#upright microscopes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

savorypink · 5 months ago

Text

king and queen seat

you, alex, and some papers.

contains smut. + tbhc!au.

"What do you think?"

It's breathtaking. You marvel at your home planet's brilliance as you gaze from the large office window. The vast darkness of outer space leaves you hollow, but tonight, it aids in the mesmerising showcase before you. The orb is luminous in the dead, black sky, adorned with deep ocean blues and swirling clouds of white.

Patches of earthy greens and browns emerge, though not in great detail. You can almost pinpoint each continent. Watching from your seat, you feel microscopic, too puny and weak to handle it all.

As Alex settles beside you, the couch cushion sinks under his weight. Only when his large, icy hand envelopes your clammy palm are you thinking: Who in the hell puts a casino up here? You scramble through the file cabinet of your brain to muster something—anything worthwhile to say — but when your mouth opens, nothing emits. Alex adores it.

"Any adjective will do." He says, his warm lips brushing your knuckles in a gentle kiss. Your heart goes into overdrive, unsure if it's from Alex's touch or from realising how silly you must look.

"Wow." Your voice is but a whisper, but awe blankets every letter.

"Not an adjective." He sets your limp hand on your lap before returning to his desk. "I'll accept it, though."

Your gaze fixates on him as he rolls the sleeves of his button-down, hauling you deeper into a lovesick trance. Under the warm ceiling lights, the gold band on his finger flashes in the light as he does so, causing you to fidget with your own. A certain feeling crawls up your spine, mirroring the same puny insignificance you felt observing the Earth. Your man belongs here; you don't.

In the past, he might have shown initial protest, and leaving you on Earth certainly didn't help ease his guilt. However, you never doubted his ability to run this place. No one else had the capacity for care and detail as Alex did. From the green nylon carpeting to the flashing neon lights of the casino below, he had everything and then some.

Was it too ambitious? It'd be dumb to say otherwise. However, you can only see one man behind the desk running it all. And he wants you in the passenger seat? You should be happy, yet you wish for the couch cushions to swallow you whole.

You startle when a stack of documents slams onto the desk and again when you hear the thud of the desk drawer closing. From the drawer, Alex retrieves a pen adorned with a cute rubber charm of an astronaut at the top. A pair of readers also emerges from the drawer, which he perches on the tip of his Romanesque nose. Yes, he's your husband, but you're here solely on business. What's with the teenage swooning?

In silence, you watch as he reviews the documents. He's already pre-signed them, and the dotted lines await your signature, but you know how thorough he likes to be. The pen looks like a plaything in his giant fist. The veins in his wrist pulse as he clicks the pen, obnoxiously echoing off the office walls. For a moment, you're convinced the clicking is in perfect synch with your frantic heart despite the inattention of the action.

When the clicking ceases, your heart does, too, only to start again once he brings the clicker between his teeth, his lips brushing the astronaut charm. You're realising how uncomfortable your pencil skirt and button-up are as you sweat like a sinner doused in holy water. Are you seriously jealous of a pen?

"Baby." The air loses its stillness when his velvety voice fills the silence, causing you to sit upright. "What are you thinking about?"

Where do you begin? This co-manager role is a lot of responsibility, and I'm terrified. Do I want to do this? Why do you look so sexy when reading stuff? We should kiss. Cute pen, by the way. None of these thoughts leave your mind. Instead, the sour tang of word vomit tumbles out.

"You look good in that chair." It comes out more gravelly than you wish, and Alex notices it. The smirk adorning his handsome features says more than enough.

"Our chair now." He leans further into the velour chair, playfully twisting until he gets up. "Unless you don't want it. I know my girl likes to decorate." He slides the papers in your direction, placing the pen beside them.

"She does. It's very...you."

The office could be mistaken as a set for Mad Men. The scent of the mahogany walls and a newly vacuumed carpet float through the air. Though you're worried your sweat may have soiled it, the orange couch under you is intact, comfortable and plush, with no signs of sinking. You also notice this in the two spare chairs, the same burnt orange colour as the couch. Men in suits should be scaling the walls to be here. Yet, the office feels uninhabited; the only lingering animal prowling is Alex.

It is muted and lonely. It feels just like space. It feels like Alex.

"Eh," he shrugs. "It could use some plants. Gonna need your name on these papers, little lady."

Temporarily, you don't rise from your seat. Your nervous system isn't sending the neurons to your legs. You're realising this isn't some fawn-in-headlights moment. You're aware of your surroundings and what you're here to do. Yet, the painful churning of your guts and the weight of this—what you're sacrificing your life on Earth for—is weighing twice as heavy. These aren't first-day jitters. This is a warning.

Ultimately, your legs take you to the desk, but you're shouting at your body to stop shaking. It's only you, Alex, and some papers. It's almost like your wedding day.

You can pick up the pen without spasm, and Alex smiles when you do. Before your eyes meet the papers, you spot your wedding photo in a brown frame on the desk. The picture shows signs of wear and tear, with some fraying around the edges. The imperfections stem from the photo being in his wallet for years, but the flaws increase its charm. From the sepia colouring to you and Alex's stiff posture, the picture looks antique and fragile, your poses complementing the retro feel. Regardless, you hold your bouquet of dried peonies and foliage, beaming ear to ear with Alex behind you. You recall his offer to decorate, and while there are some things you'd like to rearrange, that photo isn't one of them. Your poses? You would change in a heartbeat.

To kill time, you skim the papers as slowly as you can. Alex simplified all the legal jargon for you beforehand, but you feel like a child picking up their first book. The most straightforward words look like gibberish, and your head is reeling as it attempts to comprehend everything. Your skull feels as if two large hands are squeezing your temples, the pain throbbing even harder when you reach the dotted line awaiting your name.

With your mind muddled and the room doing 360s, you don't even register Alex has moved behind you, his lips ghosting over your ringing ear.

"Is everything alright?"

His hushed whisper is soothing, grounding even. You can feel the carpet under your heels again. The dotted line is no longer a blur, and your head is no longer doing pirouettes. The air stirs again, and the burning in your lungs drops a few temperatures. You can breathe once more.

"Yes," you say. You click the pen and scribble your name. Although it looks like chicken scratch, Alex is familiar enough with your penmanship to deem it acceptable. He knows how you write when in a hurry, not when you're trying to make him happy.

Alex's arms firmly close around you, squeezing air out of you with mere strength. Elated isn't a strong enough word to define his happiness. It overflows in the scattered kisses he plants all over your reddening face, and you can feel him even trying to pick you up for a moment. You bask in the affection as if you hadn't signed your life away moments ago. You even giggle as his beard tickles and scratches your face.

The tenderness spilling from him is the only thing that feels normal. It's almost possible to forget you're here, on a floating rock in the middle of celestial nowhere. But the gleaming Earth outside the office window will always remind you of your sealed fate.

You're stuck here.

His lips meeting your mouth don't evoke the same enthusiasm from you. Hesitantly, you kiss back, imitating the lip movements of a kid kissed on the playground. Your nerves go unnoticed by your husband, likely mistaking your hesitance for teasing. His hands are still frigid, unyielding in temperature despite caressing your burning face. As the kiss deepens, you allow your previous doubts to dissipate, though Alex's tongue has done it for you. His grasp on your skull is tight, headache-inducing, but your relief is in his restlessness.

You can't blame him for wanting to tear you apart, his tongue roaming your mouth as if you were a lifeline. You've been gone for too long. Saying that he missed you would only scratch the surface. When he pulls away, both of you are breathless, your lungs clinging to the surrounding air.

"We should celebrate."

A lopsided grin adorns his features, making you want to kiss him all over again. Before Alex heads over to the bar cart near his desk, he leans in to give you one more peck on the lips. The bar is complete with coffee, teas and cookies you sent to him from home. The only alcohol is a small champagne bottle, which he returns to the desk. After pulling a corkscrew from the drawer, Alex releases the cork with a loud pop. The sound makes your heart misstep, but you can't contain your giggles, as it all happens in a rather lacklustre fashion: no foam, no clapping, no cheering. It's a surprise party thrown for the wrong person.

Alex hands you a paper cup filled halfway with champagne. As you take the cup, your hesitation mirrors the one in your kiss. You gaze at the cup, watching the bubbles ascend and burst. When he's back in front of you, you keep your eyes on the cup. You don't waver, even as you feel his eyes boring into you.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks. "And be honest this time."

The revelation doesn't shock you. It's somewhat reassuring that he caught up on your lie. The part where you have to tell him is what tugs at your heartstrings. Your eyes remain on the cup as if your answer is in the bubbles. Telling him should be a cakewalk; say how you feel. It's not like you're trying to reverse a major decision or anything!

You let your eyes leave the cup, meeting Alex's concerned expression; you're looking at a kicked, beat puppy, and the sight is nauseating. Perching on the desk, you sigh, watching your trembling legs sway beneath you.

"I know you can do this. And you do it well," you state. "I'm just not sure if I can do it. At all."

The light against your feet goes dark as Alex's shadow eclipses your form. For a moment, you're freezing as his shadow looms over you. You're fighting with your body to stop shivering, the weight of his shadow heavy and biting; it's almost unnerving. Soon enough, you find warmth as Alex's hand cups your cheek. The tenderness washes over you like a tidal wave; it's what you've yearned for this whole time. This should feel like something other than a business meeting. This is you and your husband.

"I don't need you to be perfect," he begins. "I need you to be here."

You swallow a lump large enough to make you choke, fixing your unsteady eyes on his warm gaze. "Is that enough?"

"More than enough. We've always been a team. Now, we're a team on the moon."

You chuckle, leaning your head into his calloused palm. "In a casino. On the moon."

"Right. Treat like we're at home. You cook, I do the dishes. I wash, you fold. It's all 50/50." He leans in and lowers your head, planting a tender kiss on your scalp. "You'll never do it alone. I promise. You can say your husband loves you to the moon if it's any consolation. And it'll be true."

