#we might get a joel win here
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at first i was like, joel as the last green? the world is changing then joel got a double kill almost immediately after he got to yellow and i was like, yup there he is, he's been holding that in for 6.5 episodes
#smallishbeans#joel smallishbeans#trafficblr#wild life smp#next session is gonna be murder with murder and a side of murder#so excited !!!#gem joel duo still strong#we might get a joel win here#hoping#praying#joel win !!!
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It Had to Be You
Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader
Word Count: 4.8K
Summary: Your best friend is Tommy's girlfriend so naturally meeting Tommy's brother comes with the territory. He's gorgeous and you definitely want to get to know him better but it doesn't seem like that's in the cards. In fact, it seems like he'd rather be anywhere but near you so when Maria suggests a weekend away touring breweries and relaxing at a Bed and Breakfast with her Tommy and Joel, you're first thought is, "hell no!" But after some begging and pleading, Maria gets you to agree and Tommy wears down Joel, but what will the weekend bring? More grumpiness and exasperation or will you and Joel finally learn to get along.
Author's Note: This is for the lovely Kate's @burntheedges "Roll a Trope Challenge" I got #4- Enemies to Lovers. And I may have snuck another trope in there too haha! I sort of got carried away with it but it was fun to write and while I didn't focus as much on their first few meetings, I hope it comes across that they didn't get off to the best start but this little weekend away changes everything. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: grumpy Joel, teasing, tension (all the kinds), flirting, softness and fluff, a few curses, lots of meddling (in the best way), confessions, dry humping, smut (If I missed anything let me know)
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
“No fuckin’ way Tommy.”
Joel shakes his head as he leans against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand.
Tommy stands across from him, exasperation etched across every feature.
“Come on big brother, you could really use the time away.”
“Not with her,” Joel retorts. “Why would you even bother asking? It’s not like we have the best track record. Shit…”
Tommy hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, and in that moment looking every part the mirror image of Joel.
“You won’t even think about it?” Tommy pleads.
“It’s too early for this bullshit. We have to get to work,” Joel grumbles in response.
“That wasn’t a no,” Tommy chimes back with a winning smile. “I’m gonna wear you down.”
Joel slams the door to his pickup and comes round the hood, pinning Tommy with a murderous glare.
“You’re never gonna shut the hell up are you?” Joel asks.
“Not until you say yes! What problem could you possibly have with brewery tours and beautiful scenery?”
Joel’s eyes narrow. “You know exactly what my problem is.”
“Well, you need to get over it. Give it time, get to know her better.”
“Get over it my ass,” Joel mutters, hands on his hips and jaw set in a firm line, as if that explains everything.
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible before he scoffs, “fine. But if things go to hell in a handbasket it’ll be all your doin’.”
Tommy let’s out a triumphant whoop and then pats Joel on the back, hard.
“See you tomorrow morning brother, bright and early!”
You stand outside the truck at the curb, watching as Tommy arranges the bags in the most efficient way possible. Your best friend enjoys the view of her boyfriends ass as he stays in a continuously bent over position.
“You know if you stare any harder his pants might disappear,” you joke as you poke Maria.
She giggles and smacks your arm but still doesn’t remove her eyes from Tommy’s backside.
“Actually,” you start, sliding your eyes over to Joel who’s inspecting the front end of the vehicle. “If Joel actually helped maybe we could get out of here faster.”
Dark brown eyes lift and meet yours with a look of disdain. “What was that sweetheart?”
“Don’t sweetheart me,” you grunt. “Get your ass over here and help!”
“Is that what you’re doin’?” Joel asks as he saunters over, looking you up and down. “Or maybe you just wanna stare at my ass?”
He laughs when your face contorts into a look of disgust but still he walks over and starts to help Tommy.
“His ass is almost as nice as Tommy’s,” Maria whispers to you with lifted brows.
You intend to look away but now your focus has been drawn to exactly that-his ass- and it’s a fine one.
“Whatever,” you scoff and turn toward the door of the truck.
Tommy takes the wheel first with Maria in the front seat, leaving you and Joel squeezed into the back.
“Think you could save some room for the rest of us,” you mumble when you feel the press of Joel’s knee to your thigh.
His legs are spread wide, one lazy arm draped between while the other rests along the window’s edge.
He looks over at you, then down at his crotch.
“No,” he deadpans and spreads his legs wider, bumping you again.
“How soon until we reach the first brewery?” You ask Maria. “I’m going to need to be drunk this entire trip.”
That earns a laugh from everyone and when you look over at Joel you can see the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile.
After a rousing game of twenty questions, in which you and Joel argue through most of it, the banter quiets and Tommy puts on the radio. You can feel yourself nodding off, your body slowly sinking closer to Joel, but you fight it, consistently trying to peel your eyes open and lean toward the window.
The first thing you feel is the cool air on your face and then the slowing of the van. You inhale sharply and stiffen as you come back to consciousness.
“Shit,” you murmur and rub a hand over your face.
With a stretch you extend your arms, bumping Joel’s chest.
“Shit,” you say again, but louder, realizing you were nestled up against him.
He blinks at you several times then looks down at where you’re still resting along the side of him, warm and firm.
“Did I fall asleep on you?” you ask him.
He shrugs indifferently. “I guess I was asleep too.”
You continue to stare but don’t move away from him.
“Need another nap?” he asks with a smirk.
You blow a raspberry and sit up. “You wish.”
He shakes his head and opens the door, giving Tommy a “told you so” look before saying loud enough for your to hear, “I need a beer the size of my head. Now.”
After touring the first brewery and trying several different beers you’re feeling much more relaxed but hungry.
“When are we stopping to eat?” you ask.
Tommy smiles over his beer and looks at Maria.
“Well,” Maria starts. “There’s this local place just a mile or two away that the owner of the brewery said is great.”
“Perfect,” you say, “let’s go!”
Joel makes a grumbling sound from behind you, and you turn with a spin, pinning him with a look.
“Problem?” you ask.
“Maybe I’m not done tryin’ beers.”
You cross your arms over your chest and for a second you think you see his eyes drop to your cleavage but just as quickly as it happens his dark eyes are back on yours, narrowing.
“The tour is over,” you state. “I think everyone is hungry.”
“Or just you?” he asks.
“Actually, I’m starving,” Tommy says with a bright smile.
Joel just grunts out a curse in Tommy’s direction and brushes past you.
“You know,” you whisper, falling in line next to Tommy and Maria, “you’d think he’d loosen up with some drinks.”
Tommy puts a warm arm around your shoulder and just laughs.
Sitting on the crooked bar stools, you and Maria watch Tommy and Joel play darts.
“You practically have heart eyes,” you tell her. “I love it.”
She laughs and takes a sip of her drink. “He’s just…”
“I know,” you finish for her. “He’s a great guy.”
“You know Joel is too right?” she adds. “He’s just a little rougher around the edges.”
“Something like that,” you mutter. “I wish I knew why he hated me.”
“He does NOT hate you,” Maria says adamantly. “In fact, I bet it’s the exact opposite, but he has no idea how to handle it. He hasn’t dated in like forever.”
“I can’t imagine why…” you say wryly.
Maria laughs and smacks your arm. “You deserve a good guy, you know.”
“Like Tommy,” you smile.
