying himself, he doesn't mourn for the daughter that he has but the daughter that could've been. The daughter who donned white every Sunday for church and settled down with a nice family man, a daughter who was holy but in this moment I am the purest form of holiness, born again from the violence of my father.

"Dad, I was created in God's image, why would he create his child to be this way if it was so wrong?"

"You're a fucking mistake is what you are," He seethes "Get off my property or I'm calling the cops."

"You still have my bags!" I scream and I watch him retreat to get them "Are you going to do anything at all?" I search my family for any sign of life but they all avert their eyes from mine. My father comes back out, and he throws my purse and suitcase on the lawn, this time both of them hit me, talking about kicking someone when they're down.

My dad begins to usher the family inside "I never want to see you again, get your ass up and start working, I'm not paying for you to fuck around with women instead of getting an education."

"That's it?" I cry "You won't come to my wedding or meet my kids? What about my funeral?"

"Not as long as you're with a woman." With that, he slams the door behind him and locks it. I let out another guttural sob, I've already cried so much that it's beginning to hurt within my stomach. I take a deep and shaky breath in, wiping the tears away from my eyes with my freezing hands, I'm sure to catch hypothermia if I don't warm up. I look up to see my neighbours all around either watching from their window or in the Miller family's case, the front porch. I'm sure that someone has already called the police.

"Let me in, I'm sorry!" I scramble off the ground and begin to bang on the door. Shaking the handle "Let me in!" This goes on for longer than I would've liked, I hammer on the door and scream as loud as I can but they all ignore me. Eventually, I stand by the window and slam my hands on it "Let me in or give me my fucking dog, you can't take care of him!"

I knew I was fucked when I heard sirens. It only made sense for the neighbours to call the cops at this disturbance.

I'm going to do you all a favour and tell you some useful information; when the police arrive and you don't wanna seem guilty, don't try to drive away from the scene because you might just end up getting handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car for your childhood bestfriends family to watch from their front row seats.

"Prison life isn't for me," I wallow as I press myself against the bars of the holding cell. There are two other women in the cell with me and they both snigger. One of their names is Lucia, and she has bronze skin and brown hair so dark that it almost looks black with gold hoop earrings the size of my head, I don't know the other woman's name but she looks significantly older and has stringy blonde hair, the wrinkles of her face drooping.

"Honey, this isn't prison, you'll live another hour," Lucia sits on the uncomfortable bench, her arms crossed, she's kind of hot to be blunt.

"You reek of liquor though," Blondie cackles and I catch a glimpse of her rotting yellow teeth, what's the opposite of pearly whites? Golden nuggets? Something like that.

"Because I got wine spilled on me," I retort. I had been crying before they even placed me in the cell, wailing so loud that I was annoying the officers. I was so upset and starved for affection that I hugged the officer who detained me, babbling incoherently about how my life was ruined, I don’t even blame them for arresting me, I looked like a crackhead trying to break into a nice suburban home. “I'm not drunk."

"Could've fooled me," Lucia smirks, she's wearing a black tank top and skinny jeans. I wasn't a fan of skinny jeans but she was converting me.

I fell asleep hugging myself on one of the uncomfortable metal benches with chipped blue paint, when I woke up, it was Christmas, even though it didn't feel like it. I saw the snowfall outside of the windows on the other side of the cells. Lucia had told me just before she was released that they had the right to hold you longer over holidays, I wanted to weep all over again.

Blondie got removed from the cell too and I was all alone. The only thing that kept me sane was pretending I was Katniss or Lucy Gray, if they had survived the Hunger Games, I could survive this. I genuinely thought my life was over and I was getting sent to prison for hammering on my dad's door and screaming.

With each hour that ticked by, my profound sense of loneliness only grew. The sounds of distant laughter flitted through the hall and I am reminded of the world that lies beyond the metal bars. I wonder what my family is doing at this moment, every voice that I hear acts as a reminder of the love I had jeopardized. I lost Ellie, I lost Conner, and now I had lost my family.

I think about praying to god for a moment though I discard the thought. If he was real why did he let that happen to me? Maybe forgiveness and redemption were not necessary.

"Crybaby, call someone to pick you up," Officer Reid who initially arrested me and interrogated me began to unlock the cell, "Charges are dismissed." He had been calling me Crybaby since I was stuffed in the back of the police car and wailing uncontrollably.

"Like for real?"

He was in fact, for real. I was brought to a landline phone and my hands acted faster than my head, dialling the number of someone I would trust with my life, I just prayed that the number hadn't changed.

After making my call I was told to go to a weird booth thing to collect my effects, where an old and very judgmental woman dumped my few belongings out of an envelope. I wish I knew the technical names for this stuff but it's not like I've been arrested before this one off occasion. She looked at each of the items, stating what it was while she took inventory of it. "Smartphone, lipgloss, a single gold earring, and a cross necklace," She marks something down and then turns the paper around and holds out a blue pen for me to take "Sign here."

My phone had died already, I was missing an earring, and the cross had failed me, all I had left to rely on was my cover girl lipgloss. I sat in that stark grey room for what seemed like hours, everyone seemed miserable as I am, at least I wasn't the only person having a not-so-merry Christmas.

Holy shit, I was still disgusting. I was sticky and freezing, still in the wine-ruined white dress, there was still dried blood on my face despite my pestering Lucia to help me get it off. My hair is tangled, the bow that my sister had tied in lost somewhere in the snow. I haven't looked in a mirror but I know I look rough from the side glances that everyone is casting me. I can't imagine the dark bags beneath my red, puffy eyes to be any sort of appealing.

The sterile waiting room is beginning to get on my nerves, I flinch at every movement and hold onto hope that every person walking through the door is the person I'm waiting on. I try my best to avert my eyes from the clock so time doesn't drag on any longer than it already is.

By the time Joel gets here, the sun is beginning to set, his eyes frantically search the room until they land on me, I'm already standing up and walking toward him. "Kiddo, are you okay?"

My lip quivers and it feels like every awful thing I've ever felt is going to seep through my teeth. My head falls onto his chest but this time I don't cry, I think I've run out of tears "I have nothing ahead of me."

Joel doesn't ask questions, he just hugs me in return, resting his chin on the top of my head, there is the comfort I had been so desperately searching for.

He signs release papers and he guides me to his red Ford Explorer. When I called him I asked him to bring me shoes as I was barefoot when I was detained, being the number one dad that he was, he brought a reusable grocery store tote bag, containing a hoodie, sneakers, fuzzy socks, sweatpants and a bag of my favourite chips. I slip the sweats on underneath my dress while the hoodie goes overtop, I awkwardly unzip it and shimmy it off, stuffing it into the tote bag.

The drive back to his house begins and he turns on the radio, trying to make lighthearted chatter "Thanks for coming to get me," I say, my voice is quiet and I pull my knees to my chest like as I tend to do when I get nervous "You can just drop me off at my car and I'll be out of your way."

"Sorry, kiddo," He says, eyes focused on the road "You're staying with me tonight, I don't want you driving these roads in the dark and it'll be good for you to have a hot shower and a warm meal, get some sleep somewhere that's not a holding cell."

"It's just that-

"If you still want to leave in the morning that's up to you but you shouldn't end your Christmas alone," Each word seems so genuine "And you know I would gladly have you stay with me three hundred and sixty-five days a year."

I look at him, a soft melancholic smile on my face, "Thank you," I say.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

A sigh falls from my lips "What happened to all of my stuff that was left on the lawn?"

"Tommy and Ellie brought it all inside."

Ellie brought it back inside? Did she actually give a shit or was this something her dad ordered her to do? "Did my dad say anything to you?"

Joel shakes his head "Maria went barging on his door, those two were in a screaming match for a good two minutes before he locked the door on her. Hasn't been outside since, everyone in the neighbourhood has been coming by to ask what happened."

"Even Sharron?" I ask Joel, wrinkling my nose in distaste.

"Even Sharron," He solidifies. Sharron was the grouchy crone of the street, shutting down every party, cussing out teenagers from her porch, and yelling at barking dogs "She said she was worried about you." The windshield wipers painted rhythmic patterns across the glass, clearing a path through the soft snow that continued to fall.

"She's not worried about me, she's worried I'm on drugs and I'll break into her musty home to steal all of her hummels."

Joel huffs a laugh "I can't believe that I used to let her babysit you and Ellie."

"Me neither, you should be paying for my therapy." I tease.

He chuckles at my words, "So you're majoring in wildlife biology?"

"You remembered what I wanted to major in?"

"Of course I did."

"Hey, Mookie!" Tommy wraps his arms around me the moment I set foot in the door. He's called me Mookie since I was a little girl, it started when I couldn't pronounce monkey and thus Mookie was born. "Let me get a good look at you," He pushes me back just the slightest hands clasped on my shoulders "Look at that bruise you've got on your cheek, looking awful tough, like those greasers you used to read about."

"Look at that, Mookie grew up," Maria greets me with a warm smile, pushing Tommy away to hug me "Good to see you made it through prison alive," She jests.

Joel's house is exactly how it was when I left.

The air carried the familiar scent of firewood and lavender incense. In the living room, an inviting fireplace stood as the heart of the home. Its gentle crackle and the dancing flames provided a soothing backdrop to the overstuffed couches adorned with cozy blankets and throw pillows, worn from years of shared family movie nights. A well-loved rug covered the wooden floor, its pattern a mosaic of memories and spills easily forgiven and of course, a coffee table hand-crafted by Joel and intricately carved.

The shelves lining the walls were a treasure trove of family history. Photographs in mismatched frames captured smiling faces frozen in time, chronicling the evolution of Ellie through the years. A collection of well-read books, their spines creased and pages worn, stood proudly, offering a glimpse into the literary adventures that had unfolded within those walls.

The kitchen, the heart of many childhood homes, held the lingering aroma of Christmas dinner. The countertops, scarred from countless meals prepared and shared, were a testament to the love that had gone into creating family dinners. A worn wooden table in the center of the room bore witness to the countless conversations, celebrations, and moments of solace shared over shared meals.

"You know what, when I was around your age, I spent my fair share of time in the cooler, good to see you're taking after me," Tommy winks and gives me a hard pat on the back. Neither of them acknowledges the reason behind last night's events and somehow it feels worse than talking about it.

"We've just finished up making dinner, I'm sure you're hungry," Maria smiles softly, taking my hand into her calloused one.

"Yeah, I'm starving," I smile in return and trail behind the blonde woman to the dining table.

All of the plates are laid out with portions of food on each one, Ellie is sitting alone, spooning mashed potato into her mouth while she texts someone, she glances up at me and offers nothing more than a tight-lipped smile and awkward wave before going back to her phone. Tommy comes by with a tray of garlic butter rolls and uses tongs to add more onto my plate "Don't think I've forgotten how much you love these."

I grin up at him, I'm sitting in the same chair I sat in all those years ago when I Ellie and I would settle down after spending all day in the sun, Joel would ask us what we wanted for dinner and almost every time we would shout hotdogs.

"Good to have you back," Joel nods to me "House always felt a little empty without you."

I always felt a little empty without this house "Good to be back," I smear some mashed potato onto Tommy's famous garlic butter bread rolls.

I feel almost sick with nostalgia as I look around the dining room, Joel still had Ellie's crafts from elementary school hung up and if you look closely, you find little clues that I've left behind; proof that I once existed as a girl beneath this roof. There's a dent in the wall from the time I stood on my chair to catch a spider and accidentally fell over, my head hitting right into the wall, Ellie was laughing too hard to help me.

"So what school do you go to?" Maria asks me, washing down her pot roast with some ice water.

"Northridge actually," At my words, Ellie's head perks up, she's looking dead at me with a look of fear in her eyes.

"Oh, Ellie goes there!" Tommy smiles "She never mentioned that you do too."

Ellie is silently pleading with me, I know she doesn't want me to tell her family that she's been borderline tormenting me as my roommate and sending me to bed with tears in my eyes. I didn't plan on telling them anyway "That's funny, I guess we just keep missing each other."

