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patrickispinky · 2 months ago

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Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Pt.4

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022. Long Flash Back. Rehab. Mention of Overdose. Blood. Hearing Voices. Disassociation. Vomit. Dead Body. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

3k words

Pt.3

The ticking of the clock and the tapping of your knee was all you could hear as you waited for the nurses to arrive. It was a small empty waiting room, the smell of disinfectant filled your senses. It felt familiar, almost like you belonged here. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in a room like this, same reason, different intentions.

A young nurse with a bright smile walked into the room, it was forced, you could tell by the bags under her eyes she was just as exhausted as you were. I mean who could blame her? Working all night, hearing the same stories just in different fonts, smelling coffee breath from all her colleagues, sounds like hell. “Okay, so I'm gonna have to take a picture of you for our records then I'm gonna get you situated in a room. How does that sound?” She talked all bubbly but there was an edge hidden beneath it.

“Perfect” You didn’t bother trying to make your voice sound happy to match her fake energy. Your hands were in the pockets of your burgundy hoodie, the strings already took out. You sifted back and forth, swinging your elbows nervously. It was 5 in the morning, the EMT’s had to come from the district you were being placed in so it took them 4 hours to get there then 4 hours to transfer you. You sat in that hospital bed for 4 days just to end up in another hospital, except this one was worse, you had to actually talk to people and pretend like it was making you better.

“Great, I just need you to stand still for me.” You didn’t protest, you made sure you were standing right in front of her as she lifted her camera and clicked the button on the top. There was a flash that burned your eyes slightly but you kept a straight face, just wanting to curl up in a bed, even if it wasn't your own. The smile on her face didn’t falter as she let the camera rest by the strap hanging on the back of her neck. “This is just gonna be used to identify you, mainly so we can keep track of your medicine.” What she really meant was that it was so you couldn’t lie about your name at the medicine counter and get someone else's.

“So you gonna pat me down or something?” The memory of that little 12 year old you used to be getting stripped down to her underwear as a lady with a thick African accent counted the cuts that adored her arms and thighs with a judgmental look makes you want to curl in on yourself.

“I am gonna have to have you strip down to your underwear, I’ll try to make it quick. I know it's not exactly fun.” That stupid fucking bright smile still present, but something lies underneath it, almost like sympathy.

“Great” The frustration was evident in your voice. The woman's smile grows more apologetic as she turners to close the door to the small waiting room.

“I'm just gonna have you slide off your hoodie, shirt, and pants. I’ll just need to search the pockets and see if you have any cuts or bruises.” You don’t wait for further instructions, wanting to get it over with,you unzip your hoodie, placing it in the chair you were sitting in before the nurse walked in. Next was your black cropped t-shirt, you repeated the same process before sliding off your black plain slides, leaving your exposed mismatched socks to be seen fully. While you were sliding your blue nickelodeon pajama pants she reached over, checking the pockets of your discarded hoodie. You put your pants with the rest of your clothes once she was finished checking your hoodie.

“The pants don’t have pockets.” You gave her an awkward smile, arms crossed over your chest attempting to cover your exposed cleavage, your breast only being covered by a gray sports bra.

“I'm gonna take your word for it.” She was looking at your eyes, clearly trying to make you feel more comfortable. “Do you have any cuts or bruises that you’re aware of?”

“Just scars.” All the damage you used to put on yourself became internal over the years.

“Okay, I’m just gonna need you to pull your bra and shake it.” You let out a sigh but didn’t protest, your arms unfolding and grabbing the bottom of your bra, giving it a shake before letting it go with a snap. She gave another apologetic smile, sympathy dripping from her. “Alright, you can get dressed then I'll take you to your room.” You gave her a nod before you grabbed your clothes, slipping them back on. Once your hoodie was zipped back up you crossed your arms over your chest once again. Thinking it would somehow make the exposure you felt moments ago disappear.

“So, um, when am I gonna get my stuff back?” When you first walked in they took the bag your dad had brought to the hospital when he found out they were sending you away, claiming they needed to make sure there was nothing dangerous in it.

“You should get them back by tomorrow morning, if not then you'll have them by lunch.” She spoke as she opened the door, walking out with you following behind her. There was nothing special, just a hallway, then you reached an entertainment room with a front desk. “We do vitals at 4 but you missed them so we're just gonna go off of what the hospital in SplitRiver gave us. We do them twice a day, one at 4 and then one at 12 right after lunch.” She began walking you down a hallway. “This is where all the girls sleep, we do two to a room so you already have a roommate.” She stopped in front of a room, the door fully opened. It was dark but you could see two beds, the one on the far end, next to the window, already being occupied. “This is gonna be your room. There is a bathroom and a shelving unit for you to put all your stuff. Your bed should already be made and ready for you.” The smile still on her face but faded, possibly from exhaustion, the same exhaustion you felt. “We’ll wake you up in a few hours for breakfast then you’ll go about your day with the rest of the girls. The morning shift should take it from there but I think it's about time you get some sleep.”