“Like Joel.”
As if sensing the weight of your attention, both Joel and Tommy turn toward you and catch you smiling. Tommy saunters over and takes Maria in his arms. Joel follows, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck before shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Darts?” he asks when Maria and Tommy start whispering.
“Ok,” you say and slide off the stool.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doin’ sweetheart?” Joel asks as he watches you line up a shot.
“First of all, stop calling me that,” you grit out. “And second of all, yes…maybe.”
Joel laughs and steps closer, gently taking your wrist and giving you a second to pull away. When you don’t he repositions your arm and fixes your fingers.
“There, try that,” he says, his breath warm against your ear. “And I only call you that because you’re so sweet.”
At that, you throw your head back and laugh. “In your dreams maybe and to everyone else but you.”
“Of course,” he says with a shake of his head.
You throw your shot, hitting close to the bullseye and let out a cheer.
“You’re welcome,” he says before grabbing a dart and throwing it right in the middle of the bullseye.
“You suck,” you say.
“Obviously,” he answers with a grin.
Tommy comes over to let you know the food is ready and you go sit down to eat. The food revives everyone and when your bellies are full you sit back and enjoy the stories Tommy and Joel share of their childhood and teenage shenanigans.
Joel’s eyes are warm, and his smile is bright and every so often you catch him staring.
“I need to use the bathroom,” you blurt out.
“So do I,” Maria says, following you out of the booth.
Once you’re in the safety of the bathroom, she corners you and asks, “so?”
“So…what?” you shoot back.
“Are you having fun?”
“Yeah,” you say. “The beer is great and I’m happy I get to hang with you guys.”
“Even Joel?”
You pause.
“He’s not sooo bad I guess.”
“Try to let go of those past experiences, he’s not always so grumpy and…” Maria trails off pointedly.
“Unapproachable?” you finish for her. “He barely said hello to me,” you continue, practically shouting. “And every time I tried to talk to him he looked like he wanted to puke!”
“Maybe he was nervous?” Maria muses.
“Why the hell would he be?” you say with a face. “Then I call him out on being a grumpy ass and he get’s all mad.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re giving him another shot,” she says with a laugh. “A new start.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” you reply.
“Hey, at least enjoy his fine ass for the weekend.”
You let out a giggle and practically push her out the door of the bathroom. As you approach your table you realize that Tommy has moved his seat and now you either have to sit next to him, which you can’t because Maria quickly slips into the spot, or next to Joel.
Joel looks at you then down at his beer, twirling the glass mindlessly between his fingers. He then grabs the pitcher and pours you a glass, sliding it down next to his.
You sit and grab it, taking a long sip.
“Are you just trying to get me drunk, hoping I’ll be sweeter?”
“Will it work?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.
“Guess we’ll find out,” you laugh.
He lifts his glass to yours with a clink.
You glance over at Tommy and Maria, cuddled close and whispering. When your eyes swing back to Joel his gaze drops to your mouth, but he seems to remember himself and sits up straighter.
“Talk to me,” you say and try to keep your tone light. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk for months.”
He gives you a sheepish look.
“Give me a topic,” he counters.
You lean back against the booth and think.
“Not work,” you say, “I hear enough about that from Tommy.”
“Yeah no work talk,” he agrees.
“Making fun of Tommy won’t get us far into getting to now each other.”
Joel laughs, the action making his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners.
“As much as I love doing that you’re right.”
“Ok,” you say, turning toward him and leaning a little closer. “Girlfriend?”
He startles and his eyes go wide.
“Are you asking if I have one?”
“Yeah, I guess,” you say.
His smile is a tiny tilt of his mouth.
“No,” he says quietly and looks down, picking at something on his jeans. “No girlfriend.”
“And why not?” you ask, taking a sip of your beer and watching him over the rim.
He studies you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your features, then shrugs.
“I guess I’m just picky…”
“And grumpy?” you add but not without a smile and playful tone.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Sometimes I can be I guess and…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence and instead finishes off his beer.
“And?” you say, waiting patiently.
“And. Well, it’s been a while since I’d had a beautiful woman pay any attention to me. I’m out of practice.”
His admission is endearing, and you warm at his compliment.
“I’m sure there are plenty of beautiful women who want to talk to you. You just don’t give off the ‘come talk to me’ vibes.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he says with a dry laugh.
“You’re doing just fine now though,” you add.
He smiles gratefully and you continue talking about everything and nothing for the next hour. The conversation flows easily and you’re not sure if it’s the beer or just the fact that you’ve both let down your defenses but you’re enjoying his company.
You’re focused on his lips as he parts them to answer your ‘what’s your favorite book’ question but suddenly a shrill sound goes off, echoing through the restaurant and making you cover your ears.
Joel immediately takes your hand and nudges you out of the booth, calmly exiting the restaurant via the indicated fire escape route.
Once you’re outside his hand stays firm around yours as he leads you away from the building and the blaring noise. The waiters came out to assure everyone that it’s only a small kitchen fire, and everything is fine.
You finally find Tommy and Maria, their eyes immediately landing on your hand in Joel’s. The two of you separate like children caught doing something naughty and put some space between your bodies.
“It’s a good thing I was done eatin’,” Tommy jokes.
Turns out, the escape route took you to the back of the restaurant, at the top of a hill overlooking the mountains. The sun has already set but the lights from the restaurant illuminate enough of the grounds for you to see it’s beautiful and lush.
“What’s that?” you ask, pointing to a structure at the far edge of the fences.
“Maybe outdoor seating?” Joel says. “Would be a nice view.”
“I bet it’s just storage,” Maria says.
“Boring!” you huff. “I want to go see.”
“I don’t know if…” Joel starts, but you sprint off before he can finish the thought.
Before you get to the structure you hear steady footfalls behind you and then Joel is there, slowing to a walk next to you and giving you a bewildered look.
You smile and step closer, realizing that Maria was in fact right, it’s just a building used for storage or something like that.
“Totally boring,” you say. “I knew it.”
Joel stares at you with an unreadable expression.
“What?” you ask.
“Darlin’,” he tsks. “You can’t just…”
He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t just run off into the dark.”
“Did you just call…,” you trail off, deciding not to finish the thought, and start over with, “then why did you follow me.”
He looks at you like you just asked him the dumbest question. “I couldn’t just let you run off alone.”
“How chivalrous of you Joel.”
With a lopsided smile he reaches out his hand, entwining his warm fingers with yours to lead you back toward the group.
“Well?” Tommy asks with a knowing smirk.
“Just storage,” you answer, “Maria wins.”
Maria lets out a small victory cheer before snuggling against Tommy with sleep eyes.
“Everyone ready to head to the inn?” Tommy asks, stifling a yawn.
With nods of agreement, you start to head back to the restaurant to pay your bill, your hand still tucked warmly in Joel’s.
“It looks like you and Joel are actually getting along?” Tommy says, or rather, asks with raised brows.
Your eyes shift to Joel who’s standing outside the car pumping gas, a pit stop you had to make before getting to the inn. He’s staring up at the sky as you study his profile, and you keep your eyes on him even as you answer Tommy.
“Yeah…?”
“Yeah? Or yeah,” Tommy says.
“Well, we’re definitely doing better than the last few times,” you say with a laugh. “At least now he talks more and smiles.”