Joel set up an air mattress in Ellie's room, that's when it became clear to me that he had no idea just how bad the fallout was between us. I hate to say that I missed her room and all of the memories we shared in it.

Ellie's bedroom resembled something of a teen guy who'd never gotten laid before. She had a navy comforter, her shelves were lined with comics and novels, I know for a fact that she'd read every single one of them. Her desk was always a mess, covered in pages of poetry and sketches that she had torn out from her journal. Almost every inch of her walls is covered in posters of bands, movies and her nerdy video games.

I was fresh out of the shower, finally in my clean clothes that I had dug out of my suitcase. I got to charge my phone too, there was an overwhelming number of messages.

D-Manz: HAPPY CHRISTMAS BITCH!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU AND CAN'T WAIT TO PARTY WHEN WE GET BACK

Jesse: Merry Christmas, hope your day isn’t shit! 😁😁😁

Riley: Merry Christmas! Hope you're having fun at your new school!

Abs: Merry Christmas and stay safe!

Kayla: Missing you girl ☹️ so excited for that staff party!

Kit-Cat: Merry Christmas, don't have too much fun without me

Yara: Merry Christmas ❤️ this probably isn't the time but I was hoping you could send over your notes from the last conservation lecture, just wanna text you before I forget!

566-460-4374: I got your number from Kyle, this is Roderick, I saw you last night and wanted to check up on you, hope everything is okay and merry Christmas.

Lindsey: Hey, haven't talked to you in a while but my parents said some stuff went down, just wanna make sure you're okay.

Ellie: Lmk if you need a ride back to our place

Ellie: Don't know if you can even see this but I got all of your stuff off the lawn, I promise it's safe 👍

Naomi: I'm so sorry

Naomi: I didn't think that would happen

Naomi: I didn't know what to do

Naomi: I love you

Aaron: U good?

Naomi: Please don't hate me, I'm sorry I didn't do anything

Elijah: Sorry but I wish you didn't tell Dad that

Naomi: I'll try to talk to Dad

Elijah: Hope you're safe

Elijah: Call me when you can

Still, there wasn't any word from either of my parents. I replied returning well wishes and assuring everyone that I was okay, I turned my phone onto Do Not Disturb and began to watch the Hunger Games on my phone. The room would've been pitch black if it wasn't for the blue light from my screen and the gentle beams of moonlight gliding through the window.

Ellie walks into the room after she finishes with her shower, she's in sweatpants and an old hoodie that she got from a rodeo, I had the same one, and we bought them together. I glance up at her before looking back at my movie and pulling the quilt further up my body. "You still like the Hunger Games?"

"Yeah," I say, being as brief as possible.

"You should take my bed and I'll sleep on the air mattress," Ellie says while she ties her hair into a low ponytail.

"I'm fine here, thanks."

"Seriously," Ellie is standing awkwardly at the foot of her bed, waiting for me to do something.

I shut my phone off and turned on my other side to face away from her "Just go to bed."

Ellie runs her hands down her face in frustration, she's starting to feel like an asshole "Please take the bed, it's the least I can do." I ignore her so she speaks again "I am begging you," She tells me bluntly "I feel like a dick and it would make me feel better if you just took the bed."

"You are a dick," I answer, she should've seen this response coming from a mile away.

"Please take the bed."

I sit up to look at her, frustration now boiling up inside of me "You're going to be nice now because you feel bad for me?"

"That's not why-

"It is actually," I tell her "This will last for a few days and then we'll go home and you'll be a cunt all over again, fucking keeping a list of everything I lay a finger on so you can say it's my fault if it breaks." She bites the inside of her cheek, that's her tell. Every time she does that I can tell that I've gotten under her skin. "You'll still act like you don't know me and I'm just some weird girl who thinks the world of you, I know what you say to those girls you have over, the walls aren't that thick." My insides ache from all of the screaming and crying of the past couple of days "And I know that I hurt you and I've told you a million times over that I'm sorry, you don't get to start having empathy for me now."

Ellie's silent again, she can't seem to find the words, so instead she slips under the covers of her bed, giving up. Minutes pass us, we've slept in this room together a thousand times but this time it's different, we don't share her queen bed and stay up all night watching the walking dead and talking shit about people at our school, we lay in the uncomfortable silence. We're grown but in this moment I still feel like a child searching for her mother's hand to guide her, I feel like my teeth still need to fall out so brighter, stronger ones can take their place, that the baby fat has yet to shed from my bones.

"I didn't know that you liked girls," Ellie said, breaking the silence "And I shouldn't have assumed that stuff about your parents." I don't respond to her, though she knows that I heard her. "I lied that night when you moved in."

"What?"

"I got all bitchy and said that you don't even cross my mind, I was lying," She's confessing to me as if I'm a priest "There wasn't a day that went by where I didn't think about you."

I'm not doing well.

I want nothing more than to crawl into bed next to Ellie and just hug her until I fall asleep but the resentment I've garnered for her these past months refrains me.

"I don't know if you ever knew this, but back in high school I had a bit of a crush on you," She says and my break hitches in my throat "Hey, you there?"

'I don't know if you ever knew this but I turned myself inside out trying not to be in love with you.' I don't say that, instead, I say "Goodnight, Ellie, Merry Christmas."

"Goodnight," She mutters, and like me, she turns her body to face away from me.

I don't feel mature in the slightest, I'm kept awake, haunted by shame and embarrassment. Ellie had seen me only one night prior, on my knees begging for love. We may be cold and calculated to one another now but I remember when she was a little girl who overwatered her plants because she didn't know how to stop giving.

TAG LIST I just tagged whoever wanted a part two: @elliesaesp @yalaysbee @laundrybag29 @readbydayana @elliesaturnsoftdrink @mikellie @melanie-watermelon @skylerwhitwyo

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gg-pedro · 8 months ago

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Joel Miller's Midwestern Road Trip Fantasy - joel miller x reader oneshot

masterlist

summary: an AU of the journey out to wyoming, wherein you and joel's car troubles take a little more elbow grease to solve than strictly necessary.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, post outbreak!joel, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, tlou hbo, protective!joel, non-established relationship, AU without ellie, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), riding, end of the world sex, rough!joel, heavy on the petnames, porn with some plot, porn with some feelings

words: 2.4k

a/n: im a woman of the people! also: the alternate title became the actual title

With Joel kept busy under the hood of Bill’s blue chevy pickup, you spent a few hours sprawled out in the bed of the truck, the wind coming on heavier as the afternoon bore on. It made your hair splay out and then skim across your bare shoulders, ridding you of any protection from the sun as it beat down onto the hopeless open field.

Your gaze turned hazy and unfocused in the mugginess of the early September day. The clouds in the sky looked thin and delicate, like silk threads or a broken string of pearls. You had already broken a sweat laying out here, but it was far less suffocating than sitting in the truck. Your position at this point felt unmoveable– your body was laden, even your eyelids, struggling to keep them open under the stifling sunlight.

You heard Joel slam the hood of the truck shut, which preceded a long sigh and the sound of him wiping dry hands against his jeans. He slapped the body of the vehicle on his way over to you, staring down at you with an exasperated look.

“Think it's the heat,” he started, leaning against the blazing metal with his arms crossed over his chest. “Gonna give it some time to cool down.”

Your borrowed truck had started jolting and sputtering a few miles back, right after you had crossed the state line into Missouri. You didn’t exactly feel it was fair for Joel to be so upset by it– you were fortunate to have even made it this far without being on foot. Beggars can’t be choosers, trying to make it all the way to Wyoming on borrowed luck.

“Hope you’re right,” you said, casting your eyes over to him with a hand shielding your brow. “I’m not walking anywhere in this heat.”

He cracked a grin. “Oh, yeah? Is the sun gettin' to you, cowgirl?” He nudged your foot over to the side before hauling himself up to lay next to you in the truck bed, grabbing a hold of your waist to press your bodies together.

The warm daylight was making his eyes look like melted mahogany and the baby blue color of his t-shirt brought out the warmth in his skin. Devastatingly handsome, even with that lingering exhaustion plaguing his expression. He almost never took to your compliments, but in the moment, there were hardly words to describe the feeling pooling low inside of you.

“I’m more worried about you, Eastwood,” you teased, licking your thumb to smudge away the swipe of car grease that had found its way onto his cheek. “I think you’d keel over first.”

You were grinning up at him as he pulled you in by the hips, finally receptive to your efforts to get him out of whatever funk that a broken-down car had put him in.

“Oh, so now you’re happy, ain’t ya? Think you’re funny? You weren’t so chatty in the car, sleepin’ all the way through Indiana. Hm? Hey, c’mere!”

You tried squirming away, but being in the sun had exhausted you and his grip was just too strong and too enticing. His hand found the space just below your sex, running deft fingers across the thick denim of your light blue jeans. He had a firm grip on your face and jaw with the other, kissing you dizzy and breathless. You moaned around the thumb that had made its way into your mouth, tangling your hand into those wind-swept curls.

“I’m starting to think the car troubles were just a ploy,” you said, giggling as Joel shifted to hover overtop of you. “I didn’t know this had turned into Joel Miller’s midwestern roadtrip fantasy.” He hooked his thumbs into your belt loops, decidedly pinning you there.

He silenced your teasing with another saccharine kiss, and you could smell the diluted gasoline and warm grass on him. His mouth was so familiar that you feared the two of you would melt into one, breathing through the same dry, shared lungs.

“You are a fantasy, sweet thing, don’t get that twisted,” he breathed out. You did have time to kill, that was true enough– and you could already tell that Joel was going to make it an obscenely slow death.

He couldn’t have shoved down your tight jeans fast enough. Desperate hands nearly ripped your shirt as he pulled it up and off of you, carelessly pushing your bra out of the way to access the soft skin of your breasts, swollen and sensitive with arousal. His lips and the tip of his teeth grazed the tissue, kissing and nipping and biting wherever he saw fit. Soon, wet mouth and tongue trailed straight down your center, kisses placed haphazardly along your flesh. The mere sight of his bulging bicep as he propped himself up above you with both arms was enough to raise chills all over your exposed skin.

You paused him where he was to desperately fumble with the button of his own jeans and rip down the fly, sliding your hand into his pants to palm his growing erection through his boxers. He intercepted the touch, gripping your wrist tight before pinning it back down above your head.

“Don’t remember sayin’ you could touch me, pretty girl. Needy for me, ain’t ya? ‘M not done with all of you just yet.”

In an instant his head was between your thighs, licking along the depths of your puffy, glossy folds. A calloused hand gripped your thigh, forcing your legs obscenely far apart– exposed. There was nobody else out here, in the back countries of a state that barely existed anymore. You didn’t even care that the warm breeze would have carried your pleading and moaning a mile out, not while his tongue swirled and kissed against the expanse of your cunt. His mouth and tongue devoured you, devoured you like he was starving for it. A shrill beg fell from your lips as he started fucking your slicked hole with three hot, pulsing fingers, desperate for him to either end this here or fuck you faster.

“That’s it, right there, isn’t it?” He said, hunger and aching seeping unabashedly into his voice.

When your walls started closing in around his middle three fingers, suctioning him in even deeper, he finally pulled out of you, leaving you with tears in your eyes and a deep pulse beat inside of you.

“No, no, please don’t stop–”

He licked his fingers clean before pressing his thumb to your lips as he grabbed your face, stopping all of your ramblings for the moment. “Hush, honey. You’re gonna ride me now, and you can fuck yourself as much as you want. Y’want that, doll face? C’mon, I need you,” he said, a stern fondness about his tone.

You complied in strict obedience, letting him rest on his back while you finally peeled yourself up from the hot molded plastic. You finally resumed your work of getting his length free from his boxers, pulling his jeans down to his mid thigh.