A boulder is gone from your shoulders. It's like you're breathing for the first time, feeling the knot in your chest finally come undone. Your doubts will continue to linger; that won't change. The bittersweet aftertaste lies in the comfort of Alex being there to remove those hurdles for you. And he'll continue to do it—always—just as he promised you.

Sighing, you rest your head against his chest, focusing on the steady beat of his heart. "One hell of a celebration, huh?" You snort, looking at your cup. "We didn't even make a toast."

Alex withdraws from you, lifting the paper cup halfway. "What shall we toast to?"

"I dunno." You shrug, mirroring his movements albeit meekly. "Teamwork?"

With a small smile, he taps his cup against yours. "To teamwork."

Before taking a sip, Alex raises the cup once more. "And to Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino's First Lady."

First Lady, it's difficult for the title not to make you smile. As you sip your champagne, a comforting chill travels down your spine at the fizziness. You glide your tongue along your lips to catch the hints of melon, an action that feels like a blissful eternity in Alex's mind. His sharp eyes wander from your champagne-coated lips down to the tan pencil skirt you wore to match his tan trousers.

With ease, the stretchy fabric lifts and sculpts the curve of your butt, accentuating your hips and supple thighs. The skirt's ability to cling to you is equally alluring and irritating, moulding your body into perfect form and embracing you better than he could. It's not fair; it should be him instead.

Alex downs the last of his champagne in a swift swig, pivoting his aching lower half away from you. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you clam up again, your eyes vacant and your hands pleading to shake. Your stress is infectious in the worst way possible, suffocating the office with unbearable weight, making his heart fall into his stomach.

Alex clears his throat before speaking, likely masking the shakiness threatening to slip out. "Can I do anything to make you more...comfortable?" He asks. "As far as your new position's concerned, I mean."

"Kiss me again."

You say it without delay. It's the most confidence you've had today. Alex quickly grants your wish, almost tripping over his feet to kiss you again. This kiss holds more ferocity than the one before. It's painful when your lips meet, the alcohol burning, teeth colliding. Your tongues are lacking in grace, twisting and fumbling over each other, rough and greedy. When you moan, he calls back to you with ten times the intensity, his groans deep, almost primal.

Both of you are equally breathless, like the first kiss, panting as you two separate. With your foreheads against each other, you realise nothing needs to be said between you. Besides a question from Alex, you two are pure telepathy. But sometimes, Alex likes to hear it from your mouth.

"What do you want to do?"

Through your quivering lip, you utter the command. "Sit."

The desk beneath you rumbles as Alex drops to his knees. He wastes no time from there, his hands mirroring the same insatiable hunger as his tongue. To your dismay but with delight, his impatient hands form tears and holes in your stockings. Your gooseflesh expands as your bare skin becomes exposed, your body tingling when his hands graze you, sending delightful shockwaves to your core.

Alex's eyes lock with yours, holding a gaze that swirls your heart and head. The fabric of your skirt wrinkles as his hold on the hem tightens; he's beyond eager to please you. He's a chess piece awaiting your skilful hand—a jester desperate for the royal's approval.

You give a simple nod, and to Alex, you've moved the piece that will lead you to victory. He hikes your skirt up to your stomach, releasing a swarm of butterflies with his movements. Alex tears through the remaining material of your stockings to access your drenched panties, his breathing ragged and hot against your flush skin. He yanks the flimsy fabric to the side and glides his fingers along your leaking entrance. The touch may be minimal, but the impact is immense; you clutch the edge of the desk tightly, unable to hold back a moan as his fingers glide into you.

"Deeper," you command. Alex's fingers delve even further into your core. His knuckles flex as your walls shut around the digits, his teeth clenched in a tight hiss. Your thigh quakes when you feel it, the frigid metal of his wedding band sliding past your warm walls. It's as deep as he can get, but your ache refuses to subside. Using your hips, you buck to motion for Alex to take the wheel or do anything. Your walls morph into quicksand around his fingers, rendering them immobile as his fingertips strike the area of your rioting ache.

His eyes, devoid of focus, shift back and forth between your quivering, moaning form and the fingers plunged within you. Your arousal dribbles clear and hot on the mahogany desk, and it's pretty—fuck, it drives him mad, but solely for the time being. He's thankful you can't hear the annoyed 'tch' he lets out.

Below your stomach, the heat is scorching as his fingers work you further, poking and prodding your bits as your vision turns cloudy white. A tender kiss on your knee jerks your head downward, and your eyes meet your husband's once more. There's a glimmer in both of your gazes, ample in heart-stopping warmth; it's unshakable, too loud to ignore. The sight of you is ghastly, sweat clinging to your body like a second skin, and your makeup melting off your face. You're aware of it all, but it doesn't matter to Alex, and it never will. He'll look at you all the same; he'll hang you in the Louvre while holding the same gaze that put a ring on your finger. You'll always be perfect in his eyes.

The sounds bouncing against the office walls assault your ears, echoing your moans and those wet, squelching noises. Alex is inaudible through it all, but you can decipher his words by studying the curves of his lips.

"Close?" Alex asks.

Your body betrays you before you can answer, moaning instead of a simple "yes", yet you're able to nod your head. His fingers curl as they thump against your core once more, the bricks you've stacked steadily beginning to crumble. Alex is saying something else, and you are pretty familiar with it. You recognise the curving of his lips. He utters the words–your favourite words.

"I love you."

You don't say it back. Instead, you allow yourself to come undone on his fingers, your walls collapsing around the digits as you cry out to him. Your vision is a lovely cloudy white when you spasm. Through your haze, you forget entirely about the remaining liquid in your cup, accidentally pouring it on the documents that still lack your signature.

As the clouds roll out, you can hear Alex cooing you back to reality as he utters sweet nothings against your skin, rubbing away the never-ending gooseflesh. He slides his fingers out of you with fragility, as if you'll crack again at the slightest touch.

You will.

Alex stands up with a sigh, observing the mess formed on the desk. The champagne seeps into the documents, causing the ink to bleed and smear your signatures. When you look like this, it's hard to let his anger rear its horrid head. He knows better than to ruin your bliss, to rip you out of your cosy headspace, but he's your boss now. His words are merely a slap on the wrist.

"First Lady, you've ruined my desk."

You gulp as you try to regain your breath, your chest burning hot as you pant. "Our desk."

#mickey is typing…#alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x you #yay :D it’s here :DD

111 notes · View notes

onefleshonepod · 4 months ago

Text

ID: A digital collage of "The Empress” tarot card as Commander Wake from the Locked Tomb series. The card shows a framed daguerrotype portrait of Wake at a wayside stone shrine reminiscent of a shrine to the Virgin Mary, with offerings of candles, syringes, microscope slides, and a diver’s bell. Wake is a Māori woman with moko wearing a hei-tiki, crowned with the twelve-star crown of the Virgin Mary. Above the shrine is an image of a baby floating on water, from Taranga by Robyn Kahukiwa, a contemporary Māori artist and scholar. In the background is an abstract swirl of teal, red, orange, and black. Wake’s image is from a photograph in the collection of Te Papa of an unknown Māori woman from the 1870s. The left side of the card shows the upright meaning of The Empress and reads, “Motherhood | The Natural World | Sensuality | Pregnancy | New Opportunity | Nurturing | Abundance” in all caps. The right side of the card shows the reversed reading and reads “Unwanted Pregnancy | Stagnation | Financial Issues | Negligence | Smothering | Lack of Growth” in all caps. The base of the card reads "The Empress | Wake” in a retro 1970s-style font. Before “Wake” is her full name in smaller text: Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity.”

I think Wake, if she were a real person, would resent being used as an image of motherhood — an experience she hated and found so traumatic that her memories infected and destroyed Harrow’s River bubble in Harrow the Ninth. However, as a literary symbol of the Virgin Mary, narrative foil of The Emperor, and mother of the main character, I thought she was a fitting choice for the Empress. She embodies the meanings of the card in many ways:

As the commander of Blood of Eden, the group fighting the necromantic empire, Wake is symbolic of life and the natural world. As someone whose impulses in love led to affairs with not one but two enemy leaders, she symbolizes sensuality as well. Her story fits perfectly with the reversed meanings of this card, especially unwanted pregnancy and stagnation as a revenant in Gideon’s sword.

For the design of this card, I was inspired by the framed portraits of Wake we see in the Blood of Eden shuttle in Harrow the Ninth and in the Troia Cell meeting in Nona the Ninth. I imagined that Blood of Eden might have a tradition of leaving offerings at wayside shrines similar to the outdoor shrines to Mary and other saints seen in Catholic countries around the world.

We know that the Nine Houses only have early, labour-intensive forms of photography and print-making, so I chose to use a very old photograph for Wake. She is wearing the twelve-star crown of the Virgin Mary, just like the twelve-star crown of the Empress in the Rider-Waite-Smith card. The top of the card, showing Gideon as a baby, brings in the water and nature imagery from the RWS card.

#commander wake #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #tlt fanart #tlt #ours #tarot

142 notes · View notes

raz-writes-the-thing · 11 months ago

Text

Paying Attention (Six of Crows One-Shot)

Kaz Brekker x GN!Reader / requests are OPEN

Summary: You're a little clueless, but the Crows are trying their best to get you to see the light.

SAB/SOC: @the-sweet-psycho (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“You-” Jesper said, sitting down at the card table, crossing one leg over the other and running a gambling chip down his knuckles in an impressive display of his dexterity. “Are clueless.”

You practically choked on your margarita, eyeing him up and down and yanking the chip from his fingers before he had a chance to pull it from your reach. He cocked a brow at you in quiet respect and you clicked your tongue.

“Really? How so?” You deposited the chip onto your stack and shot Jesper an award-winning smile. He grunted, not at all impressed.

“The boss man,” he said, picking up his cards to check his hand, “and his very obvious feelings for you, of course.”

You checked your own hand, playing with the stack of chips. You risked a glance at the upstairs balcony area and who do you see? Kaz, of course. He’s leaning down at the tables below with that calculating glower that sends you mad with desire.