Tommy sighs and looks at his brother through the window.
“He hasn’t done this in…well it seems like forever, so…”
“He mentioned that” you say quietly. “I get it. It’s not like my last relationship was any good.”
Tommy’s eyes turn to you. “I hated that guy. I still wanna punch him in his stupid face.”
“Me too,” you agree with huff.
Joel secures the nozzle back onto the latch and opens the door, looking between both you and Tommy as you stare at him.
“What?” he asks.
“Did you get any snacks from the store?” you shoot back quickly.
“Did you want something?” Joel asks.
“Yeah actually. I think I do. I’m gonna go in to get something and find Maria.”
Joel holds the door open for you and watches until you get inside the store before sliding into the front seat next to Tommy.
“So,” Tommy says, and Joel pins him with an unamused stare.
“Am I about to hear the same thing she did?” Joel ask as he points his finger toward the store, gesturing to you.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tommy says with a smile. “But if you want to talk I’m all ears.”
Joel purses his lips and looks forward out the front windshield. After a few moments of silence he says, “I like her. I have since the first time we met.”
“I know,” Tommy answers.
Joel’s head whips around.
“You know?”
“Yeah, of course big brother. I knew why you could never get your shit together in front of her. It was obvious.”
“Obvious?” Joel repeats, his jaw tight.
“Look…she’s a beautiful woman and she showed interested in you. You couldn’t handle it.”
Joel remains silent, his breathing even until he sighs heavily and mutters, “yeah.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s still interested now that she sees you’re not a total ass,” Tommy adds with a lopsided smirk.
Joel lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “Thanks for the boost of confidence.”
You’re standing behind Maria and Tommy as they check into the Bed and Breakfast, every so often stealing glances at Joel and catching him doing the same.
“So, you only have two rooms available now?” you hear Maria ask.
You perk up at that and start to move closer to the desk. Maria turns to you and Joel to explain.
“There was a leak in one of the rooms we had on hold, and it won’t be fixed until Monday so now they only have two available…but I’ll just stay with you and Tommy and Joel can share the other room,” she says.
It takes you a minute to fully process the situation but when the realization hits that Tommy and Maria won’t have their own room and won’t get to enjoy their getaway to the full extent you offer up a different plan.
“Listen, I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this little vacation and I don’t want any of it to get spoiled so Joel and I can share a room, if that’s ok with him, and I’ll just sleep on a cot or pull out.”
“You mean I will darlin.’ You take the bed.”
Tommy and Maria stare at the two of you with matching shocked expressions.
“Are you sure?” Maria asks, pulling you aside. “I mean when I told you Joel was coming you almost cancelled on me.”
“That was before. He’s been a lot nicer and more talkative now and I think we understand each other better. Besides…I don’t want you to miss out on your time with Tommy.”
You waggle your eyebrows suggestively and she giggles. “But are you sure you’re comfortable.”
You peek over at Joel, who’s talking to Tommy in the same hushed voice you’re speaking to Maria. “Yeah. I’m sure. I feel completely safe with him. Let’s just hope he doesn’t get grumpy.”
Once the rooms are settled you split up and head to your respective spaces. Joel opens the door to the spacious but quaint room, and you instantly notice the one bed in the center.
You plop down your bag and start to search for your toiletries. With necessities in hand, you walk into the bathroom and let out a squeal of excitement. Joel rushes in, practically bumping into you.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Look at the tub!” you say, doing a little happy dance. “It has feet!”
“Feet?” he responds, his voice trailing off.
“I can’t wait to use it!”
When he doesn’t respond you turn to face him and find him with his hand halfway through his mussed hair and his cheeks pink.
“You ok?” you ask with a furrowed brow. “Is it too warm in here?”
“Huh? Uh no, no. I’m fine. Are you um…are you going to use the tub now?”
“I think I’m too tired tonight, but definitely tomorrow!”
He just nods and excuses himself from the bathroom while you finish washing up. When you come out you see Joel by the door, checking the lock before he shuts it with a heavy click.
The moment feels loaded and when he turns and looks at you then the bed, you blurt out, “I really don’t mind sleeping on the pull out or the love seat. I’ve slept on worse.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Nah darlin.’ I don’t want you to do that, I can manage just fine, even on the floor.”
“Don’t be silly,” you answer, grabbing your bag and pulling out your pajamas. “It’s a big bed. We can both fit just fine.”
You smile at him, hoping it looks reassuring and then say, “I’m just going to change.”
“Bathroom’s all yours,” you tell him when you come out.
He stares at you, letting his eyes run slowly down your body before they stop back at your face.
“Yeah. Thanks…”
He walks in with a clean shirt and nothing else and you wonder what the hell he usually sleeps in. He finally emerges from the bathroom, wearing the new tee shirt and his jeans.
“You’re going to sleep in your jeans?” you ask.
He looks up at you in surprise. “I mean, I usually don’t, but…”
“Just be comfortable ok?” you tell him.
“You look comfortable,” he murmurs, almost breathlessly. “Actually, what I mean is…you look, beautiful.”
“In my pajamas?” you giggle.
“Yeah and all the time.”
“Thanks,” you say quietly. “And I’m sure you look beautiful in whatever you wear to bed, so you know…just go for it.”
Hoping to go for nonchalance you smile warmly and then hop on the bed, grabbing your book and trying to give him some space to think.
After what feels like forever you notice movement out of the corner of your eye and realize he’s pulling off his jeans. Your skin heats and you try to keep your eyes on the page, but you can’t stop yourself from sliding a glance sideways to check out his ass in his boxer briefs.
He sits on the bed, and you quickly avert your eyes.
“Hope this is ok?” he says, with more of a questioning tone.
“Totally fine,” you answer, pretending to focus on the book.
As he shifts on the bed it bounces and squeaks and you try and hold in your laughter, but he hears you and starts to make his movements wilder. You fall over and into him, swatting at him with your hand.
He catches your wrist and runs his thumb across your hammering pulse, then presses it just over where his heart beats rapidly beneath his chest.
His expression shifts away from the playful smile, and he suddenly seems so unguarded. He continues to stare, the meaning in his eyes growing clearer the more your eyes hold.
“You ok?” he asks.
“More than ok,” you answer.
He pulls back the covers and grabs the remote to the TV. You both scoot under, arranging yourselves comfortably but without touching. But then, slowly, your bodies shift closer and his leg presses to yours, the soft slide of his leg hair against your thigh.
With a smile he reaches around you and pulls you to his side until your head rests on his shoulder.
“I must be comfortable with the way you fell asleep on me in the truck,” he teases.
“You are. I just didn’t want to admit it then.”
You feel his laughter and snuggle closer, resting a soft hand on his chest. At first, his fingers rest lightly on your bare shoulder but slowly they start to move, drawing small circles over your skin.
The feel of his calloused fingertips draws all your attention away from everything else and all you can think about his touch, his warmth, and the smell of him, clean but with the faint scent of his skin beneath.
Carefully, you slide one leg over his and press your face into his neck. You sense his breath hitch, but his fingers never stop exploring your skin, and finally he lets out a long and controlled exhale.
Your body is thrumming with tension and anticipation, so you focus on your breathing. In. Out. Slow and steady. Your eyes drift closed, and you give in to the drowsy relief.