You couldn’t wait to slip the thick head of his cock into your wanting mouth, hardly able to handle the sight of his pleasured expression, that pinch in his brow smoothing away. He always made you feel like your own mouth could be medicine. Your head bobbed down his length, running your tongue along thick, pulsing veins. Saliva filled your mouth and you let it come, using your free hand to slide up and down his base while you focused your attention on the more sensitive cockhead. You looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, grazing his tip against the ribbed roof of your mouth.

“Oh honey, oh honey– not too far, wanna come inside of you. Listen to me now, I know you like feeling all filled up, too,” he said quickly, barely able to get the words out as an involuntary groan clawed its way out of his throat.

You did listen to him, because you were Joel’s– not because he ever told you that, but because you knew you were his last good thing in this life, his last sweet thing, and you would’ve done anything for those praises to fill your ears and blind all else.

You lined yourself up with the reddened tip of his cock and sank down on it, your own head lolling back as your walls contracted and spasmed around him. You moved yourself up and down his length slowly, dizzyingly, for your own selfish reasons– you liked having the control to ensure that you could use his cock to satisfy every hopelessly sensitive spot inside of you.

“More, babygirl, more– fuck, fuck, yeah, keep doin’ that– just like that, jesus christ–”

Your pace quickened as you became increasingly desperate to finish on top of him. His cock filled you to the brim, stretching you out and gagging your channel enough to keep continuously shoving your own wetness back up inside of you– stuffing you, suffocating you. The sheer size of him ensured that you hardly even had to move for it to blind you with pleasure, but for his sake, you followed his instructions.

“My sweet, perfect little thing– oh, holy hell, baby, I can’t– can’t–”

You kept pleading out his name: Joel, Joel, Joel. You said it until you couldn’t even remember how to say it, spell it, form the words with your tongue and mouth. Your orgasm built up frustratingly fast, hitting you in a long moment of nearly unbearable bliss and sweetness. The feeling started so low, nearly where Joel’s cock was hitting inside of you, and climbed its way up until you were lightheaded. Your walls clenched rapidly around his stiff cock, with him blessing your name enough that it would surely memorialize you in sainthood. You were so achy and sensitive by the time you had rode it out fully that you whined and squirmed as he implored you to go on– help him to get there, too.

He came just as hard and fast as you, gripping at your hips hard enough to leave marks as he guided your movements through it for himself. You could feel the hotness of his cum unloading inside of you, straight to your center, like this was exactly what you were made for. It left him breathless, and you pressed yourself close to his chest to kiss him more as he calmed down. You didn’t want to pull out of him– you wanted to savor that warmth, the sticky clickiness of his liquid filling you up to the point that it was spilling out of you. In the end, it really did feel like the two of you had fused into one.

He finally helped you to drag yourself up off of him, and you immediately sank back against his truck bed, your head like dead weight against his shoulder. The outside heat left the both of you covered in a sheer layer of sweat, but neither one made any moves to get up and clean yourselves off.

You just let him tuck you in close, close enough to hear his heartbeat go from rapid to steady and sure. It was almost a rarity to hear it so calm, to know that he felt safe for once, content and warm. After a long few moments of basking in the quiet nature and fleeting sun, you propped yourself up on an elbow to stare down at his face.

His lips had the ghost of a smile on them, and he brought his expansive hand to tuck your hair behind your ears and cup your face.

“Ain’t complaining about the heat now, are you, sweet thing?”

You swatted him on the arm, giving a playful roll of your eyes as you leaned down to kiss him once, twice more.

“I just think we should make a few more of these pit stops before we hit Wyoming,” you drawled, leaning into the touch. “If you can squeeze it into our oh-so-tight schedule, of course.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth so much and I just might have to.” He struggled to cast a glare at you.

“Mmh, and I bet you’d just hate that, wouldn’t you?”

That got you a rare, genuine laugh from him. “Oh, you know I would.”

You stayed a few hours more before Joel tried his luck at starting up the truck again. Much to his delight, the ‘old hunk of metal’ (his words, not yours) sputtered and coughed back to life. He called you his good luck charm, and soon enough the two of you had to get back on the road.

He kept a firm hand on your thigh as he drove, and he didn’t protest when you finally dozed off closer to sunset. He waited until you were asleep to let himself think about the difficulty of the tasks that were ahead of you two. He often felt like protecting you was all that kept him going after all this time, and it hurt like a deep, aching wound to think of the times that he had missed that mark.

You, though. He could still picture your face in the sun without feeling the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. You were the last thing in this world that he really felt a responsibility for, his last good thing. The last thing for him to lose, too, but he wasn’t willing to let that mistake happen twice. He had this resolve that he wasn’t allowing anything to happen to you while he was still around. Maybe the way he felt about you was selfish, but the last 20 years would do that to a person.

For now, though, he could try and make it worth it. Drive until the exhaustion forced him to pull over, go on for as many days as it took to finally get you somewhere you could be safe. Be happy, get that life that shouldn’t have ever had to be just a fantasy to you.

You stirred after a particularly bothersome bump in the road, tired eyes searching for reassurance in Joel’s face.

“We’re okay, darlin’. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. He ran his thumb across the familiar denim that covered your leg. This is what he could live for. He’d do almost all of it again to get to you.

But for now, the least he could do was let you rest.

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joelismiller · 1 year ago

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misunderstanding

joel miller x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Summary: you liked joel and you really thought he liked you back.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (joel is in his fifties and reader is in her late twenties), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), jealousy, protective!joel, violence if you squint, no use of y/n

A/N: hi everyone my name is ariel and this is my first post ! I have never written for joel before and i have never written smut so please go easy on me and enjoy ! <3 (oh also i completely made up the currency idk how that works😭)

It hurts, you think.

Having an attachment to a man who has seemed to lose the ability to comprehend on an emotional level how to form one.

An exception of course made for one goofy teenager named Ellie Williams, which you can’t blame him for—she is an easy kid to love.

You however still can’t help but feel a little envious of the fourteen-year-old even if it is a silly kind of jealousy. You just wish you could be close to him—know him like no one else does or has.

It started 6 months ago: you had been living in Jackson for a whole year after braving the world overtaken by Cordyceps alone.

Tommy and a group of other people on patrol found you near the edge of town looking right about to just give up and keel over and allow fate to take over and decide if you should live or die from that point.

After making sure you were not infected, Tommy scooped you up and managed to get you back to town where Maria agreed to help nurse you back to health and eventually make you an official resident of Jackson.

You were given a house close to Tommy and Maria’s and they gave you a job at the local clothing shop of sorts; really just a place to trade or purchase clothing, bootlaces, etc. You began to not just live, but enjoy living—a fate you never thought you would be able to see for yourself after the events of the last twenty years.

It was more or less a life of routine and monotony, but it was more of a life you had before which is what made it special.

Then Joel Miller came in and ruined all of that.

Six months ago he rode into town with his little brunette companion for a second time after briefly visiting a while before. He walked up to Tommy and gave him a firm hug while confirming your hope that he indeed would be making himself a permanent member of the Jackson community.

His house with Ellie was only a few blocks away which allowed for you to wake up a little early to see him leave on his way to patrol.

Now the interaction that started your infatuation with the grumpy old man was nothing too special; at least probably to the man himself. However, to you, it made a very old and foreign feeling form in your gut.

Butterflies erupted just at the sight of Joel Miller’s beautiful brown eyes that, depending on the light, either shined a light honey-brown, or dark and rich, like the coffee beans you used to brew your coffee that morning.

His hair reflected his age—a fluffy mess of brown with graying streaks and a patchy beard to match.

And his broad shoulders and strong looking arms made it so you wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up by him—consumed by him.

He looked awkward, you think, as he stood inside your shop looking around wordlessly. You decided to step out from behind the counter where you were going over some previous numbers for inventory to help the handsome man get what he came for.

“Hi there, can I help you look for anything specific?” you asked as you approached him slowly from across the room.

“Hi, um, I was just lookin' for a thicker coat than the one I already have—‘just got my first pay from patrolling.” He muttered, continuing to search the many tables and walls littered with all sorts of clothing items.

“Oh okay, for sure! If you just follow me they’re right over here.”

You began to lead him to a rack near the register which had a small assortment of heavy winter jackets. You were constantly selling out of them since Jackson was always cold no matter the season which is why there wasn’t a lot to choose from.

He took a look at the jackets and gave you a nod, “Thank you, um…” Joel trailed off as you breathlessly laughed and told him your name.

He repeated your name trying it out on his tongue; making you wish for nothing more than to hear him say it in his Southern drawl over and over and over-

“I’m Joel,” he stated simply and you gave him a smile and nod of your head, pretending like you hadn’t already done a bit of digging to find out the handsome newcomer’s name a couple months ago when he first visited.

“Well Joel, if you need anything I'll be back behind the register.”

You pointed over to the table with a broken old register that worked just well enough to store the currency the town came up with so there was an extra curtain of civilization despite the events that were anything but that.

You thought it was kind of stupid, but it worked and made people happy so who were you to say otherwise?

He nodded to let you know he heard you as you went back to your previous position: pretending the whole time you weren’t shamelessly ogling the rugged, big, Southern man mindlessly looking through the jackets.

He eventually settled on a nice tan one with flannel material on the inside lining with white fleece on the collar and cuffs.

You quickly looked back down to the inventory papers so you wouldn’t be caught staring when you heard his heavy footsteps approach the counter.

“I’ll take this one,” he grunted as he began to gather up some coins to give you in exchange for the warm, heavy jacket.

You quickly pushed his hand away to alert him that it wasn’t necessary, “You're new here right Joel?” You asked as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and shook his head in agreement.

“Right, then consider it a welcoming gift—free of charge.”

You gave him a bright smile as he furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head causing you to see the honey sparkle in his brown eyes under the bright store light.

“Ya sure? Jacket doesn’t look cheap,” Joel muttered, his gaze flickering to his boots.

“A hundred percent! You’re new and patrolling isn’t an easy job, accept it as a thank you for keeping us safe if anything,” you told him shyly, the smile never leaving your face.

He chuckled softly and nodded his head.

“Okay darlin’, well, thank you—much appreciated.”

You whispered a soft ‘yeah’ as his eyes looked over you, causing a burning feeling to spread throughout your whole body as if you were being branded. He gave you one last nod of his head as he began to turn around and leave the store.

Not to your surprise, an empty feeling immediately filled you in the presence of his absence.

You whispered to yourself to pull yourself together—that you’ve only met him once and that his effect on you should not be this intense.

It didn’t help however as every interaction after that caused your feelings for the large stand-offish man to only grow.

Whether it was a quick acknowledgement of each other when you happened to eat in the dining hall at the same time, or a wave of a hand when you left your houses at the same time in the morning as he headed to patrol and you headed to the store.

But your favorite interactions were when he would come into the store to maybe get a couple of new shirts for Ellie, or some new socks for himself.

Over time you felt him grow more comfortable around you as you did him. He would tell you about Ellie’s latest antics; swearing that the teen girl was trying to ‘send an old man to an early grave.’

You would giggle and tell him that he wasn’t that old and that Ellie was just a teen girl finally in a safe somewhat normal place where she can go to school and make actual friends.

“About that, I think I might needa talk with her teacher soon—she’s been missin too much school and heading off god knows where,” Joel confessed to you, a frown overtaking his aged features as his worry about his adopted daughter showed clear all over his face.

You shyly grabbed his hand across the register and gave it a small squeeze.

“Try not to worry about her too much Joel. She’s young and she didn’t get to have a normal childhood—It's only normal that school probably doesn’t matter too much to her after everything,” you explained hoping that your words may ease him a bit.

He didn’t respond right away, instead looking at where your much softer hand overlapped his bigger, calloused ones. An unreadable look came over his face before he gently took his hand away from yours and looked to the ground.

“Yeah you’re probably right,” he responded in that low tone of his as he slowly began to back up.

“I gotta go check and see if she made it home okay. It was nice seein ya.”