“That sounds great.” You couldn't force yourself to smile, your brain fuzzy and numb. Every noise around you being silenced by the ringing in your ears. You couldn't tell if it was from the remaining withdrawal or the fact that you haven't slept in days. The sound of the woman standing beside you's voice drew you back into reality.

“You all set?” That fucking smile started to feel taunting. Why the fuck was she still smiling?

“Yup.” You didn’t want to walk into your new room for the next- well you didn’t know how long yet, but the idea of walking into it felt like signing yourself off, surrendering to your fate.

“Perfect” Yeah you're definitely not imagining it, her smile seems less friendly now. She gestured with her hands for you to walk into your room, but she didn’t understand, she got to go home at the end of the day to her own bed in her own home. You’re stuck, and that STUPID FUCKING SMILE IS STILL THERE! God how could she not see that she's expecting you to walk into your own prison cell, what a selfish bitc- “Are you okay?” That anger must have been present on your face based on the look she was giving you.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” But you weren't, you weren't fine. You were put in a place of impending safety with no escape. A place with fake smiles and exhausted faces, a place where you had to force yourself to be fine. But you couldn’t tell her that so you just stepped into your room, knowing that now you were just another number, that your free trial was over and you’re just another patient to deal with. She gave you one last polite smile, probably to comfort you, but it didn’t work, if anything it made you want to scream till your vocal cords snapped and your throat filled with blood.

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes but you choked them down, not wanting to break just yet. Walking to your bed, ignoring the sleeping girl in the other one, you touched the thin blanket that laid on top of the mattress. Though you weren't sure you could call it a mattress, more like a yoga mat, regardless you climbed into bed, pulling the blanket on top of you as you laid your head on your pillow that had a weird plastic material protecting the soft cushioning that was hidden inside it. You let your eyes drift closed knowing no sleep would come, despite being exhausted your brain was still too wired to sleep. So you just laid there, imagining you were at home, playing Rocket League with your brother while he chewed pizza way too loudly. The closest thing to a happy place your brain could muster up.

(“1 fish, 2 fish, this flashbacks been too long bitch” - My Brother, 2024)

It felt like a million tiny needles were stabbing you in the lungs. Your surroundings are blurred and there's a heavy pounding in your head that makes you want to rip your brain out and throw it against a wall. You couldn’t make out where you were, your senses being fried as a state of confusion took over.

“What the fuck?” Your voice was groggy and broken from being waterboarded. The wateriness in your eyes began to clear as you sat up, wincing as a pain shot through your whole body. The room looked familiar, no not just familiar you’d been here before. The same worn down walls, cracking ceiling, and water damaged floor. The same place you took your last breath 4 days ago, or at least you think it was 4. The days had already blurred together.

It looked the same as it did when Charley had guided you out, telling you about how the rest of your existence is gonna be spent on the school grounds. The only difference was that there was now a smell, a disgusting rotting smell. It wasn’t too strong but definitely noticeable and you knew it could only be one thing. No one had found your body yet, the last bit of you that clung to the living world was stuck, slowly rotting right next to you.

You debated looking over, not needing to see what you looked like with all the life sucked away from you again, the image was already burned into the back of your brain. The memory of it made your stomach turn, vial pooling but you knew it wouldn’t come up. You spent 30 minutes dry heaving the first time you saw yourself, still warm, vomit and blood covering your chin, only it wasn't yours, it was the lifeless body’s you once belonged to.

You didn’t want to stay there any longer so you tried to stand up, eyes averted from the sickening sight but as you tried to stand your body went limp, another pain shooting through you. You felt almost like you were in shock, something you were used to by now after several near death experiences and well… dying.

Nothing really felt real. Your therapist used to call it disassociation, something you’d do when a situation was too stressful. It felt like the right word to describe this. You weren't in your body, literally and figuratively. Like you were watching your movements from above, desperate not to look at what lies beside you, a reminder of where you were, what you’d become, and worst of all a reminder that no one knew you were gone. They just let you rot, but could you blame them? I mean look at you, a fucking mess. You can't even stand up. Just get up, GET THE FUCK UP!

That's when the tears fell, sucking you back into reality with a dreadful pit in your stomach. Why were you crying so much? You never cry. Why can’t you just be stronger? Be the girl you used to be, before death, before drugs, the girl who stayed up late comforting her dad when he was drunk and confused, the girl who convinced herself she could win in a fight against a bear, the girl who prided herself on being the bullies bully. You needed that girl right now, but she had died a long time ago, long before the girl you became had. So all there was left to do was cry. Cry and sit in self pity for allowing yourself to become this, for not being stronger, for not being someone that young girl would be proud of. Why the fuck did you do this to yourself? And why the fuck are you just sitting there? Get up and do something.

What could you do? You were alone, something you used to love but this was different. You were never really alone, there was always someone you could run to when it became too much. Now it was just you, you were the only person who knew where it all started, why you’re the way you are, alone. The familiar stabbing pain comes back, your organs feel like they are gonna rip out of your body as you bleed out, leaving another body with the one you had already abandoned.