When you wake, you’re flushed with the memory of his fingers on your skin and his warm mouth working it’s way down your neck.
But it’s not a memory.
Joel’s there, curled on his side and pressed against you from behind, his mouth moving from your ear and down your neck.
You make a quiet noise of surprise, pressing back into him and feeling him hard and ready against your ass. At the contact he groans and grinds his hips in a slow, pressing rhythm.
“Hey,” you whisper.
His teeth nip at your pulse point, and you whimper.
“Hey,” he answers.
You reach your hand back and slide your fingers through his hair to hold his face at your neck. He tugs the strap of your tank top down and follows the soft curve of your shoulder with his lips.
“I woke you,” he says, brushing his lips over your skin. “I’m sorry.”
He pauses, lips still hovering at your neck. “No. I’m not sorry.”
Turning in his arms, you lean in and let your nose brush his, lightly, until you feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.
His kiss is hungry, his mouth demanding as he slides his hands up your top and rolls over onto you. His moans vibrate against your kiss and your arms circle his shoulders, fingers delving back into his hair, and he rocks between your spread legs.
His sharp inhales and exhales fill the tiny space between you and every time he touches another inch of your skin he lets out a sharp grunt or moan, sending you reeling.
Bending, he slides your tank up over your breasts and dips his head to lick them, fill his hands with them, before returning his lips to your mouth with renewed need. Your body responds to the rhythm he sets, the hard press of him just where you want it, and when you arch into him, rocking your hips and working your body in tandem with his, he hisses out, “fuck darlin.’ Please.”
Each point of contact between you carries an electric current and he speeds up, breathlessly close and whispering your name with parted lips.
Your movements become erratic, gripping his ass, pulling him harder against you, the thin, silky material of your panties wet and slippery.
“Joel,” you whine and bring his lips to yours again.
He swallows your moans and grinds into you, the heat of his body scorching every inch of your skin until you come with a cry of his name, his own relieved sounds following just after and his release spilling onto your stomach.
His mouth presses to your neck, soft and slow, until he sits up on his elbows.
The darkness subsides as your eyes adjust, and with the slight bleed of light from under the doorway and through the curtains of the window, you can tell he’s staring down at you, gauging.
His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb sweeping just under your eye before he leans in for a tender kiss.
“I meant to take this slower sweetheart but…”
The sweetness in his voice laces around your heart and you kiss him to stop his words and show him it’s more than ok. That you’ll take whatever he’s willing to give.
“You’re covered in me,” he whispers.
“I don’t mind,” you say as you curl a strand of his hair between your fingers.
“We could take that bath now…if you want.”
“We?” you ask, smiling against his lips. “You’re dangerous Joel Miller.”
“Me?” he asks innocently. “You’re the one who had me thinking of you naked in that tub all night.”
“And I can’t wait to try it out…”
You shove on his chest until he rolls off you and discard your clothing as you walk into the bathroom.
“Fuck me,” you hear him murmur from behind you.
“That’s the plan,” you say over your shoulder before you turn on the faucet.
@blackwidownat2814 @hiddles-rose @tripletstephaniescp
#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller imagine#joel miller x y/n#pedro pascal x reader#tommy miller#enemies to lovers#there was only one bed#roll a trope challenge#fic writing challenge#rollatropechallenge
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Texas Hold ‘Em || Joel Miller
Summary: when a heatwave interrupts your lake house vacation, you and dbf!Joel find another way to have some fun
Word Count: 2.4k
Notes: minors dni; stripping, blowjob, unprotected p in v sex, pull-out method, reader on top, implied age gap, afab reader, mentions of alcohol and drinking
Summer in Texas is hot.
Cracked asphalt sidewalks burn underfoot, paired with sharp, dry grass that pricks at your skin when you stray off the path in search of relief.
The sun is too bright, the air is unbearably warm, and the humidity is enough to take your breath away.
Days like this are best spent inside.
With an impending heat wave looming in the forecast, it seems like summer might pass by entirely before you have the chance to enjoy your break. Joel Miller – a drinking buddy your dad had picked up in recent years – had offered you a trip to his lakeside cabin with the promise that a cold drink and a dip in the water would be the perfect remedy for the high temperatures.
You’d arrived three days ago, and every afternoon since had brought a thick, sweltering heat that made it impossible to pull yourself away from the comfort of the living room. Even the calm, inviting waves lapping gently at the lake’s edge weren’t enough to tempt you back outdoors to fry under the brutal sun.
The only solution was to sulk inside, bitterly cherishing the tiny air conditioner working overtime to keep you cool. Joel didn’t seem outwardly bothered by the heat, but you could tell he preferred to stay indoors, too.
“S’posed to be in the high 90’s today,” he says, strolling into the living room with his attention turned to the vivid landscape beyond the patio doors. “But it’s so humid, it’ll feel like a hundred.”
You tip your head back and let out a dramatic groan, resenting the prospect of another day spent inside. You liked Joel, and his cabin was nice, but you wanted nothing more than to feel the sun on your skin, to be submerged in the cool, twinkling lake like you’d been promised.
“Can’t we go sit by the water, just for a little while?”
His mouth turns down at the corners, frowning as he thinks. “That’s up to you, darlin’. Just don’t want you gettin’ burnt up out there.”
You know he’s right. Even from the comfort of the living room, you could tell that it was too hot to venture outside. The handful of other cabins scattered around the lake were all vacant for the season, driveways sitting empty and abandoned canoes rocking idly at the pier.
“How ‘bout we find something else to do? Don’t have to sit here bored just ‘cause we’re stuck inside.”
Joel’s cabin was barely furnished beyond the necessities – an outdated kitchen, a stiff living room set, and a couple beds tucked away in otherwise empty rooms. But you couldn’t complain.
No one comes to a lake house to admire the décor.
He perches himself on the other end of the couch and you move to sit up beside him. “What d’you want to do?”
“Well,” he drawls, stalling as he looks around for an answer. “There’s cold beer in the fridge. Got a deck of cars around here somewhere. That could be a good start.”
“Beer and poker? Sounds like quite the party.”
“Hey,” he laughs, hands raised in mock offense. “It’s the best I can do for now.”
Your head tilts as you consider his offer.
Joel was handsome, aged like fine wine with a glint in his eye that spoke of a hidden depth you’d like to explore. Maybe you could have some fun this summer after all.
“All right,” you decide, slipping off the couch with newfound interest. “You find the cards, I’ll get the beer.”
Five minutes later and you’re sitting across the cabin’s small, circular kitchen table, dealing cards from the worn-out deck that Joel had pulled from the junk drawer.
“Poker, huh?” He grabs his drink by the neck of the bottle. “We don’t have any chips, though. How are we gonna know who wins?”
You place the rest of the deck to the side and pick up the two cards you’d been dealt, fingertips gliding over their frayed, softened corners. “I know another way we can play.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Instead of winning poker chips, whoever has the best hand picks something for the other person to take off. If you refuse, you lose.”
“So, strip poker?” he says with a dry laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Besides – as hot as it is, we don’t need clothes anyway.”
Joel shrugs and tips back his drink, thinking about the day you’d arrived at the cabin, still clinging to your hopes of having the perfect vacation.