Jesper follows your gaze and has to stop himself from snorting. Kaz’s eyes flick over the tables and finally settle on you. The unexpected eye contact sends a shiver down your spine and a flush up your cheeks. Kaz arches one brow at you, expression otherwise not changing. You know him well enough by now to know that that eyebrow raise means ‘are you okay?’

You flash him a microscopic nod, which he returns before standing upright again and wandering off in the direction of his office. You know what that means- Inej is here somewhere keeping an eye on things. That leaves him to retire to his office and peer over ledgers and jobs for another several hours.

“Hello,” a velvet voice says over your shoulder as the body that came with it slid into a chair beside you with such grace it couldn’t have been anyone else other than-

“Inej,” you greeted warmly, placing your cards down for the round. “Kaz have you keeping an eye on things at the Club tonight?”

She’s barely moving, but you know she’s on high alert, watching and waiting for any sign of trouble. She hummed her confirmation.

“Yes, he’s concerned the Dime Lions are getting a little too bold with their territory. Kaz wants to make sure they don’t cause any trouble for the Pigeons.”

“Pigeons,” you reply, watching as Jesper finally makes his move. “Not language I hear you speak in very often.”

Inej lets out a sigh, allowing herself to break vigilance for just long enough to rub her forehead.

“No, but you stay in the Barrel long enough, you get used to the local speech patterns.”

That made sense to you, yes. It was easy enough to slip into the language of the Barrel. Particularly when you spent time in the Crow club and the dodgier parts of town.

“Inej,” Jesper piped up, that signature look on his face that told you he was about to stir shit up. “You know Kaz better than most- tell me, do you think he has a crush on our dear friend here?”

You spluttered, slapping Jes on the shoulder playfully in disbelief. You were about to defend your fearless leader once again when you turned to look at Inej. She was usually so good at keeping things to herself, but one look at her expression and you knew she thought the same as Jesper.

“Oh, no- not you too,” you protested. “You don’t seriously-”

“Oh, yes,” she said, eyeing a patron by the bar who was starting to look like getting in a fight might not be such a bad idea after all. “Completely smitten.”

You scoffed once again, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“We’re not joking,” Jesper said, placing his hat on his knee.

Your laugh died off and you frowned thoughtfully. It would be nice if he did have a little crush on you, given how he made you feel, but you weren’t at all convinced.

“Well then,” you said. “Guess I better start paying more attention and see for myself.”

339 notes · View notes

pedrointofolklore · 1 year ago

Text

Long story short

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: weeks had passed since your steamy kiss with joel, and you wanted more. sequel to this is me trying.

warnings: smut 18+ mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, joel miller has a big dick, emotional sex, brief mention of sex as currency (as part of reader’s backstory), allusions to depression and suicidal ideation, lots of fluff with a bit of angst, enemies to lovers (they’re in their lover era), extremely soft joel, joel is so disastrously in love, self-loathing due to a guilty conscience, lots of swearing, age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, ellie era (ellie is only mentioned)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: hey y’all. so part one did way better than i ever expected. thank you to everyone who has supported it. if you haven’t read it i highly recommend you do before reading this. if you have read it: enjoy part two! the title is once again a taylor swift song.

It had been weeks since you kissed Joel.

Neither of you acknowledged it. After the shitstorm that was Kansas City, your focus was making it to Wyoming on foot. Addressing one kiss wasn’t high on the list of priorities.

But you still thought about it. A lot. And it seemed like Joel did too.

Joel Miller wasn’t nice as a rule, but he was good to you. He confided in you, asked for your input, and did what he could to make you feel like your presence was important. Whether or not it was actually important, you just appreciated that he was trying.

And you were trying too. You were doing your best to be present, focus on the positives, and take a breath before sprinting headfirst into danger. Just as Tess would have done.

You couldn’t have predicted that Ellie would end up inspiring you. There was something about her that reminded you of yourself (which was ultimately cause for concern), but she was different in the ways that mattered most. She was funny and resilient and excited about things, even in this vile world she was living in.

You wanted to be more like her.

There was an abandoned, isolated cabin somewhere between Kansas City and Kearney—you weren’t sure exactly where at this point. It was a corroded, rotting structure, with shattered windows and wooden panels threatening to collapse, but it was better than sleeping outside in the middle of nowhere.

There were two beds and a couch inside. Ellie passed out almost immediately after calling dibs on the bed upstairs. The poor girl was exhausted. Meanwhile, Joel laid down on the couch and shut his eyes, pretending to go to sleep. This was clearly an act; he wasn't going to sleep, he was going to keep watch.

You hadn’t slept in a bed since the QZ, and though this bed was old and musty and probably infested with microscopic bed bugs, it somehow felt like the most comfortable thing in the world. This was the first time in so long it didn’t feel like you were in a rush. You could just exist and let your mind wander.

Letting your mind wander was something you typically avoided, but instead of your thoughts leading you down a trail of despondency, they led you to Joel. You pictured him sitting upright on the couch, scanning the area through fractured windows, clutching a shotgun and trying to stay awake. You wondered what he was thinking about.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

That was what he’d said to you. It was such a new feeling; wanting Joel, wanting anything. You thought about the kiss again, and a warm, tingly sensation spread throughout your entire body like ink seeping into wet paper.

It was later, and you still wanted it.

Joel was awake.

This wasn’t new. Joel hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in 20 years, but it had gotten worse lately.

He’d failed everyone in Kansas City, but most of all Ellie. It left him in a constant state of unease, just waiting for something else to go wrong. Even sleeping stressed him out now.

Then, there was you.

As everything around him gradually fell into shambles, it felt like he needed you more everyday. You were good and clever and really the only person in the world who made Joel feel like he could do this, and that terrified him. You were trying so hard, but he still had this paralysing fear of losing you.

Joel hadn’t forgotten what happened, and he hadn’t forgotten what he said.

If you still want it later, you can have it.

He wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was referring to. Was it that he’d fuck you if you asked? He would, but he didn't think that was really what he meant.

He also wasn’t sure if you wanted it. Maybe the kiss had been just a random moment of weakness for you. Maybe you woke up the next morning and realised that Joel was the last person in the world you could ever want. The thought gnawed at him; infected him like some faceless monstrosity with razor-sharp teeth.

But if by some chance you wanted it—wanted him—he would give you everything he had. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and certainly not your admiration, but you deserved to get whatever you wanted out of him. He would let you come to him, and he would do anything you asked if it meant keeping you here.

The sound of your door clicking open jerked Joel from his anxious ruminating. His eyes followed you as you sauntered over to the couch and plonked yourself down next to him, crossing your legs with an air of forced nonchalance.

“What are you doing up?” Joel asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “You’re also up.”

“Just keepin’ watch.”

“We’re indoors in the middle of nowhere, Joel,” you replied. “I think you can sleep for a bit.”

Joel didn’t say anything. He couldn’t get into this with you. He didn’t want to ruin the newfound trust you had in him by letting you know what a mess he was.

“Unless there’s something else keeping you up,” you spoke in a nervous whisper, like you were testing the waters to see if Joel would actually entertain this conversation.

Of course he would. There were things Joel didn’t want to talk about—anything that had ever happened to him, for example—but the only thing stronger than his propensity to never let anyone in was the urge he had to never deny you.

“Just been worried about you, I guess.”

Your mouth formed a constrained smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes. “We talked about this. I’m fine now, Joel.”

“One talk can’t solve everything.” Or one kiss, for that matter.

“I’m not asking you to solve anything,” you replied, your tone becoming heightened. “Worry about the important things, like Ellie and finding your brother and—"

“You are important.”

He felt a rush of anger, but not at you. Never at you. He was angry at himself. Of course you felt unimportant when he’d spent so long making you feel that way. It wasn’t fair that he got to wake up one day and decide to stop being an asshole while you still had to live with the consequences of his assholery.

You sat there not saying anything, and Joel was certain that you were about to walk away from this conversation. The irony wasn’t lost on him; for two people who hated heartfelt discussions, you couldn’t seem to stop finding yourselves in the middle of them.

“Joel…” Your voice came out breathy and desperate. It was completely unexpected. He couldn’t describe the feeling of hearing you say his name like that. All he knew was that he wanted to fall to his knees at your feet.

“What do you need?” Joel asked. He hoped that he already knew the answer.

“I need you.”

He let out a shaky exhale—relieved and nervous all at once. “You have me, sweetheart. You know that."

Being naked on a grotty mattress with a fully-clothed man above you should have been horrifically vulnerable, but you couldn’t muster up any uncertainty with Joel. All you felt was an excited kind of anticipation.

You never expected Joel to be so affectionate, but he held you like you were something worth caring for. He took his time, kissing you slow and undressing you bit by bit until you were bare for him. You felt the same heated intensity you had that night in the woods, but without the crushing sense of urgency.

Your breath hitched when Joel trailed kisses from your chest down past your navel. He stopped at the lowest part of your belly, looking up at you with lustful, imploring eyes. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Please…” You already sounded embarrassingly wrecked.

Your body jolted when Joel dragged a finger through your soaked slit, gathering up the obscene amount of wetness that was dripping out of you and spreading it over your aching clit.

Then, without a word, he pushed himself up and off the bed. You looked at him in dismay, about to berate him for teasing, but your voice caught in your throat when he crouched down at the end of the bed and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you forward until your ass was lined up with the edge of the mattress, and your legs were thrown over his shoulders.

The sound that escaped you when Joel sucked your clit into his mouth was borderline feral. You didn’t know you were capable of making a noise like that—something between a pathetic gasp and a wanton moan.

“Oh f—Joel! Feels so good. What the fuck.” You were breathless and shaking and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Ssh, sweetheart,” Joel hushed. You clenched around nothing when his warm breath hit your drenched core. “Need you to be quiet. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He didn’t even wait for you to try and compose yourself before devouring you again. He had a lot of audacity to think he could tell you to be quiet as he tongue-fucked you senseless. And then, like he was trying to get you to scream, he prodded a finger at your entrance and slipped it inside.

“That feel good?” Joel asked, curling his finger as he pumped it into you.