You barely were able to say another word, maybe apologize for touching his hand in such a careless way before his heavy boots were already heading out the door; the little bell ringing a hollow sound in your ears.

After that, you began to see less and less of Joel and it hurt to admit that it slowly felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest.

You hated yourself for thinking that all your interactions meant something to him; that when he started to come to the store, not even leaving with anything but a conversation with you, that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you felt for him.

Every time you even attempted waving at him in the morning when you both left—he just grunted and looked the other way—pretending like you weren’t even there.

The store was for some reason busier than usual today and you closed up feeling drained and ready to sleep. The long shift accompanied by the hollow feeling in your heart Joel had left caused you to want nothing more than to curl up and forget all the pain in nicer dreams where things were better between you, things were different.

Joel would hold your hand in your dream and walk you to work, leaving a kiss on your cheek and a whisper of having a good day as you giggled and kissed him right back—whispering the same sentiments.

You were shaken out of your daydream on your walk home when you spotted the very man at the center of all your thoughts on the porch of someone's house, a woman’s house.

She was gorgeous with long, blonde hair framing her face perfectly, while she looked up at Joel with gorgeous, crystal, blue eyes. She looked older than you too, maybe even closer to Joel’s age.

They laughed about something before she was leading him inside her house as he followed suit; the door shutting in a finality behind them.

You felt a mix of jealousy and an even greater sadness than before filling your belly as you continued what felt like the longest walk home in your life.

As soon as the door closed you slid down the old wood as tears and sobs that you couldn’t stop wracked your body.

You just didn’t understand; what changed, what did you do to make him start avoiding you?

And you knew how hard it was for Joel to come out of his shell, so why did it seem so easy for him to talk and laugh with that woman?

After what seemed like hours, you finally picked yourself off of the ground and trudged slowly to your bed where you collapsed immediately upon impact with the old tattered sheets.

Instead of the usual happy dreams about Joel, tonight you were plagued with endless nightmares of him and the mysterious blonde woman; standing in the place you usually would in your dreams about Joel.

You woke up in the morning with a feeling of restlessness as you readied yourself for another long day of work.

After work that night you decided to go to the Tipsy Bison which was Jackson’s bar that you would usually frequent when your nightmares from the time you were on your own came back to haunt you.

Mindless images of a group of clicker’s taking from you the only person you had left in your life since the virus took over: your best friend.

After she was gone it was just you, and that period never seemed to completely leave your mind even after a year in Jackson.

After last night’s sleep, you definitely needed a drink you thought to yourself as you made your way over. When you entered you saw that it was a pretty busy night for the Tipsy Bison as you did your best to find a seat towards the end of the bar.

Once you took a seat, you gave the bartender your drink order and surveyed the area to see who else was here as you waited for him to deliver your alcohol of choice. Your breathing stopped and your eyes widened when you noticed a familiar group of people at a table closer to the front of the bar.

There in all his ruggish, handsome glory was Joel Miller, smiling widely as he talked with Tommy, Maria, and her.

You quickly swung back around to face where your drink was just set in front of you as you begged the burn in the back of your eyes to go away.

Fuck this, you thought as you downed most of the drink in one go, using your hand to wipe away the bit that escaped at the corner of your lips.

You did your best to ignore the person that was at the center of all your sadness; drinking and drinking until you felt a familiar buzz kick in and begin to cloud your thoughts.

Right when you were about to order another drink, a skinny, tall, blonde boy walked over to where you were seated and said it was on him as he handed over a couple of coins.

“You didn’t have to do that but thanks, I guess,” you muttered, hoping your disinterest was a sign that you wanted to be left alone.

He smiled wide in a way that caused you to shiver, and not in a pleasurable way like when Joel would grace you with the corner of his lip twitching up, releasing a breathless laugh; but in a bad, unnerving way.

“Anything for a girl as pretty as you.”

He winked which caused you to roll your eyes and once again look away from him. “I’m not interested but again, thank you,” you told him with a finality in your voice that the man—no—boy, didn’t take very seriously.

“Aw come on don’t be like that I just wanna have some fun with you,” he said in a sleazy manner as he reached out to grip your shoulder.

You quickly shook him off but in your drunken haze, you accidentally fell off your chair onto the ground—single-handedly causing the whole bar’s eyes to turn onto you.

“Godammit, now you're just causing a fucking scene,” the man snarled at you, causing tears to form behind your eyes as this man's actions as well as having the entire bar watching the now-forming scene.

And if the night couldn’t get any worse, you hear the familiar sound of boots coming up behind the man and it takes just one glance to confirm your suspicions.

“What did you just say to her?”

You heard a deep voice growl out, a look of pure rage overtaking Joel’s features as he stood right in front of the blonde boy’s face.

“Look man I didn’t know she was taken, I was just tryna have a good time, you know?”

An animalistic sound leaves Joel’s mouth before he takes the boy’s arm and forcefully grabs it until he's facing the bar counter and his arm is pressed deep into his back.

“It don’t matter whether she’s taken or not, you never treat a woman like that,” he snarls into the shaking boy’s ear.

“I never wanna see you come near her again, you hear me?”

He shakes his head wildly until Joel finally releases him and he scatters out of the bar. The anger on Joel’s face morphs into one of concern as he gently stretches out a hand to help you up.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He questions softly as you bat his hand away and attempt to stand on your own.

“M’ fine,” you mutter as you stand on shaky legs—about to fall over when Joel rests his big hands on your shoulders to steady you. He chuckles and curls an arm around your waist as he begins to slowly lead you out the door.

“You sure darlin’? Cause’ you seem a lil drunk to me,” Joel says amused at your hindered state while you frown up at him.

“Don’t you have to go back to your girlfriend,” you huff out, avoiding looking at the grumpy man’s features.

“Girlfriend?” He responds confused, not understanding what you were talking about until he catches your eyes drifting to Veronica’s face—Ellie’s teacher.

After the day he left abruptly from your store, he sought out Ellie’s teacher Veronica. They have been having weekly meetings about how Ellie was doing in school as well as her continuous efforts to ditch class.

There was absolutely nothing romantic about it, the whole ordeal gave him a headache—a subject he was too old to be stressing about.

Besides, how could he dare think about anyone else when you had him wrapped around your little finger?

When he first saw you at your clothing store and you gave him his jacket for free, he knew you would be trouble.

And trouble you were as he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to visit you just to see you and hear your comforting voice promise him that all his worries about his adopted daughter were normal.

It was actually your idea that maybe he should at some point meet with Ellie’s teacher. But when your small hand wrapped around his he got scared— scared this could become something real.

Everyone he has ever gotten attached to he’s lost and he already accidentally went and got attached to Ellie, he didn't know if he had it in him to do it to another person.

And on top of that, he was a bad man, he had done horrible things. You were also so much younger and prettier than him—a sweet, soft thing Joel didn’t feel he deserved.

But looking at your heartbroken face now as you looked back at him and then at Veronica, he knew he messed up. He should have never started avoiding you.

It was never the answer, but Joel had never been good at feelings, this much is evident.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you home.”

The walk back from the Tipsy Bison to your house was a pretty close one, your hose only being about five minutes away.

Once you were at your door with a Joel who did not take “leave me alone” as an answer, you struggled to get the key in the lock in your drunken stupor which the large man beside you thankfully helped with.

“Let me do that, sweetheart,” he muttered as his big warm hands covered yours and twisted the key, letting the both of you inside.

“Joel, I don't feel so good…” you said shakily as Joel uttered a “shit” and quickly hurried you to the bathroom which he found pretty quickly—his hands quickly opening the toilet seat and finding purchase in your hair as he held it back, allowing you to empty the contents of your stomach.

“Joel I’m so sorry,” you groaned as a tear fell down your cheek; your sadness, tiredness, and embarrassment flooded in all at once with help from the lingering alcohol in your system.

He shushed you softly and cradled you to his chest taking a second to rock you until your tears stopped and you felt well enough to stand.

“How bout’ you brush your teeth and get your pajamas on—I’ll make you some tea then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You nodded as he gently brushed your cheek with his thumb causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach as he made his way to your kitchen to attempt to find the ingredients and mug he needed.

You cleaned yourself up: showered, brushed your teeth, and put on sleepwear which helped you come back to a clearer state of mind allowing confusion to overtake you.

Why was Joel here taking care of you, wouldn’t his girlfriend begin to ask questions?

You weren’t allowed to keep worrying yourself with your thoughts as a knock on your bedroom door brought you back to reality.

“May I come in? Made ya tea,” Joel’s voice rang out into your room softly as you muttered a quiet, “Sure.”

Joel stepped into the room and handed you the mug which you took a generous sip of—the honeyed flavor soothing your throat and stomach.

“Thank you so much, Joel, for walking me home and taking care of me. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t go apologizing darlin’ you have done nothin’ to have to apologize for,” Joel interrupted sending you a soft smile as he went to pick up your hand laying on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into the smooth skin.

In a reversal of roles, it was your turn to pull your hand away as Joel frowned and you looked to the floor; he should have expected that after everything that’s happened.

“I guess I deserve that,” he chuckles sadly as your turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Well you have a girlfriend and I bet it would make her uncomfortable if she knew you were holding my hand, Joel.”

Joel couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped him at your words which completely stopped when he saw your features form into one of anger.

“Why is that so funny? That’s why you stopped visiting and talking to me right? Because you found someone else.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out as bitterly or as venomously as you said it but you couldn’t help it. You have spent weeks suffering over his actions towards you and now he helps you home, takes care of you, holds your hand like nothing happened?

“M’ sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was laughing at you. It’s just that…” He trails off collecting himself. Joel sighs out your name and begins to tell you that Veronica is not his girlfriend and that she was just Ellie’s teacher.

He explains to you all about their meetings and that tonight was just him getting her a drink to thank her for all her help.

“I promise you darlin’ it wasn’t anythin’ more than that—don’t feel that way about her at all.”

You process all the information Joel just unloaded on you; and though you do feel relief, you still feel irritation and sadness as his complete throwing away of your friendship—abandoning you without a word. You tell him as much as he releases another sigh and looks down toward the wooden floor.

“Look, m’ not really good at this…” Joel starts, eyes flickering up to your face as he continues.

“But coming into the shop and talkin’ to you started becoming the best parts of my day, sweetheart,” he pauses to give you a look of sincerity and to try holding your hand again—and this time— you let him.

“And I was just downright a coward and instead of facing my feelings I shut you out completely and I feel so fucking awful darlin’ I’m so sorry.” He whispers, tightening his grip on your hand.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I'm hoping you can forgive me and that maybe we can try to be somethin. I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it and I’m so much older than you, but-”

You cut Joel’s rambling off by pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. You begin to pull away when you don’t feel him kissing back, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he cups your head in a big hand and begins to kiss back with more fervor.

“Joel,” you whimper as he begins to lay you back on your bed, his tongue licking the seam of your bottom lip asking for entrance into your soft, warm mouth—which you immediately allow.

“Shhh, darlin’ will you lemme take care of ya? Wanna make you feel so good baby, make up for how bad I've been actin’.”

You let out a moan when you feel the rough denim of his jeans buck up into your soft sleep shorts making contact with your clothed cunt.

“Please Joel, need you so bad,” you whine as he starts to place kisses from your jaw down to your neck—slightly nipping and leaving a trail of small red spots in their wake, which he soothes with his tongue causing a high pitched whimper to leave your lips; beads of frustration beginning to gather at the corner of your lashes.

“I got you sweetheart, I’m right here, can I take this off?” Joel questions as he lifts the hem of your tank top.

You nodded quickly as he borderline rips it over your head, quickly latching a mouth onto one of your nipples as he massages the neglected one with his hand.

“Ohmygod-” you cry as he expertly flicks the bud with his tongue, soon moving over to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

Arousal pools in your gut as Joel groans, beginning to leave kisses from your sternum, down to the soft skin of your belly, and right to the hem of your sleep shorts.