Stubbornly glued to the beach towel you’d placed at the edge of the water, sweat glistening on your bare skin, donning a swimsuit that would’ve made a lesser man blush – he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested.
“Okay, fine.” He concedes and rests his forearms against the table, a wry grin pulling at his features. “But I’ll have you know, I’m very good at poker.”
Four rounds later, and Joel had yet to live up to his claim. Maybe it was just the luck of the cards, or maybe you’d spent enough time observing the man’s expressions to call his bluff, but you’d won every hand so far.
The first round was a close call – a full house versus three-of-a-kind. You’d chosen Joel’s watch to ease into the game, and he’d stared you down with a fire in his eyes as he placed it face-up on the table.
Next, you’d doubled down and won with an ace high, and Joel had been relieved of his shoes and his belt, which he’d dropped onto the floor with the promise of a comeback. The third hand played out the same way and you’d demanded his flannel, stealing glances at his toned arms as he handed over your reward.
By the fourth turn, you were reeling from the high of your winning streak and ready to make your move.
“I thought you said you were good at this, Mr. Miller.” You bat your lashes at him with an exaggerated simper as he deals out the next hand.
“I’m a pro, sweetheart. Just thought I’d let you have your fun.”
Throughout the round, your attention flickers back and forth between your cards and the man sitting across from you. Joel’s left with only his t-shirt and jeans to gamble away, and while you’re deciding which to relieve him of next, he slaps his cards down with a boisterous laugh.
“Well, would you look at that – a royal flush.”
A king and queen lay strewn out on the table, their stony, time-worn faces taunting you with their triumph. You’d been too distracted to notice that the community cards all shared a common suit, lining up perfectly with the cards Joel had been dealt.
He sucks in a slow breath and looks over you in careful consideration, debating what to take for his win. Finally, he gestures to your top and says, “take it off”.
Still shocked by the unanticipated loss, you place your cards down with a huff and shrug the thin material over your head without complaint. The sunlight glaring through the windows warms your exposed skin as you reveal yourself to Joel’s unwavering stare.
You toss your shirt at his chest and he catches it with a raised brow, eyes tracing over the curve of your breasts before trailing gradually back to your face. He adds your top to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor around his chair. When he speaks, his voice is low in his throat, like he’d finally understood your plan.
“Just beautiful, darlin’,” he says under his breath. “How ‘bout we raise the stakes a bit?”
“What’d you have in mind?”
His jaw tenses as he mulls over his options. “If I win, you come over here and use that pretty mouth for something other than trash talkin’. If you win, I’ll fuck you any way you want.”
You bite your lip to hold back the pleased grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Either way, you’re bound to have a good time.
“Sounds like a deal, cowboy.”
A palpable tension fills the air as Joel shuffles the deck with a renewed confidence. He lays out the sequence and flips the first three over, and it doesn’t seem like the cards are in your favor.
It’s an aimless, faceless group, and the next two aren’t much better. None of your cards pair together, and there’s nothing to do but accept your fate.
You muck your hand onto the pile with a mumbled profanity, waiting for Joel to flaunt his win. When he drops his own useless cards in the middle of the table, you look up to find him just as perplexed as you.
It’s a tie.
Neither of you have enough to make a decent hand, leaving the game in a dead heat. All this built-up tension relying on this pivotal round, and it’s a tie.
“Well,” Joel says, scratching absently at the salt and pepper stubble lining his cheeks. “I’d say it’s a draw.”
“So, who wins?”
He thinks for a moment before leaning back in his chair and not-so-subtly positioning his knees with room for you to sit in between them. “I think we both win.”
You take the glaringly obvious suggestion and pull yourself out of your seat, slinking around the table to situate yourself between Joel’s legs.
“Claim your prize, Mr. Miller.”
Your hands sweep over his thighs as he pops open the button of his jeans and drags his thickening cock from the confines of his boxers. Beaded precum drools from the tip as he languidly palms his shaft.
The sight of his digits running over the length of his cock is hypnotizing – rough, calloused fingers against warm, flushed skin. A burning fire builds in your core as you imagine how his cock would feel inside of you.
“Open up for me, sugar.”
He cups your jaw with his free hand and guides you closer until his salty head rests against the plush of your bottom lip. When your tongue darts out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock, he groans and inches forward in his seat.
“Fuck- take it all.”
You eagerly bob over his length and Joel revels in your rapt attention, in the way you dedicate yourself to the task at hand.
“Such a nice mouth,” he pants, prodding the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek and admiring the protrusion it creates. Your fingers twist into the material of his jeans and you chastise yourself for not starting the game with a bolder approach.
Joel’s hips buck against your face as he dips his cock further into your mouth, lingering briefly on the back of your tongue before hesitantly pulling back with a hiss.
“As much as I’d like to keep you down there all day, we’d better stop now if you want your reward.”
You’d almost forgotten about the bet you’d made, too preoccupied with swallowing Joel’s length to remember how you’d gotten into this position in the first place.
He holds a hand out to help you up, and you lick the remnants of his presence from your lips.
“Where d’you want me?” He trails a hand over your arm, sending a shiver up the length of your spine.
“Here,” you say with impressive ambition. “Right here in this chair, just like I’ve pictured all evening.”
“Yeah? Gonna ride my cock right here in the kitchen?”
You nod with conviction and Joel grins as his hands move to the button of your jeans. He yanks the material down past your thighs, fingers hooked into the waist band of you underwear to leave you bare in one move.
“This too,” you mention with a tug to his t-shirt. You want to see everything while you have the chance – who knows how many times a simple game of poker will amount to this.
Your jeans pool at your feet and you step out of them while Joel throws his shirt somewhere off to the side, dark curls sticking up in odd directions from the fabric disrupting their shape.
He leans back against the chair and holds your waist while you position yourself in his lap, his cock twitching with interest as it brushes against your skin. You’re not sure who’s more eager for what’s to come – you or the man beneath you.
Joel laments the lost opportunity of taking you apart on his fingers and his mouth, but there’s no delaying the zealous way you sink down onto his cock. That’s alright, he thinks with a choked noise, there’s always next time.
His thick length parts your walls with a delicious pressure, nudging against your sweet spot when you settle completely onto his lap. You’re still for a moment as you adjust to the strain, chest heaving with the effort of keeping yourself upright.
“Oh, fuck- you feel perfect.”
Joel’s hands travel up your sides until his warm palms find the swell of your tits. He leans in to sweep messy, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your throat, distracting himself with your heavy breath until you’re ready to move.
After what feels like an eternity of waiting in greedy impatience, you regain your strength enough to wrap your thighs around his waist, molding yourself to his frame as you lift up halfway before coming back down, smearing slick over his skin.
“That’s it,” he grunts. “Take what you need.”
Your pace quickens each time you raise off his cock, coming back down and grinding against his pelvis in one fluid motion. His broad, freckled shoulders are warm under your hands, an anchor for the rhythmic cycle of your hips over his.
“M’not gonna last much longer.”
You pant as his hand abandons your breast to stroke circles against your puffy clit, carrying you to the precipice of your release.
When your movements falter and you crumple against his chest, Joel picks up where you left off. He thrusts up into you in search of his pleasure, grunting as your walls flex around him.