You whined and pulled his hair harder. He let out a low groan and continued flicking his tongue over your clit, and it dawned on you that he wasn’t just doing this to make you feel good—he was doing it because he liked it.

He added another finger, and this time you did scream, but not before clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. It was too much now. His mouth and fingers were unrelenting, as if worshipping your cunt was his only purpose on this earth.

“Joel—F-fuck—I think I’m gonna come.”

“You can come, baby. I got you.”

Those three words were all you needed. You came hard, sobbing and writhing and crushing Joel’s head between your thighs as you tried to clamp them shut. He could not have given less of a fuck—he continued his onslaught between your legs until you were twitching with overstimulation and pulling him off by his hair.

You threw an arm over your eyes, trying to catch your breath and recover from that earth-shattering orgasm. You heard the faint clink of a belt, followed by the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor. You opened your eyes when the mattress dipped, revealing a very naked Joel Miller.

This took you by surprise more than anything else. You never thought that Joel would take his clothes off for you, and you wouldn’t have asked him to—he’d done it of his own volition. He wanted to bare himself to you like you had to him.

Plus, he was hot. You would have been attracted to him no matter what, but he was so undeniably sexy. His arms looked like they were carved from marble. He was broad and strong, but still had a wonderfully human softness about him. And his cock. Your mouth salivated at the sight. It was thick and long and beautiful. You wanted to drag your tongue along the vein that ran down his shaft and taste the leaking precum at the tip.

“You done starin’?” Joel asked, blushing at the way you were blatantly ogling him.

You giggled and climbed into his lap, your knees settling on either side of his hips. “Stop being so pretty if you don’t want me to stare.”

Joel let out a genuine, light-hearted laugh—something you’d only witnessed him do a handful of times. You wanted to bottle the sound and keep it forever. “I’m pretty, am I?”

“So pretty.” You leaned forward and kissed him, painfully aware of his hard cock pressed against your inner thigh.

You reached down and wrapped a hand around his length, teasing the slit with your thumb and spreading the dribbling fluid. You pumped him a few times, noticing the way his belly tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’re so good, sweetheart," he spoke with a low, sultry tone, "but I really need to fuck you now.”

Joel had you pinned under him in a second, hiking your legs up around his hips while his cock bumped your entrance.

“Ready?” Joel asked.

You nodded eagerly and repeated what you told him earlier, “I need you.”

Joel lined the head of his cock up with your wet heat, stroking it through your folds and teasing your sensitive clit. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on your lips as he finally pushed into you.

The stretch stung even with how wet you were. You dug your nails into his back and tried not to wince, all while Joel planted comforting kisses around your face.

“It’ll feel good in a second, baby,” he whispered against your cheek. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you assured him. “Don’t stop.”

He paused when he was buried to the hilt, giving you a moment to adjust. You weren’t completely inexperienced, but the sheer size of Joel was a lot to take.

But it wasn't long before the sting started to morph into pleasure. You felt keyed up and desperate and so incredibly full. “You can move now.”

His hands settled on your thighs as he pulled his cock out and slowly pushed it back in. Your walls fluttered around him, spurring him on. He did it again, this time plunging it harder and faster.

You gasped at the feeling, gushing around his cock and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closer. He set a steady, delicious pace, pounding into you the way you hadn't even known you'd been craving.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Shit. So good. So fuckin' perfect.”

You moaned at his slurry of praise, angling your hips up so he reached even deeper. You ran a hand over his back and down to his plush ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Joel chuckled fondly and traced affectionate nibbles along your jaw.

It hit you all at once that you had never been this happy before. Having Joel in your arms, buried inside you, giving you everything he could was beyond euphoric. You didn't know if you would ever feel this good again.

And suddenly, he stopped. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Fuck. You were crying. “Nothing. Just don’t stop.”

“I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.” He made a move to pull out, but you panicked and tightened your legs around his waist to hold him there.

“It’s nothing bad. I just can’t believe this is happening,” you told him. Warm, pearly tears leaked from the corners of your eyes, but you smiled in spite of yourself. “It feels so good, and I’m just…really happy it's you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel cooed, kissing your tear-stained temples. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? So fuckin’ sweet. Gonna keep you forever, baby. Don’t worry.”

His mouth caught yours in a kiss that was both fervent and impossibly romantic. He tongue slipped past your lips, licking into your mouth with a tender intensity that had you mewling.

Joel resumed thrusting into you. His pace was slower, but his cock was hitting deeper. The warmth in your belly was quickly turning into a burning fire—a fire you wanted to keep on raging.

You were so close, and you knew Joel would never come before you did, but you were determined to hold out; to hold onto this rapturous intimacy as long as you could.

“It’s okay,” Joel said, as if he was reading your mind. “You’re okay.”

You couldn't stop it. Your walls tightened like a vice. You arched and trembled and clawed at Joel, muttering broken curses as he fucked you through your orgasm.

His hips faltered, his thrusts lost their rhythm, and you knew he was about to come. He probably needed to pull out. You probably needed to tell him to. But he just kept plunging his cock into you, and you kept letting him. His eyes were dark and pleading—he was begging you to let this happen.

You wanted him to do it. “Please, Joel.”

He growled a deep, rumbling ‘fuuuuck,' cock twitching and painting your walls with thick ropes of come.

He let out a contented sigh once he recovered and collapsed on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck while your fingers sifted through his damp hair.

This would be over soon. Before Joel could give in to his exhaustion and fall asleep on top of you, he would remember where he was: in a decaying cabin at the end of the world with two people who needed him. Soon enough, he would stand up, dress himself, and go back to keeping watch.

You wished you could have this with him all the time. You wished you could fall asleep with him, wake up with him, and spend your days together with some semblance of peace. You didn’t want much, but you wanted that.

“Was that your first time?”

The thought only occurred to Joel when everything was said and done and he was cleaning you up. It made sense—you were young when the outbreak happened, you’d been relatively alone until you met him and Tess, and he could tell by the way your body reacted to him that it wasn’t used to such an intrusion.

“No, but it felt like it,” you replied. “It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to.”

Joel’s heart plummeted into his stomach. His mouth went dry, his jaw clicked the way it did when he was enraged, and he felt just about ready to kill someone.

“Not like that, Joel,” you said quickly. “I agreed to it. It was...I didn’t have anything else to trade.”

Joel was destroyed, but it wasn’t even a shocking revelation. He didn’t judge you for it—he’d turned to a lot worse in the name of survival—it just made him feel sick that you were ever in that position. You deserved to be cherished and taken care of, not used and discarded.

“Do you still do that?” He almost wanted to ask if you’d ever done it for his or Tess’s benefit, but he feared the answer would crush him.

“No. Not for years,” you replied. “It wasn’t that bad, honestly. It was only a couple of times.”

That’s still bad.

Joel held you close, stroking your hair and kissing your lovely face. Maybe it was because you had told him all of that while you were both still naked, but he felt like he needed to remind you that he adored your body, as well as the soul it carried.

He also felt like he needed to apologise. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“What for?”

“Just…everything. I hate the way I treated you.”

“I already forgave you, Joel.”

Your words should have been a relief, but they felt like a hot knife piercing right into his chest. “Why?”

“You apologised, and you changed.”

“And that’s enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I hurt you. I made you feel like you shouldn’t be here.” His throat ached as he swallowed down the emotion rising in him. He didn't want to sound as devastated as he felt, because he knew you would comfort him if he did, and this wasn’t about him.

“You didn’t make me feel like that, Joel,” you spoke with gentle reassurance. “I felt that way for a long time. Before I met you.”

“Okay, but I didn’t help.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s over now. I don’t want to keep harping on it.”

“What do you want?” Joel asked. It was a heavy question, and one you hadn’t considered in so long—he knew that because he hadn’t either.

You snuggled into him, so cute and cosy it made him ache. “Just this. Can we have this?”

Truthfully, Joel was terrified, and he knew it wasn’t going to stop. He used to think that having you close like this would make it harder, but there was a strange sense of relief in having this with you. He didn’t have to worry from afar anymore. He could hold onto you, and look after you. He had you right there with him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

Joel laid with you until you fell asleep. He wanted to stay like that all night, sleeping with you curled up in his arms. He hoped that one day he would get to.

Right now, he needed to keep watch.

a/n: im so awkward about writing smut so if that came across while reading pls forgive me. im overall pretty happy with how this turned out. i might write some drabbles about this relationship down the road, but im leaving these two here for now. thanks for reading! p.s. in order to stay true to part one, im sick again posting this. (why do i keep getting sick??)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

369 notes · View notes

hsmleindia · 1 year ago

Text

Stereo Zoom Microscope -HSM-650

HSM-650 Stereo Zoom Microscope is binocular and trinocular upright microscope, These microscopes are accessible in numerous specifications as per the variegated demand of customers. The offered microscopes are developed using optimum quality material and sophisticated technology keeping in sync with standards of market. It can be used for observation studies in medical and health, farming and forestry, as well as public security departments, school and scientific research institutes, and is also used for inspection, assembling and repair of tiny spare parts in electronics and precision machine industries. stereo zoom microscope is an optical instrument designed for three-dimensional observation of objects at low to moderate magnifications. It's often used for tasks such as dissecting specimens, assembling small components, or examining surfaces. Unlike compound microscopes that are primarily used for high-magnification views of thin sections, a stereo zoom microscope provides a binocular view of the specimen with a sense of depth.