Get up, get up you have no reason to cry. You did this to yourself, get the fuck up you selfish bitch. “I'M TRYING!” Oh god it felt good, it felt good to scream and cry. To silence the voices with your own noise, why should they be the only ones that get a say? It’s your brain that they constantly control and the only bit of sanity that you had already slipped away with your life. So why weren’t you allowed to cry?

That's when you heard footsteps and giggling. Your dazed state not being able to process the sight of people, alive people. Sadly they weren't able to process the sight in front of them either, and that's when it happened, two high pitched girlish screams that fully snapped you out of it. They’d found you, the cold, lifeless, smelly version of you.

It all felt too real, like you were being saved. Though you knew that wasn't true, you were still trapped but some part of you could finally escape this hell hole even if that meant leaving the only conscious bit of you behind. Closer I guess you could call it, finally knowing that someone knew you were gone. In some selfish way you wanted to be missed, see if anything changed now that they knew, they knew you weren't coming back.

The girls stood there, shocked, staring at the horror. Part of you felt bad for them, they didn’t deserve this, but it was better than someone you know having to find you. That guilt alone would have haunted you for the rest of your existence. You wanted to reach out, tell them you were okay even though you weren't, but you couldn't, so you were forced to watch as these innocent girls ran out the door. You got up, chasing after them, ignoring the remaining pain in your limbs. One of the girls, she had short blond hair, doubled over, was vomiting onto the pavement as the other one, with curly brown hair, dry heaved.

The sight alone made you want to do the same but you knew it would do no good. You had learned that seeing a dead body in fucked up movies you spent way to much time on and seeing a dead body in person were two different things. No movement, no breathing, just cold dead eyes that stare into your soul, daring you to look straight into them.

You could hear the sound of frantic footsteps drawing close, probably someone who had heard the girls scream. You look over to see a boy with short brown hair and big brown tired but panicked eyes. He looked familiar, and maybe a year younger than you. He ran to the blond girl, concern filling his eyes.

“Maddie, are you okay?” Maddie? So that was the blonde girl's name. She looked up at him, whipping puke off her chin as the other girl looks over.

“Go get Mr.Mandela.” Her voice sounded harsh and scared.

“What? Why? What's going on?” Poor boy was lost and concerned. There was a slight look of disgust on his face as he took an inhale of breath. “And what's that smell?”

“Don’t worry about it, just go.” The brown haired girl spoke up.

“Okay, okay, fine.” You watched as the boy ran off, you knew what was gonna happen next and didn’t want to be around to witness it. Reluctantly you left the two girls, thought it didn’t feel right. You wanted to apologize, their minds forever scarred by you. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, it’s you. This is your fault.

You walked to the school, even if you didn’t really know anybody being around people would help you keep whatever bit of consciousness you had left in you. You directly avoided going near the principal's office, knowing that's where the boy would be, frantically trying to explain what was going on even though he had no idea what the girls actually saw. Hopefully he never would.

The halls were filled, most likely kids heading to the first class of the day. Ducking and weaving through kids, making it your life mission to never know what happens when you come in direct contact with the living, you walked to the gym. It's the only place you could think of. You weren't exactly an expert on where the dead hang out. You pushed the door open and heard the sound of sneakers squeaking, only it didn’t sound like a group of people, just one. Just your luck, it's the boy you blew off.

(evil cliffhanger with wally making his 2 second appearance)

Pt.5

#wally clark #school spirits #fanfiction #wally clark x reader #milo manheim #wally clark fanfiction #zed necrodopolis #wally clark smut #x reader #milo mannheim #charley school spirits #rhonda botezatu #rhonda school spirits #sex drugs etc

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househeritageposts · 10 months ago

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I did try the medicine drug

only stupid people try the medicine drug, you are stupid

#ask #more mouse bites!!!

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dr-gregory-house · 5 months ago

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House we need to cure this patient.

Did you try the medicine drug?

I did try the medicine drug.

Only stupid people try the medicine drug, you are stupid.

I tried the stupid drug.

You are a black man.

This vexes me.

I have blood dripping from my nose that is dripping.

That’s bad.

Also I was bitten by mice due to my poor hygiene.

You need hygiene drug, also I have not spoken in a while.

No, hygiene drug will kill the patient. He needs mouse bites to live.

I forbid this.

Don’t care.

MORE MOUSE BITES!!!!!!

*mice noises*

I feel better. No more nose blood. Thank you doctor.

I am very smart.

I too am in this episode.

why were you spying on me and my employees and how did you memorize exactly what was said

#gregory house #hate crimes md #house md #james wilson #malpractice md #house #house md roleplay #house tells you to fuck off

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baneonono · 3 months ago

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watch house for the first time with me

we’re in season three, episodes 6-11 this time. get ready for me to be very mad about this house gets arrested plot because I. Hate. It. you’ll see my thoughts in great detail

Me at the start of every episode when the credits go by: “RSLLLLLLLL”

I need House to lay out this cop. Dudes who are exactly the same as house has this problem with house. House doesn’t have problems with yall because at least he’s self aware to know that yall are the same.