Just as he’s about to tip over the edge, he slides his length free and grips the base with a tight fist, rubbing the head of his cock against your balmy skin as he paints the evidence of his arousal over your naval.
The air is filled with a litany of lewd sounds, pants and sighs overlapping in your equal states of bliss. Joel’s softening cock rests against your thigh as you run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and he flattens a hand against the arch of your back, both thinking about how fortunate it was that Joel suggested a card game to cure your mutual boredom.
#the last of us#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#joel miller fluff#joel x reader#joel x you#joel smut#tlou joel#tlou#the last of us smut#the last of us x reader#tlou smut#tlou x reader
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I’ll Make You Love Me💋
Bfd!Joel Miller x f!reader
Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist
Summary: In Joel’s eyes you are an unpleasant person. Yet he has to pretend as if he would not want to get rid of you for Sarah’s sake, she loves you so much you are her best friend. Well Joel also feels terrible for the rather unethical thoughts he has of you.
Rating: 18+ mature content mdni !!!!!
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: no y/n, introducing “Lucky”, female oc character, Sarah is 18, Lucky is 21, Joel’s age is not mentioned but he’s at least double Lucky’s age, degradation, humiliation, Dark, Joel is mean, he calls you Bitch/Slut/Junkie, spanking, dub-con, Daddy Kink, Manspreading hehe 😉, pervy!Joel, tears, Joel enjoys her tears, manhandling, hair pulling, weed consumption, alcohol consumption, a tiny fluffy moment, alludes to BJ, Joel can also be nice,
If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻
Authors note: this is for @toxicanonymity ‘s manspreading olympics. ❤️🔥
Shoutout to @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️
Big thank you to @jennaispunk and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading ❤️🔥🌙
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 💋
Songs I listened to while writing:
What You Do by James Gillespie
Bad Girls by M.I.A
Maneater by Nelly Furtado
Salvatore by Lana Del Rey
Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey
Waiting Game by BANKS
Into It by Chase Atlantic
You should feel bad for thinking of him in such a peculiar way. You should be ashamed for even considering him an option. He is totally off limits considering he’s much older, a busy mature man and most importantly Sarah’s Dad. Sarah the sweet girl that has been your Bestfriend for over 2 years.
It excited you in the beginning how much Joel hated your presence in his daughter’s life. He didn’t approve of this friendship ever since Sarah at 16 years old first brought you, her 19 year old friend, over for the first time.
In front of Sarah he tried his hardest to appear polite but you could see right through his facade from the beginning. And one evening when Sarah was already fast asleep you gave Joel a piece of your mind in the kitchen.
“Mister Miller let’s stop these silly games we both know what’s going on…you don’t like me and I couldn’t fucking care less.” You scoff and get off the counter, slowly drawing closer to Joel “You hate me so much but Sarah loves me soooooo much and imagine how upset she’d be to know that her Daddy doesn’t want her to be happy. Wouldn’t that be a shame,huh?” You question with an enticing head tilt.
Now you’re right in front of him, toe to toe with big bad imposing Joel Miller. You can feel the pulling in your lower belly from being so close and most importantly smelling his manly musky scent. You remind yourself that you gotta stay focused if you want to win this game.
You get even closer until your able to place your hands on his warm broad chest sliding them slightly upwards his shoulders. “What the hell r ya doin?” Joel hisses.
You lean up to whisper in his ear “Nothing, just letting you know that I eat guys like you for breakfast, I chew you up and spit you out. You’re not a threat to me, old man.” You pull back and give him a sinister sickly smile.
The wickedness in your tone causes goosebumps to prickle on his flesh.
You feed off of seeing him scared. You enjoy knowing what kinda effect you have on this usually so collected man.
“Goodnight Mister Miller, better start sleeping with one eye open from now on.” You giggle while skipping up the stairs.
That was the start of it all.
Now 2 years later with Sarah just having turned 18, Joel realizes that you two are gonna keep him on his toes even more than already.
The 18th birthday celebration was already a disaster, what Joel assumed would be a relaxed family gathering turned into you crashing the party and taking Sarah out, of course Sarah was excited so how could Joel say no.
Well when you two didn’t return at 12 pm like promised he admittedly got worried, but he wanted to trust Sarah so he tried to stay calm.
At 3 am he hears the screeching tires from some show off guys car and loud drunkish giggling. The princesses have officially arrived back home from their trip, almost 4 hours too late.
When Joel opens the front door he sees you and Sarah practically half draped over your shoulder stubbling up the starirs in sloppy drunk steps. You two are giggling and mumbling at each other in a language Joel does not understand, it certainly can’t be English.
You immediately glock his disgruntled face, the alcohol cursing through your system emboldens you so you haphazardly shove him out of the way. You sigh loudly and obviously annoyed at his antics all while herding Sarah up the stairs.
Joel cannot believe that after dragging Sarah off, taking her to god knows where, letting her drink and god forbid smoke… you still have the audacity to behave so entitled.
You put Sarah in danger and don’t feel an ounce of remorse. Joel hates your guts, in his eyes you are an entitled little brat that desperately needs to be put in her place.
Even though Joel hates you, he at the same time cannot keep his head clear of dirty images of your young and tight body. He thinks about the pool day where you showed up in the tiniest bikini he could think of.
Prancing around all while he had to resist the urge to just tear it off. You knew he was looking and he knew that you enjoyed his eyes flitting all over your enticing figure.
The both of you were tethering on a dangerous line, that could cause big trouble. How would Sarah feel knowing this is happening behind her back.
You constantly antagonize him like that wearing short skirts and tight shirts with no bra because apparently it’s too warm for that. Running into him, pressing your perky tits against his bicep in passing, coincidentally bending over in front of him. Joel was quickly approaching a breaking point, his resolve crumbling more and more with each time that he had to tug at his throbbing length all while thinking about you.
Joel clearly underestimated how much you’d play him and how much better at it you are. At this rate you’ll win this game. He however has a plan, that might even after everything still save him the success.
Joel only has to wait for the right time to attack, catch you off guard and use that to his advantage.
He gets pulled from his thoughts when he hears something that confuses him, you are singing and it sounds beautiful.
Joel creeps up the stairs as quietly as possible to not alert either of you.
The closer he gets to Sarah's door the clearer it becomes. Joel pushes the bedroom door open by only a few inches to get a look at the situation and it makes his heart roar. You sit on the side of the bed we’re Sarah is nicely tucked in, your body facing Joel but your eyes locked on Sarah’s face. Softly singing a lullaby in a language foreign to him while gently stroking over her cheeks, smoothing the hair out of her face, almost like a mother would with her baby. Something Sarah never got to experience in childhood since her mother left so early on.
Joel realizes that despite the rough exterior you put up there’s more to you than just a cold hearted homewrecker, you care for Sarah, you take care of her and watch over her wherever you two run off to. Joel feels gratitude for someone he admittedly doesn’t know a whole lot about.
Joel has seen enough and retreats back downstairs.
When you stumble into the living room to bid your goodbyes Joel looks like he’s deep in thoughts.
So you announce “Sarah is sleeping, make sure she drinks lotssssssss of water when she wakes up and takes more aspirin if needed. I’m out.”