#manufacture #industrial equipment #manufacturer #metallurgical #metallographicequipments #metallurgicalmicroscopes #microscope #microscopes #zoom microscopes #stereo microscopes #stereo zoom microscopes #trinocular upright microscopes #binocular upright microscopes

1 note · View note

madelynraemunson · 1 year ago

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club Series)

this section’s pairing: bachelor!fwb!steve x fem!exotic dancer!fwb!hargrove!reader

𝐌��𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors SKIDDADDLE pls

Pillow Princess • deleted scene

Blissful mornings with Steve. Cooking with Shy Girl. Accidental tea with Eddie’s mug.

timeline: this takes place during the 2 week period where shy girl & eddie weren’t really speaking to each other

author’s note ✍🏼: i am so thankful for all your lovely messages about this fanfic, and all your messages about how you’ve all fallen for both steve and eddie. i also love how y’all have a little subculture of team steve & team eddie going (all while remaining respectful with the discourse) and you’re reasoning behind who shy girl is more better off being with.

that being said, i know a majority of you miss steve because eddie is being a little asshole towards us right now, so here is some steve loving as a late thanksgiving present and to celebrate 500+ notes on call me what you want (the main page)❤️‍🔥 -madelyn

NSFW — edging, biting if you look under a microscope, p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, sneaky shy girl and big boi steve; also aftercare and fluff but not really a disclaimer

word count: 1.5k words

♡

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Steve whispers into your ear as he slams his length into you. “Takin’ me so fucking nicely.”

You’ve learned to keep yourself as quiet as you possibly could whenever you’re over at Steve and Eddie’s. You know, ever since the last time gave you away.

This time you’re against Steve’s wall, taking him from behind in an upright doggy, simply because his headboard would’ve easily snitched on all your early morning festivities.

Steve is testing your limits this A.M., your aching core begging to at least let one little scream escape into the energy field that is his room. But you refuse, and Steve refuses, evident by him having you bite down on a rolled up shirt of his, and his threats to edge you if you dare to utter a noise.

And taking Steve while standing? While he pounds into you at that particular angle? It was an all access pass to complete bliss, a fast track ticket to heaven on earth. You do your best to not cum, because Steve would edge you too if you dared. It does require the utmost strength, though because the little nerves that surround your fucked-out cunt were constantly going off like a firework show.

Steve moves your hair out of your way as he thrusts, mindful to give you soft little kisses against the crook of your neck.

You let out a resigned whimper.

“Shhh,” Steve shushes you with a slight chuckle. “Eddie’s gonna hear.”

“L-let him,” you manage to utter through your pleasure. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Steve’s hands travel down to your hips, resting there briefly before going to spread your asscheeks apart, just so the conceited King can see firsthand the damage he’s causing your sore little pussy.

You moan into his shirt as you bite down harder.

“Are you getting close, baby?” Steve asks you, pummeling into you as he rubs your clit. “Is my pillow princess about to cum all over me?”

“Mm — mhm,” you manage. “You just feel so fucking good, Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he whispers as he nibbles your ear. “You can do it, baby. Just wait for me.”

You and Steve chase your orgasms together as the sun goes up.

Right in time for breakfast.

You make your way into Steve’s shower, getting the warm water started as he rolls off his condom and washes his hands. Showering with Steve is your favorite part of aftercare, mainly because he scratches the sweet part of your scalp thoroughly when he shampoos your hair. It’s not like you expected any less, Steve Harrington as far as you know, is an expert about hair.

“Sick trophies, by the way,” you compliment him as you two wash up together.

“Oh, thanks!” Steve grins. “I was kinda thinking of squaring those away to make room for other things. Definitely don’t wanna be that guy who peaked in high school, you know?”

“I don’t think you peaked in high school.”

“Thanks, but that doesn’t change my mind,” Steve shakes his head. “I mean, I woke up without an alarm back then, I was in great shape, and just seemed a lot more laid back.”

“But now you’re a working man,” you grin. “Who does his best, has a schedule so crammed it’d make any 10th grader cry, and sometimes oversleeps because he was up all night with a stripper he was foolish enough to take home.”

Steve laughs at your remark. “You’re worth the extra hour of sleep though, Hargrove.” He kisses you softly against your lips. “Don’t you worry.”

There is one thing you wouldn’t mind Steve getting rid of in his room, though. It was a picture of him and Nancy, at the Hawkins High homecoming dance during their junior year. But of course, you don’t directly say that to him.

Your need to make Steve some pancakes only grows stronger when you hop out of the shower. Tossing one of his oversized t-shirts over your head, you strut your way into the kitchen to gather all the ingredients for your Shy Girl Grand Slam. On days where you, Billy, and Max weren’t fighting, the Grand Slam was something all of you looked forward to in the morning.

You hum to yourself as you gather the ingredients: water flour, a couple eggs, some butter, milk, vanilla extract, berries, a bowl, a mixer, and a measuring cup.

Additionally, you decide to make yourself some tea as the pancakes cook. You help yourself to a packet of Steve’s favorite Earl Grey blend and then reach for a fun little Garfield mug in the corner of the center kitchen cabinet.

There seems to be no sign of Eddie this morning so you can be as obnoxious as you want in the kitchen. You didn’t want to face him, anyway. After the awkward ordeal in his van.

“I can’t get involved with a coworker… it’ll open up another can of worms.”

Your boss’s busy life continues beyond work. Eddie usually leaves Hellfire at 6:00 pm on the week days, and makes pit stops at the grocery store and a mobile home park called Forest Hills until 9:30. So, during this time, you and Steve get takeout, watch some shows, and mess around while he’s gone. By the time Eddie is home, the house is technically asleep.

But now it’s a new day and the whole house is awake. And it’s a 50/50 chance Eddie is still home and about to catch you in the kitchen again.

A loud, obnoxious yawn startles you in place.

“GOOOD MORNING, HAWKINS!” Eddie roars while he stretches, marching his way into the kitchen.

There it is.

Of course Steve is still getting ready in his room when Eddie makes his debut. This essentially volun-tells you to acknowledge him.

Eddie flashes a curious glance your way as he saunters in, trying to come up with something to say to you because, he too, knows that this is awkward.

“Good morning, Hargrove,” Eddie attempts with you.

“Hey,” you mumble without looking at him.

Five days since he told you he couldn’t mess around with a colleague. Six days since he was doing exactly that. How could anything be normal again?

And the fucked up part is that you think about him still. The way he wrapped his arms around you and how you two swayed so comfortably in place. The way he smiles against your skin when he says something to make you blush. And you dwell on your shared trauma — his mom passing, his abusive father, his piece of shit brothers. It’s like you’re from the same universe, but at the same time worlds apart.

And now you’re, aggressively, dipping your tea bag in and out of the hot water as you think about Steve’s face when you told him about Eddie. And wanting to include Eddie. Oh how broken Steve must’ve felt. The fact that he was still willing to be your friend with benefits knowing you’re also attracted to his roommate and best friend stuns you every time. But you suppose at least some pussy is better than none.

Eddie’s eyes trail down to the mug you’re holding. You can’t really read his expression, but judging by how long he fixes his gaze, you know it means something.

“Like your mug,” is all he says.

“It stood out to me,” you explain. “I thought it was the coolest one in the cabinet.”

“Mm.”

Eddie roams carefully around the kitchen, almost if he refuses to take up space around the same time you do. He settles for a banana, fiddling around with it as he eyes you intently.

“Are you coming in today?” Eddie questions you.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “If you need dancers.”

“Of course I do,” he gives a weak smile. “You ladies keep Hellfire afloat. I wouldn’t be here without you all.”

You finally look at him. Like really look at him. Eddie’s tired eyes light up at the connection. You really want to be mad at him, fall into his arms again, but you can’t. Nonetheless, you choose to stand your ground until he apologizes.

“Okay,” you nod. “I’ll come in.”

“Awesome,” Eddie attempts a smile.

“Awesome,” you give him a tight smile back.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

When he realizes there’s nothing left to say, Eddie gathers his paperwork and the rest of his daily belongings before shuffling out the door. And like clockwork, that’s when Steve emerges from his room, with an outfit and hairstyle on the complete opposite side of the spectrum, ready to start his day.

“Hey, cutie!” Steve cheers as he makes his way into the kitchen. “Aw, that’s Eddie’s mug. His mom gave it to him before she died. He refuses to get rid of it.”

“Oh…” you said. “I had no idea. That it was his mug, I mean.”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” Steve shrugs as he gets some plates out for the both of you. “Dude usually doesn’t let anyone touch it so it typically stays tucked away. I’m surprised he let you use it this morning.”

🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck

#Steve harrington smut #Steve harrington apologist #Steve harrington x reader #Steve x reader #steve harrington one shot

148 notes · View notes

do-it-for-the-fandom · 3 months ago

Note

Fic prompt: after 4x05, Kate thinks Castle is on a date with Serena. She goes somewhere she thinks he won’t be, and is surprised when he joins her at the bar.

Whiskey.

Neat.

And keep 'em coming.

She nursed her third, mindful of the situation she was in. Drowning the pain in smooth, spiced golden liquid: that was an awfully familiar scene. She washed away the bitter taste of hypocrisy with another sip and grimaced as her father's voice echoed in her mind: I didn't even realise I had a problem until I hit rock bottom.

With that in mind, she pushed the half-empty glass just a few inches away from her. She knew she'd more than likely reach for it again as soon as the next wave of negativity washed over her, though. Whether it be anger, or frustration, or sadness, or just outright jealousy... it had been relentless thus far.

The worst part was, she completely understood what Castle saw in Serena. She was beautiful, confident, smart. And she went after what she wanted. Serena wouldn't have trekked across town simply so that she didn't have to worry about the microscopic chance she might run into the man she was in love with because he was on a date with someone else. Serena was fun and uncomplicated and sexy. God, she didn't even want to think about they were doing right now. Chances were she was drinking alone in a dive bar in the Bronx for no damn reason: Castle and Serena had probably skipped dinner and drinks in favour of dessert, anyway.

The mental images that accompanied that thought had her reaching for her glass with a groan. She didn't understand why she was torturing herself like this. She wasn't ready, and she couldn't expect Castle to remain celibate while he waited for her. Maybe that was something they could have discussed if she ever actually worked up the gall to ask him to wait for her; instead, they'd had one conversation that had been so heavily reliant on subtext she really wasn't sure if either one of them had walked away with any sort of clarity. The whole situation with Castle was just... messy.

"I'll have what she's having."

The familiar voice startled her. She turned her head to look at him, not completely convinced she wasn't imagining his presence.

"Castle?" He sat on the stool beside her, turned to her and smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"Lanie told me you were here," he said.