I’m sick of this house is getting arrested plot. I know he’s not going to jail. We just started a new season, house is not going to jail. This is the stupid rich CEO all over again. Yall are obnoxious. You’re not gonna mess with house significantly and I hate seeing house trying to appease jerks.

This case is stupid, this cop is stupid, this court case is stupid.

Where’s that meme of that person saying “I have never done anything wrong in my life” and then the other person going “I know this and I love you” because that’s me and house. House will tell me he’s never done anything wrong while being actively addicted to drugs and charges pressed against him and I will never blame him for anything

The cop going to Wilson is possibly the dumbest things he’s done because the only person more manipulative and obsessed with house than house is Wilson.

Frankly I hope this cop continues to try to go at Wilson and Wilson just out manipulates him on houses behalf because that would be adorable

GET THIS COP OUT OF MY HOSPITAL. LEAVE CAMERON ALONE. DO NOT MESS WITH CHASE. FOREMAN HATES COPS. LEAVE MY HOSPITAL ALONE STUPID COP GUY

Wilson takes a day off to go on a road trip with house and vegetative state guy

LEAVE MY BABY BOY CHASE ALONE

Wilson making vegetative state guy a sandwich😭😭😭😭😭😭

GET THIS STUPID HOUSE FOIL OF A COP AWAY FROM FOREMAN “everybody lies” GIRL YOU ARE A HOUSE FOIL AND YOU DONT EVEN KNOW AND YOURE BEING ANNOYING AND LACK ALL SELF AWARENESS AND WHY ARE YALL THIS WAY I HATE THIS DUDE. HE THINKS HES SO POWERFUL.

That house backstory😭😭😭😭

I actually really like vegetative state guy

“Maybe I don’t wanna push this until it breaks” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭House😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 house I know you’re an unstoppable force but Wilson is an immovable object and I’m afraid he has decided to be around you my guy

Houses relationship with his dad😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Wilson creates an alibi for him and house. Oh my dearly beloved crime committing husbands

I need this cop in the ground

Taking Wilson’s car is insane

Suspending Wilson’s prescribing is insane. There’s cancer patients who need medicine and you’re revoking an oncologists prescribing rights. Get this guy out. Put him in the ground. Someone deal with this dude

He finally went to Cuddy for a prescription

House. House. Wilson needs you.

THIS COP IS SO STUPID. THE THINGS THAT HE COMPLAINS ABOUT HOUSE DOING ARE THE SAME ONES HES DOING AND I DONT KNOW HOW HE DOESNT RECOGNIZE IT. YOU IDIOT, YOU ARE GOING TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF SO MANY PATIENTS BECAUSE YOURE SCARING DOCTORS INTO NOT WORKING. AND WHEN CUDDY WONT BEND THE KNEE TO YOUR STUPIDITY JUST LIKE SHE DOESNT FOR HOUSE THAT BLOOD IS GOING TO BE ON YOUR HANDS AND I HOPE THAT GUILT PUTS A BULLET IN YOUR HEAD.

THIS DUDE IS LITERALLY GONNA SHUT DOWN THIS ENTIRE HOSPITAL SO HE CAN GET TO HOUSE. MY DUDE THIS IS A HOSPITAL. IT SAVES LIVES. YOU ARE GOING TO KILL PEOPLE. GET THIS PLOT AWAY FROM ME

Cuddy, my darling, you don’t know this kid, you haven’t spent any time with her, of course you don’t know how to talk to her, when you have your own kids, you will have been there every step of the way, and you might not know what to do at every step, you probably won’t, but you will be amazing as a mother, do not let house get to you

Wait…… are they actually taking off her arm and leg…… because that’s insane. House. House you’re gonna realize something.

DID CHASE DO THE REALIZATION THIS TIME. THATS MY BABY BOY. LOOK AT MY BOY GO. HE GOT PUNCHED BUT HES RIGHT

A WILSON AND CHASE CONVERSATION IM WINNING SO HARD RIGHT NOW TWO OF MY THREE TOP CHARACTERS IN THIS SHOW.

I am nervous I am nervous I am nervous WILSON WHAT ARE YOU DOING

IF I PUNCH THIS COP AND GO TO JAIL ON HOUSES BEHALF I THINK I COULD LIVE WITH THAT. WILSON I DONT KNOW WHY YOU DID THAT. I MEAN I GUESS IT TRACKS BECAUSE YOU GIVE INTO HOUSE ALL THE TIME SO WHY NOT THIS DUDE BUT WILSON. I WILL HURT THIS COP. I WILL IF IT MEANS YALL GET OFF HOUSES BACK. IF IT MEANS HE STOPS ACTED LIKE A KICKED PUPPY TO THIS DUDE

Wilson, my dear, my lovely, let’s talk to Cuddy next time, okay love?