You turn to walk off when Joel gets up “Hey ya sure bout walkin home now? I can drive ya.” He offers but you decline “Nah it’s alright Mr. Miller I can protect myself, I’ve always done it. Besides, why do you suddenly care,huh?“ you sarcastically laugh while slipping out of the house.
When you’ve turned away from him the snarky smile falls right off your face.
Joel actually felt somewhat sorry that night for the way he treated you all those times before.
That lasted until you decided to smoke weed with Sarah in his lil work shed that was situated in the back of his garden.
Joel would’ve realized either way if not by the smells wafting up his nostrils the moment he entered the shed later in the evening, then surely by Sarah’s unstoppable giggling, her slow mumbled speech or by the food flash she got.
When the two of you begged him to let you sleep over he eagerly agreed. Chalk it up to the weed that numbs your brain that this quick reaction didn’t seem suspicious.
Joel knows you will find him, you’ll see the open back door and walk right into his trap. You never sleep the night through when you spend it over at the Millers, he can hear you getting up and wandering around the house. Sarah on the other hand has got to be blessed with an extremely deep sleep.
The thought of overpowering you makes him smile giddily into the darkness of the shed.
As usual you wake up in the middle of the night, ever since being a little child the sleeping became a struggle and nothing works except tiring yourself out.
You get up out of Sarah’s huge plush bed, slip out into the hallway and down the stairs. There you immediately catch the wide open back door leading to the garden. Odd, Mister Miller would never in a million years leave that open.
You walk up to the sliding doors and when you stand in the threshold staring into the dark backyard you see that the shed is left open too.
Out of stupid curiosity you decide to investigate, not the smartest to perhaps walk right into a burglar who has a weapon but you don’t really care.
So you pat the way across the cold grass, it tickles the sole of your bare feet and the fresh midnight breeze actually feels awfully pleasant on your heated skin. Halfway you stop and glance upward at the beautiful full moon shining down on you.
After taking a deep breath you continue onward towards the shed.
When you reach the opening of the shed there’s really nothing you can see or hear. So you step further into it, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.
You feel like someone is watching you but you are unable to pinpoint where it’s coming from. It’s unsettling so you do something considerably stupid “Hello, hello is there anyone? Mister Miller are you in here?” You call out with a shaking voice.
No response.
A light flickering in the center of the room catches you off guard and now you can see him, the one that watched you.
Mr.Miller is sitting on a bar chair behind him is his working table, he leans his back against the edge of the table.
Your eyes immediately go to his slightly sweaty face -the Texas heat is unrelenting even in the middle of the night- he looks gorgeous illuminated by the tiny lamp glowing behind his shoulder on the cupboard. He’s smirking sinisterly at you.
You let your eyes wander over his broad shoulders that are clad in a green flannel. Inevitably your eyes slip down to his wide spread jeans covered thighs, they look so big and muscular.
He catches your staring and drops a hand on his thigh that slowly starts stroking up and down. Making you gulp audibly.
“M..M-..Mister M..Miller what are you doing here?” You stammer out.
“I was waitin for ya to come find me.” He huffs gruffly.
He continues “Close the door behind ya Lucky.”
You feel somewhat hypnotized by his slow calculated words as you, out of pure reflex, reach for the handle behind you.
As you shut the door, effectively trapping yourself with him he murmurs “That’s a good girl. Ya do know how to listen Lucky Girl.”
Hearing Joel call you a good girl in his signature dark molasses like voice had you squeezing your thighs together.
“Hmm ya like that baby, huh?” He inquires
“N..no, that would be fuckin weird.” You try sounding sincere but to no avail Joel has seen through you a long time ago.
“Lucky you are liar, a slut, a junkie..-“
You hiss “What did you just say?” While stepping closer to where he sits.
“Ya heard me right Lucky, you are a fuckin junkie, smoking weed in my shed with Sarah. Are ya outta your mind?” He throws back
“You gotta be kidding me, right? Big Bad Mr Miller is shitting his pants cuz of a bit of weed.” You wheeze.
“That’s enough.” He decides, getting up in one swift imposing movement. Suddenly he’s the one towering over you and he looks pissed.
He’s on you in the blink of an eye threading his hand through your hair grabbing a decent amount by which he pulls you with him.
“Ouch…ouch what the fuck let me go.” You huff while trying to get his hands out of your hair. But he doesn’t appreciate the disobedience and starts pulling even harder, which brings you to tears from the pain.
“Ohhh poor baby Lucky, look at those tears, ya not havin’ fun huh? That’s too bad darlin’ but I don’t care.”
He sits back down on the chair and in one swift motion pulls you over his thighs. Your belly rests on his crotch and your whole world is turned upside down.
“Clearly no one has ever taught ya a lesson, that’s why ya always behave like a bratty bitch.”
His free hand flits to your sleeping shorts and practically tears them off of you. At the ripping sound you yelp.
“Hmm look at that plump ass and those sweet lacy panties…ya always wear this slutty underwear when ya have a sleepover?” All while he’s groping you.
“What the hell are you doing Joel?”
“Aw is it not Mr.Miller anymore? Have we lost our manners lil girl? Or is there a better name for me, hmm?” He inquires.
For some reason you know exactly what he wants to hear but you're not inclined to give in. Yet.
“It’s fine baby ya don’t need to say it now, I’ll make you scream that goddamn name you fucking slut.” He pulls on your hair “Ya hear me bitch.?”
All you manage is a meak nod before he lets go off your face.
You can feel his warm and calloused hand on your cheek squeezing, stroking and poking. Then his hand is gone but not for long. You can’t even react. He's that fast in delivering the first smack to your behind.
“Ya gonna take what i give ya and behave cuz you wanna be a good girl, right? Ya wanna be my good girl,hmm?”
“Y..y-yes I do Mr.Miller.” You say defeated.
“Atta Girl. I think 10 should do it, for now, until ya feel like acting up again..”
He is unrelenting when it comes to punishing you, each time the impact is harder and more unexpected than the previous. You have to bite your lip in order to suppress a moan, even though it hurts it’s incredible. You can feel yourself becoming wet, with each time that his hand collides with your behind more slick gushes out of your pussy. At this point there must be a wet patch visible.
His bulge pressing against your stomach tells you how much this is affecting him too.
“Lucky I know ya try to hide it but I can smell how she’s leaking and if I check I’m sure I’ll find that cunt all sloppy for me, right?”
“Y..y-yes.”
“That’s what i thought.” And with that he continues the assault on your cheeks.
And it may be only ten but he makes them count, the blows are measured and hard. You guess your cheeks must be glowing at this point.
When he finally reaches 10 it feels like hours have passed since you decided to go wander around. He’s massaging your bruised ass. You finally feel like you’re getting a moment of peace but that couldn’t be further from the truth, because Joel threads his hand back into your hair and yanks you to face him.
He’s just staring at you, accessing you and then he kisses you.
It’s rough, teeth clashing, tongues swirling around, his hands urgently grabbing your face, your fingers tangled in his graying curls.
Though the kissing is over before it can escalate too far, Joel is once again pulling you by your hair, this time he’s more gentle, he pulls you off of his knees and pushes you down on them in the space between his spread thighs. You’re at eye level with his crotch now that looks painfully hard.
As you peek up at him through your lashes you muse “Looks like you got a problem, a big problem…Daddy. You want me to help you?” All while innocently tilting your head at him.