He leaves a soft kiss there and looks up to you to ask for permission to take them off. You nod vigorously but he shakes his head and leans down more to press a kiss to your clothed core, emitting a loud gasp from your mouth.

“I need words darlin',” he states, glancing back up to you as you vocalize your permission. Joel wastes no time in taking your shorts down in one quick motion once you say yes—leaving you in your white lacy panties.

He runs a finger over the damp spot in your panties and then brings his arched nose close to the spot to breathe you in as well as to lick your folds through the cotton, his nose perfectly bumping your clit in this position causing you to squirm and moan his name.

“Joel please,” you begged as he pulled away and began to run soothing circles into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Please what baby, tell me what you need,” he demands as you try to buck your hips up to his mouth, but he won't let you, strong hands keeping you in place.

“Your tongue Joel I need your tongue,” you whimper but he shakes his head.

“Where do you need my tongue, baby? Gotta tell me if you wanna cum, sweet girl.”

You whine in embarrassment and look down to see Joel Miller with the smuggest smirk you have ever seen.

“I need your tongue on my pussy Joel, please take off my panties and use your tongue,” you beg as he chuckles and gently removes the white lace—quickly stuffing it in his back pocket before you can see.

“Good girl baby, that s’all I needed,” he murmurs as his tongue comes into contact with the bare skin of your folds causing you to gasp his name and grab his salt and pepper hair to hold him against your cunt.

“Oh my god Joel that feels so good!” You cry as his tongue moves from licking solid stripes against your folds to suckling gently on your clit, as your legs threaten to squeeze around his head.

“Fucking Christ sweetheart, you taste so good, can’t get enough of you,” he groans as he continues to lick into you—the coil in your tummy beginning to tighten but you need more to get you to your high.

“Mmm your fingers Joel, please I need your fingers,” you groan, causing Joel to growl against your pussy, the vibrations only heightening your pleasure.

“Okay baby, think you can take two, huh?” he murmurs as he presses several small kisses to the inside of your thigh.

You whimper a small “yes” as he gathers your slick on his middle and ring finger—the burn you feel from the sheer girth of his fingers stretching you open fades into a dull bliss.

“J-Joel I’m close,” you alert him as you buck into his face and fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Yeah, baby? C’mon then cum for me sweetheart, let go,” Joel coos gently and that’s all it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap—a stream of your slick gushing out all over his face and onto the scruff of his beard.

He continues to lick you through it until you're shuttering and mewling from the overstimulation. He pulls away with a large grin on his face as he reaches down to kiss you passionately, the sweetness of your fluids on his tongue making the kiss that much sweeter.

He wiped the rest of you off of his beard before giving you small pecks all over your face until you were giggling and he was chuckling.

“I am sorry y’know,” he whispered in that silky smooth voice of his. You cupped his cheek with your hand, rubbing circles into the scratchy skin.

“I know.”

Joel got up to get a wet cloth to clean you up. He then took his time putting your sleepwear back on—leaving gentle kisses and massaging every inch of your body he could see.

He ended up spending the night as you curled into his strong arms as he stroked your hair until he felt your breathing even out as slumber took over you.

He stayed up and watched you for a while until he soon fell victim to sleep; the thought of him finally being able to be completely happy despite everything was a comfortable thought, and it was all because of you.

#i hope you guys like it omg #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #tlou x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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pimosworld · 10 months ago

Text

Push

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel never gets pushed too far, except when it comes to you.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, jackson era Joel, established relationship, Ellie is a menace, reader is a bad ass, canon typical violence, blood, wounds, minor character death, protective Joel, protective reader, Angst, Smut,unprotected piv,Joel needs a big ol hug, no description of reader, no use of y/n.

WC-3.5k

A/N- Joel has inspired me lately and I may be procrastinating too much with him but I just can’t help myself.

[Main Masterlist][Joel Miller Masterlist]

Not beta read

Maybe you should’ve pushed back a little when Ellie suggested you travel a little further to the pond just outside of the patrol area. Some small part of you was still trying to bond with the teenager despite you knowing how much she admired you. It was a little selfish to want to impress someone that knew next to nothing about what the world had been.

She was so persistent and just like Joel you couldn’t resist those eyes and her smile.

“Please I promise it will be quick.” Her face was fixed in a pout and you thought what harm could it be to let her live a little.

You’d spent months on this route, many times with Joel,Tommy or Ellie. You hadn’t seen a living soul out here in so long that you forgot what you were even patrolling for.

You feel a push in the direction down the tall grass path as the sweat drips down your back. The first really hot day you’ve had in a while and it makes you dizzy. Unable to form a coherent thought. All poor excuses for not being able to make the right decisions.

You suppose the horses need a break too as the pond comes into view like a mirage. Ellie trotting a little faster when she sees the ripple of the water calling her name. You can hear it faintly in the distance calling out to you as the shade from the willow casts a perfect shadow onto the landscape in front of you. The lush green, tiny leaves still flowing in the light breeze before the heat has them give way to yellow and orange.

She’s already off her horse, socks and shoes discarded as she steps boldly into the water up to her knees. Joel would kill her for being so careless with her clothes but you know he often forgot how impatient children could be.

He was equally as impatient with you when you’d return from a long day of not seeing him, not being able to run your fingers through his soft curls at the nape of his neck. Not wanting to waste another moment with your body pressed up against his. He’d take you in the hallway when Ellie was gone, practically tripping over himself to get to you.

You try not to think about that now as you strip your boots off next to the water. Unlike Ellie you don’t fancy wet pants so you take those off too, laying them gently along the horse's back. You try not to think about how nice it would be to dip into this pond with him, bare as you float with your legs wrapped around his waist while he holds you safely under so not to expose you to the elements or any prying eyes.

Perhaps the prying eyes you would’ve seen had Ellie not pushed you into the cold water. It takes your breath away at first. Despite the heat outside, the last remnants of snow seem to still linger in this private sanctuary. The water is colder than anything you’ve felt. You come up gasping for air as she stands before you keeled over in laughter and you can’t help but join her when you look down at your disheveled state.

“Wow you’re so clumsy.” She says as she feigns innocence.

“That was a dirty trick.” You splash her as she screams running back to the water's edge. “I’m gonna tell Joel you’re afraid of water.” You yell back at her as your body acclimates to the frigid temperature. The oversized shirt you borrowed from Joel clinging to your skin as your hands skim along the tops of the water.

“You wouldn’t dare loser. I’ll tell him this was your idea.” You know she would too, and he might’ve believed her had the circumstances been different.

Ellie’s already lacing up her boots when you hear it. A disturbance in the trees too loud over the sound of your heart beating faster. The hair standing up on the back of your neck as you turn around and lock eyes with two men on horseback. Two men who’ve never set foot in the little community you’ve built into a family. Two men who don’t look like they want to ask for directions. Two men sizing up the competition while you scramble for a way to get Ellie to safety because you know Joel would kill you if you contemplated any less.

“Well aren’t you just an angel in white.” The younger man says as he takes you in. Your shirt soaked through leaving nothing to the imagination and your damn pants draped neatly on your horse.

You can hear your name being called again as you turn to Ellie, wide eyed across the pond.

“Go!”

“What the fuck no, I’m not leaving you!” She yells back, the ever overconfident spit fire that she is.

A quick whistle behind you and you’re moving to the water line before they cut you both off. It’s save Ellie or none of you.

“Ellie so help me god, if you never listen to me another day in your life listen to me right now and go!” She starts to protest but the horse beside her is getting restless. “I promise I’ll be right behind you.”

Even if it’s not true you say it all the same. She mounts her horse with tears in her eyes as she takes off through the tall grass.

“We got a runner.” The man not much older than Joel juts his chin on Ellie’s direction. You’re grateful she’s far out of your eyesight with her horse that’s much faster than yours.

“Want me to go after her?” The other man snarls as if you’re not standing right there. Enough of a distraction to at least make it near your horse.

The last thing you want is to be stuck between these two desperate souls. Without pants…that’s not how you expected to die. Wading through this cool oasis only to be met by the devil.

“No loose ends.” He smirks at you as you retrieve your bow from the pack on your horse. You don’t suppose he knew those would be his last words, but he pushed you to this.

You raise your arm high, steadying the bow as you feel the tension of the string beneath your fingers. Joel always said you were a better shot with this than a revolver and he could never figure out how.

“Now what are you gonna do with that besides piss me —“ . It’s only the sound of the whoosh next to your ear before he’s clutching his hands around the arrow lodged in his throat. His partner's momentary shock buys you enough time to at least get half dressed before you mount your horse.

His dramatic fall to the ground causes his horse to skitter off as you give chase in the opposite direction of Ellie, the opposite direction of the safe town that you love so much that holds the man who loves you just as hard. Who will be cursing you for being the savior when you could’ve been selfish.

****

Joel hates these days. Bright, beautiful, sunny days. It’s days like these where things always seemed to go wrong. Like the universe knows to throw a little chaos into something otherwise so perfect. Nothing in this world is allowed to be that perfect. Except you.

You were the reason he started drifting away from the gloom and overcast and started to bask in the sun. Let the warmth of the rays wash over him like a golden flame bath.

When he’d catch you laying in the yard just glowing and he never wanted to disturb you but you always seemed to know when his presence loomed near. Maybe his scent or the magnetic pull you both had on each other as you pat the patch of grass next you. He’d grumble about his back and his knees later but in those moments he didn’t care. Not when you smile so sweet next to him as you block the sun with your hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” You already half know the answer. If she was anywhere near she’d have been out here grumbling just like Joel about you laying in the sun all while joining you in the activity.

“She’s at a friends…why’d ya-.” He can’t even get the words out before you’re up. Throwing one leg over his waist as you push him down. He grunts and lays back rolling his eyes at your theatrics.

He doesn’t really think you’re gonna do what it looks like you’re doing and he’s proved right when you scoot down just enough to settle onto his chest. The front of you all warm against him as you breathe in the smell of his flannel. Your arms come to rest on his shoulders as you wiggles your ass a little more to find the right spot. He just looks down at you curiously as you tilt your head to the side and sigh. Finally content with your position on top of him, listening to his steady heartbeat.

His heartbeat has picked up a little at the close proximity of you. A position you’ve been in much more compromising in your shared bedroom with much less clothes. He can see it now as he closes his eyes, your naked body on top of his as you take from him what you want. You chuckle as you feel his cock twitch beneath you as he lets his mind wander a little further. That earns you a pinch which makes you laugh even harder.

“Quit squirmin’ honey or I’m gonna have to do something’ about this.” His hands grip your waist as he pulls you in closer and a shudder runs through your body.

“M’ not squirmin’.” You mumble into his chest.

“Mhmm, ya comfortable enough?” His voice is low and slow like he’s drifting off to sleep.

“Ya Miller, I’m comfortable.”

****

The sun is still high in the sky, but he can tell it’s later than it should be. He stands with his arms crossed against the gate staring off into the open plains. You and Ellie were always punctual with morning patrol returns. Or maybe he should say you. The routine you grew to love when you were first assigned. It left you the day to do what you wanted. Take a nap, read a book, make dinner and visit with Maria.

He’s growing impatient as he watches the horizon for any signs of you. His eyes playing tricks on him when he thinks he can procure an image of the two of you laughing about something as you approach the town. He squints even more and he can hear your voice now telling him in another life he’d need an optometrist.

He pushes off the gate when another image threatens to make him think he’s lost his mind. He thinks he has when his heart drops into his stomach at the sight of Ellie on her horse. Kicking up dust and riding faster towards him than he’s ever seen in his life. The two of you aren’t racing or playing some sick joke on him. It’s just her coming into view, panicked eyes as she locks onto his.

He doesn’t wait for Tommy, doesn’t wait for backup that may slow him down anyways as he mounts his horse to meet her in the open. Not bothering to tell the patrol past the gate what he’s doing and where he’s going.