I love when Chase is good with patients

Baby cutting yourself is not the answer okay.

House, I adore you, please get back to Vicodin, this new pain med is awful, please please please go back to whatever it was before. Before was better

I’m gonna hate this scene. I’m really gonna hate it. I hate this cop. I hate that house is going to him. YEP I HATE THIS I BETTER NOT EVER SEE THIS DUDE EVER AGAIN. THIS BETTER BE THE LAST EPISODE HES IN. IF I SEE THIS CHARACTER AGAIN I WILL STOP WATCHING. IM SO NOT KIDDING. HE BETTER BE PUT IN HIS PLACE SO HARD THE NEXT I HAVE TO SEE HIS STUPID FACE. LIKE MAYBE HES THE ONE WHO SHOULD GO TO JAIL. PUNCH HIM HOUSE. HIT HIM. PUT HIM IN THE GROUND I DO NOT CARE. I NEED THIS PLOT WRAPPED UP RIGHT NOW. HOUSE IS GONNA KILL HIMSELF TO GET OUT OF THIS. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT. WOULD THAT BE A SATISFYING ENDING TO YOU MY COP IDIOT? NO IT WONT BE BECAUSE YOU WANT TO EXERT POWER OVER HOUSE AND HE WOULD BE TAKING THAT AWAY FROM YOU. *INCOHERENT SCREAMING* I HATE THIS PLOT

Cuddy really wants house to go give this cop what he wants. Girl- this is a hypocrite cop that was willing to destroy your hospital just to get his petty little way back at a very productive employee of yours. This dude destroyed Wilson’s life for petty little payback. You can’t appease this dude. Stop trying to appease him.

I WANT TO THROW UP WHENEVER I SEE HOUSE TALKING TO THIS DUDE. HES NOT GONNA DO ANYTHING. THIS DUDE IS AWFUL WHAT DID I TELL YOU. HOUSE IS DOING ALL THESE THINGS FOR NO REASON AND I NEED YALL TO SEE THIS.

“I don’t care what you say, I care what you do” no he doesn’t. He wants control over house. Stop giving him what he wants.

Chase best triplet appreciate time. I love my smart man

Back to our regularly scheduled hating on this plot. See I think the fact that house doesn’t do what this cop and the first season ceo do to him is a sign that he is really a better person than them. Because they both attacked Wilson and everyone they could get to in order to get to house. House doesn’t go about ruining peoples lives to get back at them. He moves on like a big boy while they play middle school mind games and ruin peoples lives. The bottom line is that house saves lives and without house lives don’t get saved. He’s not pleasant about it but that’s not the important thing here. He even tried the appease the evil dude route. You. Can’t. Keep. Letting. This. Dude. Do. Whatever. He. Wants. If I don’t see sometime attack this dude this episode I will be going into the show and doing it myself.

“House was right” why you say that like you’re shocked.

House is absolutely not a coward, sincerely how dare you Wilson.

OH HOUSE YELLING AT HIM THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED. PAUSING SO IM READY TO HEAR HOUSE CLOCKING THIS DUDE SO HARD. IM SO READY

Don’t let that dude walk out with the last word like he deserved that. House. Tell him “we’re not so different you and I, the only difference is you’re addicted to power and you ruin lives, whereas I save lives and am addicted to pain medication for my PAIN”

HOUSE APOLOGIZING TO WILSON WAS SO CUTE GUYS I ACTUALLY CRIED. FIRST HAPPY SCENE

Cameron hugging house-

WAIT IS THAT TRUE DID CUDDY SWITCH THE PILLS. DID HOUSE GET PLACEBOS. WAIT THAT COULD MAKE SENSE. BECAUSE HE WAS TAKING SO MANY OF THOSE. I need to calm down. She’s probably lying. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. Cuddy if this is real I will never say a bad word against you ever.

THE JUDGE COMES THROUGH. ILL TAKE IT. FAIR ENOUGH.

YOU DO NOT NEED TO LISTEN TO HIM. HE SUCKS. HE SUCKS SO BAD. HE DOES NOT HOPE. I HATE HIM. HES GROSS HE WANTED TO DESTROY A HOSPITAL FOR A PETTY RIVALRY. HE SUCKS SO BAD. DONT TALK TO HIM.

Soooooo Cuddy did lie. Cool. That’s honestly maybe even better. I’m gonna need to recharge after this episode and just readjust to actually liking house plots because man I have hated everything for these past few episodes.

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #medical malpractice md #alison cameron #dr cuddy #robert chase

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justagalwhowrites · 2 years ago

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Hi again Bestie!

This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!

aaa thank you so much for responding!!

OMG HI BESTIE!

Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!

(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)

Loathe/Lust

You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.4k

Spring, 2013

At the end of the world, there were very few constants.

One, you were fucking tired of jerky.

Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing.

Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller.

Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts.

Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky.

And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life.

Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit.

If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone.

But you were.

And you hated him for it.

And he knew that you hated him for it.

Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it.