Beckett frowned. Had she even told Lanie that she was here?

"She happened to be in the neighbourhood and saw you come in here," he explained. He smiled at the bartender when received his whiskey. "She asked me to check in on you."

She deflated, folded her arms on the bar in front of her and dropped her head onto her forearms. Of course she knew he didn't have some sixth sense that told him where she was, and that she needed him. Still, the confirmation was disappointing.

"Didn't mean to ruin your date," she mumbled incoherently into her arms.

"What date?"

She sat upright and rolled her shoulders. "With Serena Kaye."

She didn't mean to say the woman's name with such bitterness. Serena was... lovely. Beckett may not have agreed with ever life choice the woman had made but Serena had never been anything but polite to her. Courteous, forgiving. She didn't deserve to be treated the way Beckett had treated her.

"I didn't go on a date with Serena," Castle said, sounding somewhat confused.

Beckett looked him in the eye. "You didn't?"

He shook his head and she narrowed her eyes; she didn't understand.

"Why not? I-" She swallowed. "I thought you liked her."

Castle's eyes dropped to the drink in her hand, then back up to meet her eyes. "Is that why you're here?"

She dropped her gaze to the golden liquid in her glass, scared he could see the truth in her eyes if she let him look for too long.

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't really your scene, Beckett," he stated as he looked around them.

The bar wasn't overly crowded but it was the busiest place she had dared to go alone in months. Since her shooting. But the unseen danger that had haunted her for all that time wasn't even on her mind tonight.

Tonight, it was just Castle.

And Serena.

And the date she had, apparently, imagined.

"Thought I'd try somewhere new," she mumbled.

Castle placed his hand on the opposite side of her stool and leaned closer to her, tilting his head to make eye contact again. "How's that going for you?" he asked sarcastically.

A huffed, both amused and frustrated by just how easily he could read her.

"I hate it here."

He smiled as if he had won some prize - which only frustrated her more - but at the same time, his smile filled her with warmth and she couldn't help but smile, too.

"Then, let me take you home," he offered.

His hand shifted from her stool and rested on her lower back, the heat of his palm seared through the fabric of her shirt and she flinched, as if his touch had branded her.

She knew it wasn't what he had meant, yet she couldn't stop the words from slipping from her lips.

"What? Serena didn't pan out so I'm the consolation prize?"

She winced, hearing the words aloud. She couldn't believe that they had actually come from her mouth.

What the hell was she doing?

She lifted her glass, ready to drain the remainder of her drink, but Castle's hand on her wrist stopped her. She turned her head to look at him, his gorgeous blue eyes an unusually dark shade of cerulean.

"Let's get one thing clear, Kate," he said in a low, warning tone that sent a shiver down her spine. "You are not a consolation prize." He took the glass from her hand and placed it back on the bar. "And I never wanted Serena."

"What do you want?" she dared to ask.

Castle shifted even closer, until their faces hovered just inches apart. She could feel his warmth radiating from him. He stared at her, desire in his eyes, until something - a thought, a memory, she wasn't quite sure - doused that fire within him. He blinked and looked away; the tension that crackled between them, gone in an instant.

"I want to know that you are safe and in your bed so that I can actually get some sleep tonight," he answered.

She knew it wasn't a lie, but it was definitely the safe answer.

He slipped off the stool and held his hand out for her.

Accepting that this conversation was over she took his hand and allowed him to lead her out of the bar.

The cab ride to her apartment was long, tense, and all too silent.

When the driver pulled up out front of her building, Castle placed his hand on her knee, effectively stopping her from getting out of the cab.

"Talk tomorrow?" he asked her.

Uncertainty pervaded his tone. It glimmered in his eyes as he studied her face for the answer she was yet to give him.

She nodded, unable to actually verbalise her agreement.

But they both knew that tonight would just be one more thing added to the list of things they never talked about.

It was easier that way.

#kate beckett #richard castle #caskett #kate beckett x richard castle #fic prompt #my drabbles

41 notes · View notes

cinnamongorll · 10 months ago

Text

a fragile line - chapter 18

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 5.6k

Chapter 18: 'Funny'

Juliet’s POV:

Her father’s hand on her back was surprisingly gentle, cautious even. His fingers didn’t dig into her flesh, didn’t cling to the curve of her bones, didn’t leave imprints. Elijah walked Juliet up the porch steps and into the towering, battered, house which had made an appearance in every nightmare she awoke from for the past several years. Scott led the way, gripping her confiscated backpack in the same hand he used to turn the handle on the front door, his other hand reached into his red hair, scratching his skull. Juliet remembered the nervous tics of the men her father liked to keep in his employ, she remembered their stares, she remembered everything.

Her father’s hand was delicate, soft… until it wasn't. Until it pushed against her in one staggering movement. Juliet could practically feel her father’s strength rippling down his arm before it met her back, propelling her forward into the dark green armchair. Juliet landed with a thump, her head smacking off the hardwood hidden behind the velvet material. She groaned, twisting her body to sit upright, to place her world back on its axis.

Elijah stared down at her, his piercing pale blue eyes were so intense they looked almost white as they watched her struggle to sit upright. Juliet didn’t reach a hand up to touch the bump now forming on her forehead, neither did she allow any glimmer of tears to approach her wide stare. Juliet just straightened her back, tilted her chin up, and met her father’s icy look with a dark glare of her own.

A satisfied smirk crossed her father’s mouth, his lips tilting into a wicked curve. Then he stepped backwards into the matching armchair opposite her. His landing was much softer, less painful.

They sat in the living room, surrounded by ornate furniture and trinkets which covered nearly every surface of the room. Bookshelves were filled with religious texts, their spines bent and cracked with age and repeated use. Juliet’s eyes scanned the stiflingly familiar room as Elijah’s eyes roamed across her face, investigating every change in her features with raised eyebrows. Juliet’s gaze moved in the direction of the hall and she had to stop herself from flinching, she was excruciatingly aware that every microscopic movement she made would be caught by her father's analytical stare. Juliet peered through the open door which led into the darkening hall, and all she could see was her past self standing before her father as the air slowly left her weakening lungs.

Juliet looked away, into Elijah’s awaiting gaze. Her nails began to dig into her palms, the fresh pain mingled with the crescent shaped scars which had already left their mark.

Her father’s smirk deepened, then his eyes shifted to the space behind her. “Scott and Daniel, we will require some tea,” he said to the men Juliet hadn’t noticed stood behind her, lingering around her chair like metal statues. Her father’s voice was quiet and pleasant as he made his request, but Juliet knew that the men were entirely under his authority, under his control. They would follow his every order, without question or argument. Both men nodded and left the room, the sound of their footsteps following them to the kitchen.

“Now,” her father began, pausing as he sat further back in his chair, sinking into the plush cushions before resting his arms on its sides. When he was comfortable, he continued.

“I see you got my letter,” Elijah mused.

It wasn’t a question, but he still awaited an answer. Juliet swallowed. “Yes,” she croaked out. Her voice was rough, her reply caught in the backlog all the words she had wanted to say outside to Joel, but was forced to choke down instead.

Her father nodded, amusement now glimmering in his cold stare. He liked when Juliet was nervous, when he was the obvious one in control.

“It took quite a while to find you. Hiding all the way in Boston,” he observed, stopping to make a repeated tsk, tsk, tsk sound with his tongue. Juliet dug her nails in deeper, then checked her features to ensure her expression was still entirely vacant, giving her father no weaknesses to cling to. “How did you make it so far?” her father finally asked, leaning forward in his chair.

When Elijah shifted forward, Juliet leaned back. “I found a group, travelled with them,” she replied, keeping her answer as vague as possible. Juliet’s eyes never left her father’s face, she was desperate to see his reaction. Her words were treason, she had just admitted to her knowledge that there were more survivors in the world, that her father had been lying to her and their entire community. Of course her father knew of her new understanding, he had found her in a QZ after all, and she had arrived here with a stranger to the town. But to actually say the words, words that, only a few years ago, would have been blasphemy to her… Juliet was desperate to see how her father would spin this, how he would deny her claims.

To her surprise, her father’s expression did not change, there were no signs of shock or anger. Elijah just raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I suspected as much. You lived sheltered and cared for your whole life, I assumed you had found someone to latch onto. You always were a dependent, vulnerable little girl.”

White hot rage sparked through Juliet’s body. She felt her muscles begin to harden, her entire body turning to stone as burning anger flowed through her. Juliet knew her father’s games, she understood completely that he was challenging her, playing with her.

What he didn’t know, however, was that, while his game had stayed the same all these years, his opponent had changed.

Juliet swallowed her anger, careful to not let it show on her face. She kept her reactions minimised to the clench of her fists, to the blood that bloomed under her fingernails.

“So you knew?” she asked, a crease forming between her eyebrows. No hint of her blazing rage appeared in her features, only a mild curiosity. “You knew that we weren’t the only survivors? That there were other people alive?” she continued, her voice calm and inquisitive.

Her father was quiet for a moment, surveying her face like a chessboard. Then he barked out a laugh and leaned back, folding his hands across his chest. “Look at you, demanding answers from me,” he accused, all the humour dying in his eyes. His permanent smirk was gone, his mouth had hardened into a thin line as he stared at Juliet. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

At that moment, Scott walked back in the room with Daniel behind him, one holding a tray of teas and the other holding a jug of milk. Elijah clapped his hands in delight, sitting up straighter in his chair as the men placed the mugs on the table between them. Once all of the items were laid out, the men resumed their position behind Juliet. She squirmed in her seat.

Elijah made them both a cup of tea, sliding Juliet’s towards her. She leaned forward to pick it up, almost flinching when the hot mug met her bloodied palms. As always, Juliet got used to the pain, it grounded her, reminded her of why she was there, and what she needed to do.

She took a slow sip, mirroring her father’s movements, then brought the mug down to rest on her dark jeans. Juliet glanced up, ensuring she had her father’s entire focus. “Where is Ethan?” she demanded, her voice strong and steady. The heat of the tea sliding down her throat stoked the blazing rage in her gut.