He can see the dry tears and the fresh ones too as he gets closer to her. “Where?” He doesn’t have time to worry about the what, why or how.

“The pond.” She chokes out as he curses under his breath. “It was all my fault…I just -.”

“Save it.” It’s said harsher than he intends but he still can’t help himself. Knowing whose idea it was to go beyond the chartered territory. Knowing you had a weak spot who happened to be named Ellie. His quick bite is enough of a punishment as he takes off in the same direction she came from. He knows she beat herself up enough on the way here and probably made up time with the way she pushed her horse.

He leaves her in the dust as the sound of hoofbeats pound the dry ground beneath him. His chest burns like he’s running as he grips the reins tighter with each passing second. The sweat drips down his back that aches with the pressure of not having ridden this hard in years. He got too comfortable in this town, too used to the mundane way of life. He hadn’t been reminded of what it felt like to have that dread creep in. To feel the rush of adrenaline that he grew so used to in his past life.

He’s gone soft.

The relaxed fall turned into a lazy winter with no murmurs of trouble or infected. Spring made it feel like some utopia that they’d stumbled upon and he’d let the universe pull the wool over his eyes.

You shouldn’t be here…a bright sunny day as it beats down on him. Taunting him with how beautiful the landscape is around him as he barrels through the trees into the undesignated area.

The one rule he told you never to break because trouble lurks near water. People, animals, monsters.

He comes to an abrupt stop at the edge of the water searching for any sign of you. There’s an unfamiliar horse next to an unrecognizable body. He does recognize one thing jutting out of the man’s throat. An arrow. A clean shot, cutting off his airway. He likely died slow as his throat filled with blood and he choked on it until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

He tears his eyes away from the nameless bastard and locks onto your boots. His chest tightens even more at the sight and he’s trying hard to fill his lungs with air. He’s suffocating much like the lifeless body next to him.

He hears your shriek of his name as he whips his head around and sees nothing. Just the trees blowing in the wind. He shouts for you as the weight piles on. The horse beneath him grows frantic as your cries echo in his mind.

This is quite possibly the worst time to be having a panic attack but that’s all he feels as he bellows your name. Each call a heavier weight on his chest until no sound escapes at all. He clutches at his shirt trying to rip it free from his body, it’s too hot and clingy and he can’t get any air.

“Joel!” Nothing, just blackness behind his eyes. “Joel, honey, wake up!”

His hands are shaking as he blinks trying to figure out where you are.

“Honey, look at me.” You’re straddling his waist with your hands on his chest. Fresh tears rolling down your face with wide panicked eyes.

He pushes you off him so fast it startles you. You’ve switched positions now as he traps your body between his arms. You’re not entirely sure he’s fully aware of the situation and that scares you a little. The sweat dripping from his brow and the way his chest heaves with every breath.

He pulls your face back with his large palms and grips your chin in his hand. Frantically tossing it side to side. “Are you hurt?” His voice is wrecked from yelling for god knows how long.

“No Joel, I’m fine.” You say as a tear that’s not yours drops down onto your face.

“Did he hurt you?” It’s strained and shaky as he pulls up your shirt, his that he lets you borrow at night. Inspecting your body for any signs of damage. You just shake your head afraid of answering in a sob, the lump forming in your throat at the sight of him still so worried.

He breathes in deep through his nose and lets out a small sigh of relief. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he lets the full weight of him fall into you. You’re both exhausted for completely different reasons. It was starting to scare you not being able to pull him out of this nightmare. He just kept screaming your name as you tried to shake him awake. You didn’t want him to endure any longer what was plaguing his mind when he was supposed to be sleeping peacefully at your side.

It’s a moment before he speaks. You rubbing his back as you kiss him softly reassuring him that you were right where you needed to be.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.” He murmurs into your neck in all seriousness. “You come straight home next time.”

“Yes Miller, I’ll always come home to you.” Now’s not the time to tease so you just agree to never commit whatever atrocity it was that had him gripped with fear. Although you can take a wild guess that your name will be scratched from the patrol board for a few weeks.

He sits up a little to look down at you. His eyes are still red but a little more of your Joel in them. He plants a long kiss to your forehead as you place your hand over his heart. The steady thump under your palm much calmer than before.

“Where’s Ellie?”

“She’s at a friend's house, remember?”

Faintly he recalls her asking and you telling her yes, that must have been hours ago. All he knows now is that you’re alone and that he didn’t wake her.

You’re alone

As his hands drift under the hem of the oversized shirt. Your soft skin raised with goosebumps as his fingers trail up higher until he reaches the underside of your breast.

“Joel.” You gently stop him and search his eyes in the dark room. “Are you sure?”

“Please baby, I need you.” Joel groans out, his plea much different at this hour. He needs to feel that you’re real, that you’re here. The strongest soul couldn’t resist Joel Miller begging for you like his life depends on it.

When you oblige it’s frantic, his hands pulling the shirt over your head while your foot hooks into his boxers dragging them down. His mouth is all over you, kissing and biting and breathing you in. He’s growling in your ear that he needs to be inside you and you know he’s desperate when he normally takes his sweet time with you.

This isn’t like one of those times and you don’t need it to be. You just need him, all of him all the time.

A groan leaves his lips as you grip the base of his cock, rubbing it between your folds. You’re so wet already at the sight of him above you, his arms bracing his weight so you can like him up.

It’s sinful the sound that leaves your mouth when he pushes in,burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. “Shit sweetheart, so tight.” His words are slurred as he braces his hand on the headboard behind you. His other hand gripping your thigh over his waist.

You don’t have a chance to respond. Only moans and whimpers of his name as he punches the air from your lungs with each thrust of his hips. The sound of skin on skin as you cling to his biceps and shoulders, anything to keep you from tipping over the edge too soon.

He’s babbling above you about how perfect you feel and you just clench around him at the praise.

He’s close and he can see just as much as feel how close you are by the way your eyes practically roll in the back of your head when he angles your hips up, hitting that spot deep inside that only he could seem to find.

He reaches between your sweat soaked bodies trailing his hands down but you stop him. He thinks he’s done something wrong briefly until you place his hand back on your thigh and that look of longing flashes in your eyes. “I want to come like this.”

He grits his teeth at the filthiest thing you’ve ever said. Fucking you with vigor as his hips begin the falter.

“Can I?”

“Fuck yes Joel, come inside me please.”

The pressure boils over at your words. The way it comes out all rushed and desperate. You’re arching your back as you fall over the edge with him. You’re clinging to him like a life vest as he groans in your ear. The light flashing behind his eyes at the most mind blowing orgasm he’s ever had.

He pushes down that feeling that he almost lost you. The one that isn’t real because you’re right here beneath him, looking at him as you brush the hair back from his face like he hung the moon. He kisses the corner of your mouth and down your jaw as you sleepily humm to yourself.

“I’m sorry for wakin’ ya darlin.”

“It’s okay Joel, don’t have patrol for a couple days.”

Tommy can bitch all he wants, you’ll never have patrol again.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

#joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #tlou imagine #joel miller tlou #ellie and joel #ellie x reader #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joelmiller #protective!joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #jackson era joel #tlou fanfiction

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arachine · 2 years ago

Text

. . . fire and desire .ᐟ

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: ellie williams x fem!reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: there’s nothing more ellie loves than spending a day inside with you…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: alternate universe, smut, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: pwp, strap sucking, vaginal penetration (strap), clit stimulation, overstim, cum eating, dacryphilia (if you squint), use of ‘daddy’, not proofread bc i’m tired!!!

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 2.1k

ᥫ᭡ note :: this is me finally making my formal introduction…hi >.< + dedicated to @luvsellie @3leni & @addisonnie

ᥫ᭡ song :: tinashe - ecstasy

brown tendrils of hair cascade over porcelain skin, clouding the vision of the girl looking down at you with a sultry expression. she’s toying with you. rubbing the smooth pad of her thumb over your spit-slick lips, all while holding your hair taut with her available hand.

“come on, baby, open wider for me,” she pushes her thumb into your mouth, the salty appendage forceful as it presses down on the pink muscle, “wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

methodically, she removes her hand from the tangles of your hair, and glides it down to rest firmly against the column of your throat. the thrumming of your pulse is strong beneath the pads of her fingers, and she taps once, twice—three times before lightly squeezing the sides of your neck.

“you can do it, pretty girl. know you can.”

her grip is firm, and demanding, but her words are sugary sweet. a juxtaposition to the compromising position she has you in—which is on your knees, nestled between her legs. it’s cruel, almost, you think. the control she has over you.

slowly, you take hold of the silicone and hold it up to your mouth, easing it past your puffy lips until the thick tip of it grazes your uvula.

“atta girl,” ellie breathes, resting a flat palm atop your head.

she watches intently as you try to keep yourself there. hands outstretched, and digging into the meat of her thighs, clawing and pawing so as to not gag.

your persistence precedes you, though. because now you’re pulling off unceremoniously, gasping wildly for just a scintilla of air. and it’s a little embarrassing—the coughing—the keeling over that ensues.

but it’s especially embarrassing when you see the crystalline tether of spit that connects from your lip to the dildo, and the pools of spit littered all over her thighs. so messy. just the way ellie likes it.

the girl chuckles at your expense. all low and confident, laced with a modicum of pity. she raises a lithe hand to caress the skin of your cheek.

“so perfect…” she says softly, “always so perfect for me.”

the praises spill from her lips like warm honey, and you find yourself eager to taste it, to pull her down to your level and kiss her silly. impulsively, you encase the sides of her face between your hands and slowly rise from your knees—albeit shakily.

in this moment, ellie’s gaze is unfaltering—

even as your knees dip into the plush of the bed, and you settle down into her awaiting lap. and even as you reach behind yourself to grasp the shaft of the silicone, sinking down onto it slowly.

lips ghost over lips but still do not touch. breaths intermingle with breaths, but still tease, and fuck, she’s had enough.

“stop it…” she whispers against your lips, callused hands falling down to your hips.

“oh, but it’s more fun this way,” you jest, flashing her a smile that’s faux sweet on the surface, but sadistic underneath.

ellie pinches your hips in disagreement. gives them a firm squeeze, and lets the fat there spill between the slots of her fingers before she uses the bony prominences as leverage to maneuver you down onto her.

a gasp emits from your throat, and you stutter forward in her hold, to which she uses as an opportunity to pilfer a kiss. the first is zephyr-light, just right. then, the few that follow suit are a little more heavy, a little more heated—passionate, and now the warmth heating in your belly has advanced to a fire overgrown.

every kiss, lick, and suckle of a tongue, has you melting further into her touch. you fear that, soon, you’ll melt into a block of clay. become pliable and moist. a project that ellie will task herself with to mold you back to life—though, you reckon she’d find amusement in your misshapen form.

the thought of her laughing at your helpless clay-form inadvertently makes you bite her lip, reminds you too much of the time you asked her what she’d do if you turned into a worm. poor ellie, you think. becoming a victim to your insanity.

“ow,” the auburn haired girl laughs, both out of shock and confusion, “you a vampire now? out for my blood?”

“yeah, gonna drink you all up,” you dip down to her neck, retracting your jaw teasingly.

“gonna drink me all up, huh?” ellie’s hands find solace on the mounds of your ass. she kneads the skin there, then pulls you up experimentally, only to let you sink back down onto the silicone. “guess it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

you attempt to laugh but it comes out more like a strangled moan, much to your dismay.

now you’re chest to chest, legs wrapped up around her torso, and arms positioned underneath her pits. your hands wander frantically for placement but mostly settle for holding onto her shoulders, to which you hold onto for dear life as she pistons up into you aimlessly.

every sensation is heightened by the feeling of her roseate lips on your breasts. they trail mindlessly without purpose, leaving lines of saliva, coupled with the occasional bite mark.

while she works on the pastures and plains of your chest, a hand slithers from your ass to the iota of space between you. like a magnet, it quickly latches onto your clit, causing you to jump from the coolness.

ellie rubs the nub in slow, deliberate circles, and you whine for her to go faster. she shushes you, tells you to be patient. which is, you think, probably her way of getting back at you for the teasing earlier.

you mumble a plethora of obscenities into the interstice of her neck, rocking yourself back and forth, up and down, just to get a semblance of friction. but it’s not enough. you need her. need her to lay you down against the pillows like she always does—to have her way with you; pick you apart, piece by piece, and build you back up.