“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.”

He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…”

“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him.

“I ain’t wrong.”

“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.”

He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out.

“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?”

“Big,” Joel said wryly.

You glared at him.

“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…”

“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…”

“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.”

You paused for a second, looking at him.

“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead.

You pulled on gloves.

“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?”

You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes.

“Anything you want me to tell people if…”

“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.”

You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive?

“Right.”

You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?”

“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.”

“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move.

There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved.

“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.”

He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed.

“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked.

You looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Every now and then.”

“He doin’ OK?”

“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.”

He shrugged.

“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.”

“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.”

“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.”

You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze.

“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.”

It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle.

“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.”

“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up.

“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.”

He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle.

“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips.

“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.”

He smirked.

“Whatever you say, Brat.”

You woke up early but Joel was already gone.

You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked.

“Just you.”

He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

“What…”

“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?”

He shrugged.

“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.”

“You really don’t…”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.”

He left while you were still staring at the book.

It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years.

This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door.

He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one.

“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies.

“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.”

“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly.

“Think so,” he called after you.

You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally.

He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller.

“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves.

“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…”

He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes.

“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it.

“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?”

“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!”

He was quiet and you went back to stitching.

“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment.

“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time.

“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…”

“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be.

“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.”

“Intervened?”

Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers.

“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…”

“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair.

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.”

“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.”

“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…”

You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time.

“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…”

“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…”

“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.”

You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller.

“Good to know.”

He was gone by morning.

The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”

“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him.

“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.”

Joel fucking Miller.

What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller?

It was two months before you saw him again.

This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked.

“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.”

“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?”

He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again.

“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.”

“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked.

“Every goddamn day.”

You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate.

“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?”

He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared.

You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face.

“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!”

You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim.

One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one.

“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic.

One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine.

Not this time.

You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there.

You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you.

Instead, it was Joel.

“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy.

He rolled his eyes.

“Move, Brat.”

You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning.

“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw.

“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…”

You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide.

“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.”

He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin.

“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.”

You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh.

“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.”

“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke.

“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.”

“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him.

“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.”

“You and me both.”

It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup.

“What?” He frowned.

“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite.

Joel laughed.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.”

“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.”

You considered him for a moment. He frowned.

“What.”

“Why’d you do it?”

His frown deepened.

“Do what?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…”

“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer.

You scoffed.

“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.”

“How do you know I hate you.”

“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore.

“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little.

“You call me brat…”

“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.”

“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…”

“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.”

“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him.

“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?”

“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!”

You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel.

“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…”

You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone.

After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck.

“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?”

He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand.

“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.”

“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much.

He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission.

You gave it.

You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs.

Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you.

“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words.

“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…”

“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.

“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…”

“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt.

“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.”

He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body.

“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…”

He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate.

“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…”

You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did.

“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?”

“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…”

“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.”

He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…”

He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them.

“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…”

You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release.

“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.”

Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core.

“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back.

“Want me to what?” He asked.

“Beg for it.”

He smiled a little.

“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.”

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer.

“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him.

He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too.

“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.”

“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…”

“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.”

You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow.

With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst.

“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…”

“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…”

He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you.

He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you.

“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…”

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine.

“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice.

“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest.

He laughed.

“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.”

You smirked.

“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?”

“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.”

“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.”

You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too.

He laughed a little.

“Night, Brat.”

His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.

#joel miller x female reader #fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfiction #enemies to lovers

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Same as it ever was 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I am not doing well with the time change lol

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wallow in the jagged fragments of reality, skipping through the cracks into delirium. The pain is dull but tolerable as you languish on the couch, forgetting now and again where you are, even your own existence. Figures pass by you and vaguely familiar voices waft in the air.

“See ya, sweetheart,” Hansen's face comes clear through the haze as he leans over you and taps your thigh, “don't have too much fun without me.”

He struts away, fading back into the obscurity of your prescription laced coma. The relief is more than physical, it feels nice just to stop thinking. No kids, no scummy husband, no skeevy boss. It's just you and the sofa.

Your lashes flick as you sense another shadow. You can make out your name but nothing else. The world shifts painfully around you as a grunt cuts through your brain. Your eyes open as Pete lays you sideways on the bed.

“Honey, you okay?” He asks uneasily as he peers down at you. He leans over to touch your forehead, “hey, I'm gonna get you changed, alright?”

You garble and stay as you are. You could just fall asleep right then and there. He sighs and you sense him pacing along the foot of the bed.

He returns to you, undressing you clumsily. Each time he jars you, you whine and he apologises. You barely register each sorry as he strips away your armour.

As he unhooks your bra, you wave him off. You cover your chest, clinging to the pilly satin blend. He touches your wrist gently.

“Hey, I got a shirt,” he waves a length of fabric over you, “come on, honey.”

You pout as he pulls your arms apart and slips your bra off. You close your eyes, the mortification the only feeling to break through the medicine’s blur. He helps you sit up and unfolds the tee shirt, opening the head hole only to pause it just in front of you.