Elijah displayed no sense of anger or surprise at her tone, he just continued to leisurely sip at his tea. This was another one of his famous moves, Juliet was amazed at how quick they returned to her mind. Probably because her memories of her father had never really faded, they had always been there, present and ready to remind her of the horrors she left behind.

Eventually, her father brought his mug down to rest on his lap. “I was wondering when you would ask,” he pondered, his voice almost monotone as though they were discussing something as boring as the weather. “He’s alive, of course,” her father revealed.

Juliet couldn’t help the strangled gasp that released from her mouth, relief flooded her body like a bucket of cold water over a raging fire. This whole time, every step of her journey here, Juliet feared the worst. But if Ethan was alive, it meant he could be saved. And Juliet was so close.

“Although,” her father’s voice interrupted her racing thoughts. “I’m surprised you still care for him, it looked as though you had found someone new. What was his name again? Joel?”

Despite herself, Juliet shifted in her seat. She feared the direction this conversation was taking. Her final night in this home was marred by her father’s allconsuming rage over her relationship with Ethan, and now he assumed she had a relationship with another man. Her father kept his cards close to his chest but Juliet knew that he was flaming inside with fury. Juliet just hoped she could ensure Ethan’s safety, and that Joel had left the community, before he erupted.

Juliet gritted her teeth. “I’m not here to talk about Joel, I want to know where Ethan is,” she insisted, nearly breathless with the strength it took to say those words.

Her demand was met with silence, but Juliet could feel the men behind her shifting on their feet. She looked down at the mug resting on her thighs and began to run her finger around the rim, attempting to distract herself from her father’s weighted silence.

Before she could look back up, a sudden crash filled the room. Juliet flinched as her head flew upwards to search for the source of the sound. Her father was standing in front of his chair, and below him, on the table was his mug, now smashed to pieces as tea rapidly spilled over the dark wood.

A numbness swept over Juliet, tightening her muscles and slowing her mind. At the sound of the crash, at the evidence of her father’s rage, Juliet’s body had reverted back to its usual response from all those years ago. Time began to slow, as it always had, and Juliet sunk deeper into the green velvet armchair, wishing she could fold herself between the cushions and disappear. Her father stalked over to her, his steps slow and deliberate before he stopped right in front of her chair, towering over her.

Juliet watched him with intense precision as he stared down at her, his chest moving with his heavy breaths. She desperately calculated what his next move might be. Her father might have left his seat, but the game continued.

Without warning, Juliet felt her father’s hands grip the front of her shirt and pull her to her feet. The mug on her lap fell to the floor, smashing into tiny pieces as the tea splashed on the ends of her jeans. Once she had stumbled to her feet, her father did not let go, he continued to hold tight against her shirt, tilting it upwards, using the pressure to restrict her breathing. This was one another of his favourite moves. He stood before her, his face just inches from away, a snarl covered his mouth as his eyes widened in pure satisfaction.

As the pressure on her throat increased, Juliet felt an intense blast of fear. But it was different this time. Juliet had changed a lot in the past few years, she was no longer the naïve, cowardly girl who was entirely unable to fight back. Juliet could fight, she was a survivor, she could do a number of things to her father right now to get him to let go. But she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t just her life that hung in the balance, it was Ethan’s too. Her father hadn’t agreed to release him yet, Juliet had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. So she had to pretend, she had to face her father’s punishments and hopefully, in a fit of rage, her father would reveal something about Ethan’s whereabouts.

When the familiar black spots began to enter her vision, her father finally let go. Juliet dropped back into the armchair, clutching her throat and coughing brutally. Her father continued to tower over her, seething with rage.

“Do you have any idea what you did when you ran away? Do you?” he shouted into her face as he leaned closer. Juliet flinched as the words met her ears. “I am the leader of this town and my own daughter left in the dead of night. How do you think that made me look? Huh?” her father spat.

“How was I supposed to explain that? To the good people of this town, how was I supposed to explain that my daughter took everything we gave her for granted and abandoned us? Abandoned me?” he seethed, his eyes wild.

Juliet tried not to let her eagerness seep into her expression as she watched her father rage. This was what she wanted, she wanted to rile him up, to force some sort of confession out of him, to trick him into revealing Ethan’s location. She looked up at him, allowing a sliver of her anger to coat her words as she slowly whispered. “Maybe you could have told them the truth. Maybe you could have stopped lying to them, stopped controlling everything they do and actually told them why your daughter had to risk her life escaping from this hellhole.” Her voice was quiet but cold as she watched the fury ripple in her father’s pale eyes.

Juliet wasn’t surprised when her head flew to the side with the force of her father’s slap. “You selfish, ungrateful bitch,” her father growled. “You think because you lived outside the fence, because you whored yourself out to any man who would help you, that you know anything at all?” he started to laugh, a dry humourless laugh which didn’t come close to meeting his eyes.

“Ethan’s screams lasted for months before we broke him, before he told us all about your little love story,” he seethed. Juliet began to tremble at the thought of Ethan suffering her father’s punishment.

“His confession saved him, he’s on the right path now. Praying all day, every day, for his sins,” Elijah explained, a sick sense of pride seeping into his cold tone.

“He understands now that it was you , my sweet Juliet, who led him astray. That it was you who was touched by the devil, not him,” her father’s smile returned as he continued to speak. “You see, I misjudged Ethan. And now that you have returned to us, he will watch you complete the same journey.” Elijah stepped back, finally giving Juliet some space to breathe.

Her mind was swirling with never ending questions. Her plan was unravelling, Ethan was alive but at what cost? Her father had brainwashed him, convinced him that she had damned him, and led him away from the path of God. Juliet felt sick, she couldn’t even gloat in the knowledge that she had forced her father to reveal his plan, because it was just so horrific. Juliet just wanted to know that Ethan was alive, where he was, and when he was going to be released. She hadn’t realised how far her father’s rage had spread, although she shouldn’t be surprised.

“In fact, Ethan should join us for this first stage,” Elijah spoke, shaking Juliet from her mind’s entanglement of confusion and dread. “Go fetch him, will you?” he asked Scott, who nodded and immediately left the room. Juliet heard the front door slam shut seconds later.

Juliet felt hollow. It was like she was back at that fence, all those years ago, as she watched the gate close behind her, sealing Ethan in. Juliet felt that loss all over again. Ethan was gone, she was too late, she couldn’t save him. He might be alive, but if what her father said was true, he wasn’t Ethan anymore.

Juliet choked on a sob. She had come all this way to save a man who could no longer be saved. She had dragged Joel into this mess, bribed him to come all this way, for nothing.

A new stab of fear pulsed through her. Joel. Would her father just let him go free once the morning came? Or would her father’s possessiveness strike him down too. Juliet never thought it would get to this point, she imagined her father would be so grateful towards Joel, so thankful that he returned her to him. She was so stupid, it was so reckless to involve another person in her horror. Juliet prayed her father would forget about Joel, forget that Juliet hadn’t actually denied her feelings towards him, prayed that he would go free in the morning with his gifted supplies and never return.

Saying goodbye to him earlier was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. When she had squeezed his rough fingers, Juliet nearly whispered that she wanted to stay with him. Nearly said those words, used that out that he had offered her, and continued to travel the country side by side. And when her eyes flashed to his lips, Juliet thought back to the night she leaned over his injured body, when the heat in Joel’s eyes matched her own. The memory of his hot lips crashing over hers entered her mind with a staggering intensity, and with it, came the sickening guilt that stayed with her long after that night. It was wrong to kiss him, and allow him to kiss her back.

There was an attraction between them, a spark of desire which built in every lingering stare or accidental touch. Juliet watched that spark blaze in Joel’s eyes just the night before, when he had pinned her to the tree. She had watched his gaze drop to her lips and dart away so quickly she almost thought she had imagined it.

But Juliet hadn’t imagined that look in his eyes, she hadn’t imagined the way his pupils dilated until his stare was as black as the night around them, and she hadn’t imagined the way his hard body pressed against hers.

There was an attraction between them, yes. Juliet struggled to deny this. But it meant nothing, they weren’t even friends. Joel and Juliet were acquaintances with a mutual goal. Juliet didn’t see him any other way, and she knew that Joel didn’t care for her beyond the supplies she promised him. Joel would never look at her with anything other than a fleeting attraction. She was too young, too reckless, too broken. Joel and Juliet were always meant to part ways. Any lingering feelings were just the result of being trapped together for so long.

All this flashed through Juliet’s head as she squeezed Joel's fingers and darted away towards her father. And all those conflicted emotions must have been painted on her face when she met her father’s eyes. In that moment, he must have known how she felt about Joel.

Fuck.

Juliet blinked away the past and looked up at her father, who still stood before her, now with his hand outstretched. “Come,” he whispered, “it is time to begin your journey to salvation.”

Juliet had felt helpless before, many times, in fact. But not like this. Those tears she had pushed back with all her might began to fill her dark eyes. Elijah smiled in response. There was victory in his stare. He had won his little game. And Juliet, despite her years of training, years building a defence, had lost.

Her bleeding palm met her father’s smooth hand and Juliet allowed her body to be pulled up until she stood on her shaking legs.

Elijah’s triumphant smile did not leave his face as he led his daughter towards the basement.

Joel’s POV:

“I’m Ethan,” he croaked out, then squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long breath, before opening his eyes back into Joel’s dark gaze. “Juliet’s boyfriend.”

Joel’s entire body tensed, he almost dropped the knife in his hand. But Ethan wasn’t finished, he inhaled another breath, licked his lips, then swallowed again.

“And you’ve signed her death sentence bringing her back here,” he spat, venom dripping from his words.

Joel recoiled, the force of Ethan’s words almost knocked him backwards, then he moved. In one smooth motion, Joel knocked the bartender to the side with his elbow and wrapped his hand around Ethan’s throat. The bartender began to shout at him but Joel couldn’t hear it, wouldn’t hear it. All Joel wanted to listen to was the sputtering breath of the fucking liar wriggling against his hand.