“need…” you start, then trail off. ellie’s ears perk up, and she smiles, all cocky and annoying.

“need what? what is it that my baby needs, hm?”

you tighten your hold on her shoulders, applying so much pressure that the skin underneath turns erythro.

“n-need more, wanna f-feel you deeper.”

ellie, ever the pleaser, indulges you without a quip. she’s quick to lay you down against the pillows, slithering in between your thighs that, oh-so-generously, make room for her.

slowly, she pushes the mushroomy tip of the dildo past the tight ring of muscle, and settles down into a position where the both of her forearms encase the sides of your head.

it’s intimate this way. with her on top of you, and you beneath her. two bodies melded together into one. every breath she takes is mirrored by your own, and every gasp you emit, every moan, mewl and whimper, is greedily swallowed by her.

“so,” a thrust, “fucking,” a kiss, “pretty,” a suck, “my best girl.”

it’s hard trying not to crumble under the weight of all her praise, but you find yourself smiling silly anyway. even through the moans that she consecutively pulls from you so effortlessly.

and you’re pretty—so, so pretty. but this is when you’ll always be the prettiest, ellie thinks. when you’re all fatigued and slick with perspiration, smiling from ear to ear while she’s working you to completion. it’s a visual that makes her heart all tight, and her cheeks all sore because…she can’t help but to smile back.

she finds sweetness in these moments. uses the love that flows from her heart to her fingertips, and draws circles on your clit, giggling into the crook of your neck when you start gripping her biceps and she mocks you for it.

“look at how hot and bothered you get over a few fingers,” she jokes, earning a playful eye roll.

“oh shut u-“

but before you can finish, ellie unsheathes herself briefly, then pushes all the way back in without warning. pathetically, you whine and arch from the intrusion, which gives ellie the satisfaction of mocking you for a second time.

“what was that?” ellie pouts, waiting for a sassy remark. she keeps her brows raised in anticipation, pushing in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace, all while her fingers play with the swollen nub.

but the rude remark never comes. instead, it’s replaced by a firm grab of her wrist, and a series of breathy pleas.

right there, keep hitting right there.

feels so good, ellie.

please, please, please.

and, shit, it’s music to her ears. she almost feels bad for mocking you earlier. almost. the pleaser in her wants to finish you off, coo sweet words in your ears and cradle you up in her arms. but the little shit in her? the little shit in her wants to drag this out.

“please what, baby?” the girl queries, pulling out and tapping the weighty head on your nub. the absence has you raising your hips up in an attempt to push it back in, but ellie’s hand on your abdomen keeps you grounded.

you whine and groan in frustration, letting a few expletives slip from your lips. sometimes she could be so mean. you have half a mind to respond with attitude, and half a mind to play into her sadistic mind games. you choose the latter.

with an avian flutter of your lashes, and your best doe eyes, you part your lips to speak.

“please…daddy,” you pout, forcing out a few tears, “need you to make it feel better.”and there it is, your best work yet—truly, an oscar worthy performance.

“yeah, that’s right. daddy’s gonna make it feel all better. that what you want? want me to take care of this pretty pussy?”

you nod, which is all the confirmation ellie needs before pulling you down the bed and throwing your legs behind your head.

so predictable, you think. but so welcomed. it always went like this whenever you used that on her. made her feel all big and in charge, like she had something to prove. and sure, ellie had a way with you, that was undeniable. but you? you had her wrapped around your manicured little finger. it really didn’t take much effort to get her right where you wanted her—which was on top of you, your favorite place to get her.

in this position, you feel so full. it calls for your chin to be tucked down into your chest, and all you can see is the pudge of your stomach, including all glorious eight inches of silicone ramming into you fiercely without abandon.

you’re only allowed mobility when ellie grabs your face to flit it up. she temporarily draws your attention away to pilfer a kiss, and asks if you can feel her all the way up there as she presses down onto your bulging tummy.

when you utter a yes, and say, “you feel so good inside, daddy. sososo good,” ellie’s entire disposition changes. starts kissing you all sloppy, groaning and grunting in your ear like she can actually feel your cunt squeezing ‘round her.

the intensity of her unrelenting thrusts have you scrambling to wrap your arms around her neck. she’s just so fast, and too good. a real recipe for disaster, and entirely way too much for you to keep up with.

fatigued, you drop your head back and melt into the plush of the pillows. you let her take you apart, piece by piece, kiss by kiss.

“gonna give me one, pretty girl?” ellie breathes, “c’mon give it to me.”

and her touch is as gentle as her words. she works on you devotedly, and doesn’t stop until you’ve come on her cock with a soft cry. that’s when she builds you back up. when your legs are shaking uncontrollably from pleasure, and your face is stained with tears. when you’re the prettiest.

gently, ellie unsheathes herself from you, and then shimmies her body down the bed until she’s face level with your cunt. she uses her thumbs to spread your lips, and like the asshole she is, licks a long stripe from the bottom to the top of your mound.

the overstimulation forces your legs shut, but she only pries them back open. the little shit. you roll your eyes.

“i was gonna say you taste sweet, but you know what, now i’m tasting a little bit of sourness,” she jests in response to your eye roll, rising from her stomach to crawl back up your body.

you scrunch your nose and pull her down against your chest, “oh my god, shut up!”

the two of you stay like this for a while. breaths intermingling with breaths. yeah, ellie could get used to this.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x y/n smut #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x you smut #:: — LEXI WRITES !

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 29 days ago

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Part 24: every color that you are

"Don't let nobody tell you your life is over. Be every color that you are." -Rush by Aly & AJ

Regent Masterlist A03 Mundane Macabre Part 23

Turns out, Danny’s hearing is good enough to pick up the baby’s new heartbeat.

With an assurance that she did not in fact have a parasitic alien in her stomach, Jazz revealed her tiny bump with a smile and swore him to secrecy.

“But Jazz, this is great news!”

“It’s not like we’re not going to tell anyone and show up for dinner one day with a newborn in tow, Danny. It’s just until the second trimester.”

“Which would be?”

“The one after the first.” Jazz deadpanned.

Danny snorted and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before a smile came to his face.

“I’m gonna be an uncle.” He said with what Jazz deemed as the proper reverence for such a statement.

“Yes, you are.” Jazz agreed, opening up her arms like she used to when they were both so much younger. And as he did them, he now came to her with unmistakable love for his sister plain to see. Tucking him close to her, head under her chin, Jazz spoke again, “And you’re gonna be a great one.”

After a few minutes Danny pulled back from the hug with a relaxed slump to his shoulders, like a weight had been lifted from them.

“So you weren’t sick, you were sick.” The emphasis on the last word made Jazz roll her eyes.

“Morning sickness, yes.”

“At night?”

Jazz laughed, “Afternoon too.”

“That sucks.”

The two stared at the other, warmth in their auras for their sibling, Danny breaking the silence with, “Janus.”

“What?”

“Danny Janus Nightingale, if you’re looking for baby names.”

“Danny!”

“See! It’s a great name! Just rolls off the tongue!”

“I am not naming my kid Danny.” Jazz firmly declares.

“But-” “Or Dante, or Danielle, or any variations of Danny.” She adds, cutting off her brother’s words.

He huffs, but seems more amused than anything else.

“There’s enough Dannies in the world already.” For a moment they both think about their siblings- both cloned and alternate reality born- and shudder. Oh yeah, three people were more than enough for the world. (Considering Dan was technically possessing an empty clone body of the original Danny and was off on another mission from Clockwork to indulge his hatred of the Flash Family’s timeline antics.)

(The weirdest part of that whole thing was that Dan and Danny could pass as identical twins until Dan went ghost- he still retained his brickhouse vampire visage.)

(Ellie had left Gotham to restart her adventuring, promising to be back soon enough.)

(Ellie, the Wrath, was an unholy combination of Vlad and Danny.) (Jazz had been livid when they finally told her that particular tidbit, including how Vlad had gotten enough of his DNA.) (Could she travel back in time to kick his ass again?)

(She had the distinct impression that Clockwork wouldn’t mind doing her that favor, as long as the vampiric halfa ended in his eternal casket all the same.)

“I’m happy for you Jazz.” Danny said, breaking Jasmine out of her thoughts.

“Thanks Danny.” She replied, “You know you’re gonna have to fight the other batboys for the title of favorite uncle, right?”

The halfa cackles in manic glee. “I’m gonna enjoy every second.”

They continued about their day, though with Danny increasingly obvious with his hovering.

“I’m not gonna suddenly keel over.” Jazz told him with a bored tone as she organized her and Jason’s bookshelf. “Sorry…just…its really weird hearing a second heartbeat.” Danny admitted with a sheepish expression before he perked up, “Gotta tell Ellie and Dan!”

“Wait, Danny!” Jazz called, trying to catch his attention as he zipped towards his room, where his Phantom Phone was stashed away. There was no way she could catch him before he started dialing his other siblings, but Jazz managed to reach the doorway as Dante, then Ellie, picked up the three-way call.

“Danny!” Jazz tried again.

“Ellie, Dan, good news!”

“Shit!” Jazz lunged for the phone, barely missing it as Danny dodged out of her reach.

“Was that Jazz?” Ellie questioned, concern leaking through the phone thanks to the Ecto.

“What’d you do now, pipsqueak?”“Don’t!” Jazz yelled.

Danny paused, giving her a confused look as she finally caught his arm in a death grip. “What’s wrong?”

“Jason and I agreed to wait until its…safer to tell people.” Jazz enunciated the word clearly, trying to convey the severity of her statement.

“What?” “What’s going on?” Ellie questioned again.

“Are you alright, Jazz? Do you need us?” Dan asked, brusque voice inflecting with a concern matching Ellie’s own.

(Thankfully none of the halfas had the ablilty to make portals.)(They’d have been here within the second.)

“I’m fine.” Jazz reasured. “Danny learned something and he didn’t know that I was keeping it secret for a little while longer.” she clarified.

“You’re not dying, right?” “Template said it was good news, Alt, how would that be good news?”

“At least we know where she’d be going.”

“As soon as I can, I’ll let Danny tell you.” Jazz offered before a verbal arguement could ensue.

“Promise?” “I promise Ellie.”

“You be safe.”

“I will, Dan. Love you both.”

“Love ya!”

“Love you too.”

WIth that Danny hung up, still quiet and having not bothered to say his own goodbyes. The excitement had been visibly drained out of him.

“Sorry, Jazz.”

She sighed, “It’s alright, I know you’re excited to be an uncle.”

“Yeah…” the halfa trailed off, “I’m gonna go out early.” He transformed and vanished through his bedroom wall without waiting for her to reply. “Lovely.” Jazz said outloud to nobody. Now she’d worry about whatever made Danny upset.

Regardless, her and Jason had made the decision as a couple, with the exception of Alfred and now Danny, for the majority to know after Jazz officially entered the second trimester. The next ultrasound, with the pictures in hand, would be a good marker for when they could. Jason would probably want to screw with his adoptive father by making him the last to know, which Jasmine could understand considering the Bat’s obsessive need to know every tiny detail. It would be glorious for him to be left out of the loop.

Was it a bit mean to delay telling a “loving” father that they’re soon to be a grandparent? Perhaps.