You feel him staring.

“Babe,” he rasps, “you know I still love you, don't you? It was stupid mistake–”

You groan as a surge breaks through the muddy waters of your mind. You snatch the shirt from him and hiss, your back spasming. You ignore the vicious twinge and throw the shirt over your head.

“Babe, please, let me prove it to you.”

You scoff and shove his shoulder, “look what you did,” you snap, “you did this. You hurt me.”

“I didn't mean– I was trying to make it up to you–”

“I told you to stop,” you lay back with a whimper, “but you never fucking listen.”

Your eyes roll back and you heave a shaky breath.

“Honey,” he squeezes your shoulder, “please, just give me another chance.”

“Leave me alone,” you sneer as you hide beneath your eyelids, “I got enough pain as it is.”

🗄️

You plummet into a shroudlike sleep. Your head is foggy and swimming as you body detaches from your mind. You are nothing in the ether of your subconscious.

The depths of your drugged coma recede slowly, like crumbs falling away from a scone. Little by little, the tension coils in your muscles and the ache becomes less dull. It isn't until the thrumming becomes an agonizing pounding that you escape your medicated stupor.

Your eyes snap open as a tickle along your thigh sends tendrils through you, knotting between your hips as you whimper. God, you hurt so bad. You need more of your pills.

Your discomfort is made little better by the stiff bend of your legs. At first, you don't understand why you're splayed like that, knees at an angle, hips wide open. The cool sensation along your folds has you gasping as you throw your hand down to ward off your assailant.

You lift your head shakily and stare at your husband bent between your legs. If you hadn't already uncovered his sliminess, you'd be in disbelief. You're only dazed by the dregs of your prolonged slumber and the intensity of your tortured tailbone. You push on his head, his hair slightly greasy as it dangles down to tickle your pelvis.

"What..." you eke out, "are you... do--"

You drop down and wrack with pain as he prods along your folds. Your tailbone is on fire. He continues he violation as you squirm and whine helplessly. You're nearly blinded in agony.

"St-st-stop," you stammer between shallow breaths.

"I told you, baby," he purrs as he pokes his fingers past your entrance, "I can show you how much you mean--"

"It hurts--" you babble, "Pete, please, you're hurting me---"

He hushes you and bites into the tender flesh along your thigh as he dips his fingers into the knuckles. Your eyes well up as your muscles draw tighter and tighter. You want him to stop but you can't fight your own weakness.

"Stop," you snivel as your head lolls back and forth, "stop, please..."

"Baby, you're wet," he snarls and laps at your folds, "you were wet..." he breaths humidly against you, "before I even touched you."

"N-n-nooooo," you mewl and close your eyes.

This isn't happening. You said stop, you said no, but he's not listening to you. When does he ever? But that's about the chores and schedules and responsibilities.

"P-p--" you puff out.

"Shhhh," he purrs, "gonna wake the kids..."

His tongue delves along your cunt again and he rams his fingers in deeper. Your tears spill down your temples as you clutch rumpled duvet to one side of you. You can't believe this is happening. And you can't believe after the months you spent pleading for you to touch you that it feels so rotten. He doesn't want you, not really, he just doesn't want to lose what you do for him.

You close your eyes, trying to forget what's happening, trying not to feel but it's too goddamn painful. Flashes glimmer in your mind. Another man, another touch. Lloyd's silty slither taunting your mind. You're back on the couch and he's crowding you, touching you, but it's not the same. You can't find that peak. The final release.

Pete slips his fingers out of you, growling as he lifts himself over you. You sense his shadow and the bed jostles you, drawing several squeaks from your wrought lips. He bends over you, his breath scalding you as his body heat roils across your skin. He rubs his tip against your folds and sighs.

"You came," he snarls, "I felt it."

You don't even have the strength to argue. You can't feel anything but repulsion for him. You're not even close to orgasm. You're only delirious because of the ringing at the base of your spine.

He angles himself along your cunt and holds his breath as he leans his weight into you. He forces himself inside, jolting you as he loses all patience. Your cheeks are a flood of horror and helplessness. Your legs fall flat as he begins to thrust, short, harried bursts that have him panting into the crook of your neck. He growls and grits out your name as he ruts.

It doesn't last long. You don't even have time to wish it's over. He's done. He collapses on you and your voice fizzles to a weak rasp. Ow.

"Figure we could get some of that tension out," he nuzzles your neck.

"Get. Off," you gnash through your teeth.

"Huh?" He gurgles and raises his head to gape down at you, "honey--"

"Why--" you gulp back your disbelief and push on his shoulders, "get off!"

"Woah, woah, the kids are sleeping--"

"Yeah, so you do that," you sneer as you slap him, your hand only weakly glancing off his cheek, "get off of me."

"I was only tryna make it up to you," he whines as he slides out of you and sits back on his heels, "come on. What do I have to do to get through to you--"

"Owwwww," you sit up with as much strength as you can must, nearly sobbing from the agony, "stay away from me."