Joel leaned closer, until his face was inches away from Ethan’s wild eyes, then he moved to his ear and murmured, in a voice like gravel. “I’m gonna let you go, and you’re not gonna say her name again until I say so. We clear?”

Despite the strong hand crushing his windpipe, Ethan managed a shaky nod and Joel instantly released him, stepping back a few steps. The bartender was livid, shooting Joel a dark look before he ran to Ethan, and helped him put an arm over his shoulder before they both staggered to the metal chair in the corner of the room. The single light bulb hanging from the ceiling made the room look fit for an interrogation, like on one of those detective shows Joel used to watch, in another life.

Joel watched the interaction between Ethan and the bartender with an inquisitive stare. They clearly knew each other and Ethan was obviously injured beyond the fresh bruising on his throat, courtesy of Joel. As he observed their interactions, Ethan’s words echoed around Joel’s head, reminding him that he needed answers and he needed them now.

“Get off him, I’ll take it from here,” Joel said to the bartender, gesturing for him to leave using the knife still gripped tight in his hand.

“What are you going to do with him?” the bartender asked as he stood, his eyes flicking between Joel’s menacing stare and Ethan’s pleading eyes. Ethan’s coughing filled the narrow room, he placed a hand on the stone wall beside him to steady himself.

“Just talk,” Joel answered with a tilt of his head.

The bartender didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but if Juliet’s back,” he paused, swallowing rough after mentioning Juliet’s name, “then Ethan’s right, she’s in trouble. Hear him out,” the bartender urged, then turned to face the door. “I’ll keep the eyes and ears away from you both, but talk quick.” With one last look at Ethan’s weary form, the bartender left the room.

Wasting no time, Joel stalked closer to Ethan. His coughing had stopped, but his heavy breathing remained. Now that Joel took a proper look at him, he noticed the fresh blood spread across his knuckles.

“I’m gonna give you two minutes to explain who the hell you are and what the hell you know about Juliet, or that bruise on your throat will be the least of your worries,” Joel ground out, actively restraining himself from gripping hold of Ethan and shaking the answers out of him. The mention of Juliet’s name had confirmed his worst fears, and as always, when Juliet was in danger, Joel was quick to turn to anger and violence.

Ethan looked up at him and rolled his eyes. Joel put his hand, which gripped his knife, on the wall above Ethan’s head, reminding him who he was talking to.

“I already told you, I’m Juliet’s b -” Ethan started, before Joel’s sharp words cut him off. “Why is she in danger? What do you know?” Joel demanded, he couldn’t bear to hear the word ‘boyfriend’ come out of Ethan’s mouth again. Joel refused to think about why.

“Her dad,” Ethan started, and Joel’s stomach dropped. “Her dad, Elijah, is the leader of his town. And he’s a real psychopath. I’ve known Juliet since we were both kids and he was always strange, especially around Juliet, but it wasn’t till we got older that I noticed the bruises,” Ethan explained, pausing to catch his breath.

Joel’s throat was burning with the need to shout and rage, but he contained himself, and waited for Ethan to continue. “Juliet would have these thick bruises all over her arms and her legs, in places you could cover with trousers or long t-shirts. When I realised it was her dad, I tried to convince her to leave with me. But she wouldn’t go, see, Elijah told us all that we were the only survivors. He’d have a patrol route for his inner circle but he would always say it was just to find new hunting ground,” Ethan scoffed, his eyes were glassy, as though his mind was trapped in the past he spoke of. Joel listened intently, his rage practically simmering on his skin.

“One night, probably four years ago now, Elijah found out about us,” Ethan paused, as Joel moved closer, towering over him now. Then Ethan wiped his nose with a trembling hand and continued his brutal tale. “And he nearly killed her. That night, I had enough and made the decision for Juliet. I helped her escape her house and we made it to the fence, but her dad found us and I distracted him to let Juliet get through the fence -”

“You sent her out there on her own?” Joel interrupted, his words viciously accusatory.

“It was either that or let her dad kill her. What would you have done?” Ethan shot back.

Joel pushed himself off the wall, turning his back to Ethan and running a hand over his forehead. It was unbearable, the pressure on his chest. Joel had brought her back here, he walked her through that gate and all the way to her father’s house, to her abuser’s house. Fuck. Joel kicked the stone wall, a chunk of crumbling paint fell to the ground with the force of his boot.

Joel turned back to Ethan. “What happened after she left?” he demanded, but didn’t give Ethan a chance to answer before he fired another question his way. “She told me her dad was sick, why would she say that? Why would she want to come back here?”

“She’s back because of me,” Ethan answered, his voice quiet as his eyes began to study his bloody knuckles. Joel, in a rare display of patience, waited for him to continue.

“After I got Juliet out, Elijah decided I was no longer fit for society. He decided that I had forsaken the word of God and had to be punished, or ‘saved’ as he called it,” Ethan said, with a humourless laugh. “Locked me in a fucking barn, like an animal. Only letting me out long enough for the rest of the town to see I was still alive. He told my parents that I was on a ‘journey with God’ and they actually believed him. He’s got this whole town wrapped around his finger,” he scoffed.

“Nearly four years of torture, and tonight, when Scott turned up at my door and told me Juliet was home, I knew exactly what Elijah had done,” Ethan’s hands began to tremble. “You know, Elijah is a sick man, but he’s also incredibly smart. I don’t know how he did it but I’d bet my life that he lured her back here by threatening to kill me, he’d know that’s the only way Juliet would return to this hellhole.”

Joel was clenching his fist so tight he thought the bones in his fingers might fracture. Everything was starting to make sense. Juliet’s dad was never sick and she always knew what she was returning to. That was why she had that haunted look in her eyes every time he even broached the subject of her dad. Shit, how could he be so blind? Joel wanted to kick the wall again, but he was frozen in place, it was like his body was shutting down. The whole journey with Juliet was a lie, and she didn’t say anything to him.

Why would she? In Juliet’s eyes, all Joel wanted from her was the supplies she promised. And he had given her no reason to think otherwise. She had delivered, fulfilled her promise despite the cost, and then she had squeezed his hand and walked away from him. Joel ground his jaw hard.

Ethan’s voice broke through the turmoil in Joel’s head. “I don’t know what Elijah has planned, but I’m involved somehow. For the past year maybe, his ‘lessons’ became very focused on Juliet and all the ways she had wronged me and the town. I think he’s been trying to turn me against her, that's when I began to suspect that he was trying to find her.”

“When Scott came to me, he tried to take me to Elijah but I managed to knock him out,” Ethan glanced at the broken skin on his hands. Joel raised his eyebrows, surprised this almost emaciated man had the strength to knock someone unconscious.

“He’ll wake up soon, if he hasn’t already. Elijah will know I’m not on his side,” Ethan murmured, fear creeping into his quiet voice.

Joel wanted to shut him up, he was sick of hearing the horrors that passed his lips. Every word from Ethan’s mouth tightened the knot in Joel’s chest. All Joel could think of was getting Juliet back to him, getting her out of here safely.

Joel wasn’t sure when he began to think of her beyond the supplies she offered him. It was gradual, achingly slow, almost unnoticeable, but Joel began to crave the feeling of her eyes on him. He began to long for the way his chest tightened when a smile brightened her face. How she was able to smile this whole time, knowing what was waiting for her… Joel almost choked on the fury that caught in his throat.

Joel struggled to understand the feeling, or even the thought, but Juliet had wormed her way into his chest and now the thought of her in pain or hurt in any way filled his whole body with a rage so intense that searched desperately for a release.

He should be forming a plan, should be continuing to listen to Ethan’s words which his mind had begun to drown out. But Joel was caught in between the past and present. Every interaction with Juliet had to be reevaluated with this new information, which forced Joel to relive those moments in his mind. When he thought of the night he was injured, he gasped out a strangled breath, refusing to look at Ethan’s confused expression.

Joel had awoken the following morning with the remaining feeling of Juliet’s lips on his, with the taste of her still lingering in his mouth. He had thought it was a dream, his brain was unable to conceptualise the idea of Juliet touching him without revulsion. But then he had looked in her wide eyes and watched the horror and guilt ripple through them, and Joel knew it had been real.

Joel was always quick to anger, but this time, it was towards himself. His hands shook with rage as his mind tore into him. He had been delirious, shaken with his injury, but it was no excuse. He had kissed her, kissed Juliet, the girl he was tasked with protecting. It was wrong, sick, even. He had prayed on a younger woman, taken advantage of her, forced himself on her after she had so bravely stitched him up.

When she had helped him onto the couch that morning, Joel bit his tongue till it bled, forcing himself not to register the feeling of her body on his. His stomach churned with self-hatred, stronger than the feeling usually was.

He was sick, depraved, a monster… because he found that had begun to crave Juliet’s touch, to find ways to be close to her.

But when she looked at him with that dark gaze, like it had been dropped in warm honey, Joel’s control had slipped. Joel began to taunt her, like the monster had taken hold of his mind for a brief moment, he did things like pin her against a tree and let his breath warm her cheeks. Every action was followed by gut wrenching guilt, and an ache low in his stomach, lower even, that he was unable to ignore.

Joel ran his hand through his hair, continuing to ignore Ethan’s rambling. He was utterly lost in the memory of Juliet, stuck in the past with the image of her smile, the look in her eyes when she fought men twice her size, and the way she laughed. Juliet laughed like she had no care in the world, like she actually enjoyed his silent, brooding company.

“Hey!” Ethan’s voice finally sliced through his thoughts, forcing his mind out of the past and into the present. “Are you listening?”

“What?” Joel fumed, turning to face him.

“I asked what you were thinking, we don’t have much time,” Ethan huffed, running a hand through his slicked hair.

Joel nodded quickly, and twisted the knife in his hand. The movement mirrored the repeated churning of his thoughts.

After a moment, he stopped, stilling the knife immediately before he turned to Ethan. Joel’s eyes dragged over his slim body and his unshaven face, then nodded down at him, the only peace offering he would give.

“Get up,” Joel ordered. “We’re gonna go get her.”

_____________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #Spotify

71 notes · View notes