Then again, Bruce Wayne had spectacularly failed her soulmate in life and in death- she had been the one to avenge him. She had given peace to the angry sprits. It should have never been on Jason’s shoulders, much less Jasmine’s responsibility, to rid the world of the demented clown. (Guess what place has the death sentence?)(Ethiopia!) Batman didn’t have to personally end the Joker. All Bruce Wayne had to do was use his ability of ‘rich white man’ to have Bozo tried and sentenced in a place where he couldn’t use a plea of insanity. Alas, the Bat was always going to write off the Bruce persona.

Even Jasmine, the Regent of the Infinite Realms, understood the necessity of using every card in the deck to one’s advantage. That’s how she got the regency.

Jazz didn’t hate Batman. She couldn’t, if only because he was a mere shadow of what could’ve been a good man- a concept turned reality of a hero. However, Jazz can hate Bruce Wayne. She didn’t, not to the level she hated her parents and the GIW, because she didn’t wish him dead (yet), but she held his many faults against him.

For Jason’s sake too.

Whatever Jason wished for the man, Jazz would stand at his side. For as long as he would have her.

Jazz, with a wry smile, puts a hand to the small bump hidden under her clothes.

For as long as he’ll have us.

A/N: Happy New Years!

Shoutout to everyone over on A03 who guessed that Danny was hearing the heartbeat. He's kinda like superman where he keeps track of heartbeats, because of enhanced hearing.

Is this angsty enough for the 'Angst arc'? I can't wait to reveal what this arc was really supposed to be called, but didn't because spoilers. (small reminder that A03 uploads less frequently than tumblr, but with combined chapters for longer length and the Social Media AU.) Thanks for reading!

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dying-crying-pining · 3 days ago

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I don’t know if this would be called a trope (or if it even exists), but “child/teenage!whumpee protecting an adult whumpee”? It’s a thought thats clawed at me for several years and now that I’m writing a story with this in it, I’m curious what people think about the idea, if they think of it at all.

i love this idea, anon!

my personal preference would be a focus on the adult’s whump with mostly emotional whump for the kid/teen.

like, what if the adult hides an injury/illness because they’re the kid/teen’s only guardian so they have no other choice but to keep going? eventually, they literally cannot physically take another step and collapse/keel over. you’ve got boundless possibilities for physical and emotional whump. the guilt, the angst, the trauma reveals! the adult can’t relax or rest because they’re terrified of what could happen to their kiddo while they’re out of it, so healing takes way longer.

off the top of my head, ‘the last of us’ series had a fantastic version of this when joel is stabbed and incapacitated and ellie has to take on the role of protector/caretaker. the movie ‘light of my life’ also had some good whumpy scenes where the dad is beat to hell, shot, passes out and the daughter uses all the skills she’s learned from him to keep them alive/patch him up.

idk if i answered this the right way, anon. you’re my first ever ask! thank you for sharing!!!

#whump #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpy thoughts #whump prompt #whump ask #tw parentification

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 3 months ago

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NEW EMOJIS!!!!!!!

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️

🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕

YEAH!!!!!!!!!

30 for 🧟:

---

“Uh, yeah. We did. She explained herself, it’s whatever.”

There’s something about his tone that gnaws at Eddie but he’s not sure why.

“Are you…” Eddie doesn’t know what he’s asking. “Are you, like, going to reconcile?”

Buck gapes at him. “Seriously?”

“Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just curious.”

Eddie is aware he sounds like an idiot. Thank you.

Buck narrows his eyes. “I’m not getting back together with Abby. I can forgive her, but… I’m still not okay with how she just left.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods.

“And I’ve moved on,” Buck says. “Entirely.”

“Right,” Eddie nods.

“Are you getting back with Shannon?” Buck asks.

Eddie scoffs. “I’m gay.”

“And I thought we were asking silly questions we already know the answer to,” Buck says.

Eddie scowls at him. “Dick.”

Buck smirks. “Sorry. Just, for a second there, you sounded jealous.”

---

60 for 🌲:

---

“Why-why are you doing this, Kyle?” Adriana cries. “In front of everyone… Why are you…”

“I can’t do this,” Kyle says again. “I thought I could… But it’s just not enough.”

And Eddie hears the meaning behind his words. He’s sure everyone else in the church does, too.

She’s not enough.

🌲

Thank god he did bring Marisol. Not to get his family off his back, but so that someone is there to watch Chris while Eddie deals with the fallout of his sister’s heartbreak.

It’s a shit show.

Their family has sequestered in a back room of the church, around Adriana. The guests have left, as has Kyle and his family. Eddie’s father is outraged. Swearing up and down. No mind for the fact that he’s in a church. His mother is beside herself, trying to make sense of it. She’s battering a despondent Adriana with questions. Did something happen this morning? Did you pressure him into proposing? Why would he do this Adriana? Which leads, of course, to Sophia snapping at her to leave Adriana alone.

Eddie’s on Sophia’s side in this matter. He usually is.

Sophia is like Eddie. She got away from El Paso as soon as it was feasible for her. Though, not nearly as far away. She and her husband, Marcus, live in San Antonio. She comes home more than Eddie. Faces far less scrutiny. But especially since her daughter, Ellie, was born, their parents - notably, their mother - have been pressing Sophia to move closer to home. All of the same tactics they used on Eddie, just without all the crappy history and heartbreak to weaponize. It actually makes Eddie feel slightly better about how they treated him; it was less about his actual situation, and more about their own desires. They’re just able to hit him where it hurts more, because she doesn’t have the same string of fuck ups behind her.

When Helena and Sophia really get into it - Sophia championing Adriana - Eddie whisks his little sister outside for air. Everyone can rightfully freak out. This is worth freaking out about. But Eddie would like to make sure Adriana doesn’t keel over from hyperventilating.

They sit on a bench behind the church. Full view of the cemetery where Eddie’s Abuelo is buried. Adriana’s veil has long since been removed, but she’s still in her beautiful white dress. Her makeup is smudged. Eyeliner and mascara more or less obliterated. Tear tracks down her cheeks. Her hair is frizzing. Carefully pinned curls coming undone from her running stressed hands through them. Sophia had to stop her from pulling at her own hair, she was so beside herself.

Eddie uses his paramedic voice on her. Gets her to regulate her breathing and drink careful sips from a water bottle.

“There you go,” he says, when she starts to even out. “That’s better. Just keep breathing.”

She takes a few more proper breaths before talking to him.

“I am so humiliated,” she whispers. “This is… This is the worst thing that could ever happen, Eddie.”

Well… “He’s an ass,” Eddie says. “A childish, horrible ass. It’s him that should be humiliated right now, Adri.”

---

42 for ⚖️:

---

He confirms what the nurse already said. No one knows what the fuck is wrong with him.

“Every single test we’ve run has come back inconclusive,” Dr. Hanson says. “Whatever was making you sick, we haven’t seen it before.”

That’s definitely not what you want to hear.

“I-I touched a dead body,” Buck says. “Like a long dead body. I-I didn’t know. He was sold to me as a Halloween decoration.”

“We were told,” the doctor nods. “No one else who came into contact with the body is symptomatic. So we don’t believe it’s connected, at this point.”

That throws Buck. How could it not be connected? This all started after he disturbed Billy’s corpse. What else could it possibly be? Especially if they can’t diagnose it. If anything… Well, if anything, doesn’t this just prove Buck is right? That it is a curse.

“The part that is most confusing to me,” Dr. Hanson continues. “Is that you’re seemingly fine right now? You seem completely stable.”

“Uh, isn’t that a good thing?” Buck asks.

“Of course,” Dr. Hanson replies. “But honestly, Mr. Buckley, when we couldn’t find what was wrong with you and you continued to decline… We had to prepare your loved ones for the worst.”

Buck’s stomach twists with anxiety.

“Wait, so… So they’re all out there right now thinking I’m dying and they can’t even be with me?” Buck demands.

Dr. Hanson grimaces. “We’ve sent someone to update them.”

“Wh-when can I see them?” Buck asks. “My-my sister will be going crazy. Please.”

“We need to run some more tests,” the doctor says. “Confirm you’re still stable… Keep you in observation in case you decline again. We’ll try to get your loved ones on the phone.”

---

33 for 🤕:

---

Buck is attaching a chain to the backhoe when it happens. They’ll use the winch on the engine to pull it away. But they can’t do that until Eddie and Chim are ready to extract George. A few minutes, and they should be out of here.

“Alright, Cap,” Buck says to Bobby. “Backhoe is secure.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Bobby replies. “Hear that, George? We’re almost out of here.”

As soon as he says it, there’s a loud, earsplitting crack. Buck flinches, unsure what’s happening and where the noise is coming from. He looks at Bobby. Bobby’s eyes bug out with terror. He points at something behind Buck’s back.

“BUCK! THE RETENTION WALL! IT’S-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

▨

Eddie watches from the ambulance with horror as the unfinished house collapses. Something must have happened down in the garage because it all seems to fold inwards, beams and cement and wooden framing all crumpling down. On top of Buck and Bobby.

“Oh, shit,” Chim curses.

“BUCK!” Eddie hollers, unable to restrain himself. “BUCK!”

He starts running towards the wreckage. Chim is right behind him. He thinks he hears other first responders on the scene following, too.

“BUCK!”

“Dispatch, this is Firefighter-Paramedic Howard Han with the 118,” he hears Chim start to say into his radio. “We’ve had additional building collapse. Two firefighters and one civilian are unaccounted for. We need more help.”

#daisies and briars writes #go and kill go and die fic #firelight fic #an angry blade fic

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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𝕛𝕠𝕖𝕝 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀 | 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗲

any nsfw/18+ content will be tagged as such, minors dni

when you read, please reblog and tell me your thoughts!

𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀:

just and just as: a series of loosely connected one shots in an au!jackson feat.:

come care about me: a quiet evening at your house in Jackson with the man you call home | implied but unspecified age gap, domesticity, jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip [2.2k]

part two to the above: watching you with wonder: joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff [5.4k]

sort of part three to the above: steel drum weight of me: joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni | joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k you have me, you have me only: joel miller x fem!reader | you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k

time you will not spend alone: romance at the end of the world is this: flowers, lazy nights in bed after long days, and savoring every moment | or, joel makes you something. | 18+ mdni jackson!joel au, fem!reader, fluff, maybe a bit cheesy but idgaf [5.7k] all of it still matters: you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy. | jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway. [2.4k]

a kind of hunger: you really need to stop sleeping with that guy from the bar before you like him too much. (it might be too late). 18+, mdni, multichapter, ongoing

the meaning of it all: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. | jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love. [13.6k]

day after tomorrow: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him, modern no outbreak au, fluff galore [2.7k]

counting the days: part ii to day after tomorrow. you and joel at the airport. together, this time. [2.2k]

it's your turn for choosing: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. [5.6k]

to close up all the rest: a patrol rattles you. joel keels you grounded. [3.2k]

𝗮𝘀𝗸𝘀:

ask: joel doesn't get why you won't wear your damn gloves. fluff, jackson au [0.8k]

GEN FICS:

living high until that fatal day: joel finds himself stuck in a time loop of that day in salt lake city.| joel miller & ellie williams gen fic [7.5k]

#navigation #joel miller x reader

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tinycozycomfort · 1 year ago

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rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week.

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all.

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room.

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess.

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special.

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest.

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps.

Was he that easy to pick apart?

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf.

But you’d chosen to show him.

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful.

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint.

It was you.

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality.

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting.

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you.

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched.

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave.

His back hurts when he stands.

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded.

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap.

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant.

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach.

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track.

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged.

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing.

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery.

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup.

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.”

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.”

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection.

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.”

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday.

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural.

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing.

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.”

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.”

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.”

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time.

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed.

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood.

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow.

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition.

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation.

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why.

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body.

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers.

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation.

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome.

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut.

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them.

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger.

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to.

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists.

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal.

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered.

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?”

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right?

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit.

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind.

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity.

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips.

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape.

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you.

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time.

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass.

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness.

He picks up within two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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