You push yourself off the bed and crumple to your knees. The shirt clings around your middle as you quake, putting your hands flat to the floor as you crawl across it. The bed lurches as Pete bounces off behind you.

"Here, let me help--"

"You touch me again and I am going to lose it," you snap, your breath laboured around your threat.

"I..." his protest shrivels up. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck off," you reach to pull open the door, ready to break down as you think of the trek ahead of you. Two floor down to the cot in the basement.

You hear him harrumph and can picture the pout on his lips. You hate him. You hate him so much that you don't even feel bad about what Hansen's going to make you do. You might even like it.

🗄️

You only make it down to the couch. You manage to drag yourself onto the cushions and get under the throw blankets. You think of snagging some more pills but think better of it. It'll be up to you to get the day started, as always.

You don't sleep. You just lay in the aftermath of what happened. Of what Pete did. It churns your stomach so violently it makes you hurt even more.

It's over. That's what really keeps you awake. Your marriage is done. It's not just his doing, it's yours. You need to cut the fat and yet you feel guilty at just the thought.

You wake up at your usual time. You swallow a single pill with a cup of bitter coffee. You pause as you look at the label of the amber bottle.

‘Take one pill every six to eight hours.’

You think back to the two tablets in Hansen's palm. You should've known better. You do. You just can't think straight through the pain.

You climb the stairs one at a time and hobble down to the kids’ rooms. You get Simone up first and she helps you with Malik.

“Mom, you look tired,” she says as she takes a sleepy Malik by the hand and tugs him away from his bed. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little,” you answer evasively, “come on.”

You usher the kids downstairs, gripping the railing for life. As you come to the bottom, your legs wobble. You can’t hide the moment of weakness from Simone as she turns to watch you.

“Mom, please, sit down,” she begs, I’ll make cereal for Maiik and get him ready.”

“Sweetie–”

“Where’s dad?” She interrupts, “he should be doing this?”

You blink. You think of telling her to go find him but given the last time you saw him, you’re too nervous to do that. You wouldn’t want her to find him in a certain condition.

“He’s getting ready for work,” you sigh, “I got some time off for my back, I can handle the morning.”

“You won’t get better if you don’t stop–”

“Simone, I get it, okay? But I’m your mother, it’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around,” you say firmly, “you can get Malik his cereal and you get yourself some too, okay? You two can catch the bus with Erica today.”

She frowns but accepts your order. It’s a compromise. You know you can’t drive. Just the thought of getting in the car makes you want to vomit.

You grab the inflatable cushion and add a few breaths to it before setting it on the couch. You lower yourself with a grunt and shift, your comfort dangling just beyond grasp. The problem is you can’t stop fucking tensing up.

You lean your head back and blow out a breath. You listen to the soft clink of two bowls and the fridge, the pouring of hard cereal into porcelain. It’s not that bad. You’ll get up to help them brush their teeth and brush their hair and all that.

“Come on, Malik, you have to eat at the table.”

“I’m sleepyyyyy,” he grumbles as you hear him stomp across the tile.

“So am I, be quiet,” Simone snaps and the bowls clink down. “Sit down and eat.”

You rub your forehead, yawning as you commiserate quietly with Malik’s struggle. A dash of colour flits by and before you can call after her, Simone is rushing up the stairs. Dammit. You can’t keep up. You’re old and fat and hurt and useless. Explains a lot.

You cringe as your ears tweak, listening above for the commotion.

“Dad, get up! You have to come down and help mom,” Simone’s voice is loud as she nearly hollers at your husband.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbles as footsteps come muffled through the ceiling.

The stairs creak as they descend. Pete wears a pair of boxers and a grey tank. You look away, mortified.

“I can’t get Malik dressed by myself and I don’t know how to make coffee,” Simone says.

“Right,” he utters as he lingers by the kitchen door.

Simone goes back to the table and you hear her spoon hit the bowl as the chair legs scrape on the floor. Pete stares at you as you ignore him for the wall. He huffs before passing into the kitchen. You hate this. You hate feeling so futile.

You flinch as a knock hammers on the front door. You whine as a pang strikes up your spine. Pete comes back in, a coffee filter in hand. He clammers across the room into the entryway and the lock loudly grinds back.

“Oh, hey, uh, Lloyd?”

“Sup, Petey Pie,” Hansen’s voice chirps back, “hope you like Dunkins. They got a cinnamon roll ice coffee I thought the missus would love. Got you a tall black and the kids some donuts.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to do that.”

You hate these men and how fake they are. More so, how pestilent they are. Two sides of a sleazy ass coin. Counterfeit at best.

“Figure you could use the help,” Hansen continues, “get the kids out the door. Oh, I also called my specialist. Can get her in for scans at noon, make sure nothing’s totally broken.”

“That’s great,” Pete croaks, “uh, come in, I guess.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hansen sings.

#same as it ever was #lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #pain hustler #the gray man #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au

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