He grabs your face roughly “Shut up Lucky and put ya smart mouth to better use.”
“Don’t underestimate me Daddy. I’ll make you love me.” You say while giving him a cheeky wink.
Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI, thank you 🙏🏻
Npt: @toxicanonymity @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @joelslegalwhre @joelsdagger @tonysopranosrobe @luxurychristmaspudding @mountainsandmayhem @moonlitbirdie @joelalorian @sawymredfox @thundermartini @ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @pedropeach @joelsgreys @joelstummy @ovaryacted @iamasaddie @wintrwinchestr @littlemisspascal
#Joel Miller#manspreading olympics#Joel Miller Fic#bfd!joel#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#joel miller tlou#joel miller age gap#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#kinda dark#My writing#Mina Writes
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I'm really big on diversity here, and you are the goal that I wanna see. You're Latino, in a leading role; Joel doesn't have to be Latino. Joel could be anybody and that's where I get really excited. You're there, you're representing, and you can just be. You don't have to be, like, overly Latino. You might not be aware, but 75 years of Emmy history, and only one Latino actor has been nominated for Lead Actor - Drama. That's Jimmy Smits. He didn't win? He didn't win. I feel like I'm looking at, potentially, number two. Do you feel that wave coming-- That you can just be Pedro Pascal, an actor, versus; Pedro Pascal, the Latino guy that we have for Latino roles? Do you feel that change right now?
#pedropascaledit#ppascaledit#pedro pascal#userallisyn#useralii#tuserpolly#tusercora#xuserannie#userjoanne#userconstance#usergal#userkia#g:pp#oaks#this was so nice to hear#ms. weist pls forgive my typo and forgetting the second n in your name ahhh
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The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 5: Fracture
You and Joel try to find a balance in your relationship in Los Angeles. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 4 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: Very mild violence. Masturbation. Description of porn. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.
Length: 14.3k (IDFK what my problem is)
Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
“Hey, Big Miller!” Tanya yelled toward her living room, wine glass clutched precariously in her grasp.
“Shhh!” You clamped your hand over Tanya’s mouth as she practically cackled. “Will you cool it?”
She shoved you away playfully.
“We need a camera man,” she said. “And I don’t think he’s busy.”
“Can’t we ask one of your security guards?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I don’t think they’re busy, either.”
“Yes but my security guards aren’t eye candy,” she replied, almost smug. “And they’re in the guard shack. So the obvious choice is… Oh, hello Big Miller.”
Tanya winked at you and you turned to find a surly Joel standing in her massive kitchen, his arms crossed and a fed up look on his face.
“Can I help you.”
“Yes, actually,” she practically flounced over to him. “We are making a TikTok…”
“No,” Joel said.
“Oh, come on,” she waved him off. “You’re no fun!”
“Ain’t paid to be fun,” Joel said. “Now if you two aren’t running off somewhere crazy, think I’ll get back to…”
“We just need a camera man,” Tanya said, putting a hand in the middle of his back and guiding him further into her kitchen. “All you have to do is press record, hold the phone and press stop.”
Joel looked to you like he was asking for an out and, given the new, strangely kind balance to your relationship, you wished you could give him one.
But… you did need a camera man.
“Ellie wanted us to make a video,” you said and Joel sighed and held out his hand for Tanya’s phone, just like you knew he would as soon as you mentioned your niece.
Tanya squealed and clapped for a moment before walking him through what she wanted him to do.
“Alright,” he sighed as Tanya took her place next to you. “Let’s get this over with.”
Joel was a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing, stopping and starting the recording again and again as you and Tanya swapped places and did ridiculous looking dances and you couldn’t help but laugh when you were supposed to be standing still as your friend did her part.
“Thank you, Big Miller,” Tanya said, taking the phone back when the two of you couldn’t think of any other stupid dances to do. “We appreciate your contribution to our art.”
“Something tells me that isn’t going to win either of y’all one of those fancy trophies,” he said before looking to you. “Should leave soon. You’ve got early shit tomorrow.”
“So bossy,” Tanya winked at him. Joel rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, he’s like that,” you smiled at him a little. “But we have to let him control what he can otherwise he gets grumpy.”
“Well I guess we do have to let the men be men occasionally,” she smiled at him again before looking to you. “Do I get to see you again this trip or no?”
“Probably not,” you said, scrunching your nose at that. “I’ve got more chemistry reads tomorrow morning, Kimmel in the afternoon, meetings in the evening, premiere the next day, flying home the day after that.”
“Ugh, home in Texas,” she made a face. “LA is way better.”
“I’m sorry, which of us has been on tour for the better part of a year?” You teased. “Not like you’re here for me to hang out with anyway.”
“Hey, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” she elbowed you lightly and you laughed before you both sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” you smiled a little. “You can always come visit in Texas, you know.”
“Might take you up on that,” she smiled back.
Tanya loaded you down with two dozen cookies before you left and you couldn’t help but smile a little as Joel drove the two of you back to your house.
“Thank you,” you said, looking over at him in the glow of the street lights. “For the TikTok thing, I mean.”
“Not the end of the world,” Joel shrugged. “Don’t understand it for shit but…”
You smiled a little and opened the cookie tin, holding it out to Joel, who glanced at it as he drove.
“C’mon,” you shook the tin at him, making the cookies inside rattle. “You know you want one.”
“Can’t believe you just go over to some pop star’s house to bake cookies,” he muttered, reaching over and grabbing one, taking a bite and chewing for a moment. “And they’re fuckin’ good, too, that’s even worse…”
You just smirked, closing the tin with a satisfying snap, looking out the window as Joel drove you home.
It had been a strange few days since the lunch with Henry. You’d been busy - which you had expected, cramming weeks worth of meetings and outings into just a few days - and Joel had been a surprisingly comfortable companion for the whole of it.
He sat there, watching stoically from the corner as you read lines with the actors vying to be the romantic lead in Savage Starlight. He didn’t complain about the swarms of paparazzi and fans when you went to do interviews. He even kept whatever complaints he had to himself when you went for a fitting for your dress for the premiere and your stylist, Frank, dragged him in to get feedback from a man on the fit of your bodice.
“What was your name again, I’m sorry,” Frank asked as he stood there with his hands on your sides.
He sighed.
“Joel.”
“Joel,” Frank said. “Right. Well, Joel, since I’m pretty sure you’re straight given -“ he gestured toward Joel as a whole “- that, what do you think? Should we have it sit here…”
“Frank,” you said, half pleading, half knowing it was a lost cause. “Please leave him out of this…”
“Honey, if you won’t listen to me, listen to him,” he said, adjusting the bodice and turning his attention back to Joel. “Do you want to fuck her more with it here?”
He adjusted it again, making it so your breasts were higher, more ample. You sighed.
“Or here?” He said, looking at Joel. “Be honest.”
Joel’s eyes darted to you, wide and almost afraid.
“I… uh…”
“He doesn’t want to fuck me at all, Frank,” you said, rolling your eyes, your hands on your hips.
He rolled his back.
“Please, everyone wants to fuck you.”
“You don’t.”
“Yeah, that’s because I want to fuck him,” he jerked his head toward Joel.
“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to tell Bill that,” you teased, barely holding back a smirk. “Tell him you’re out here…”
“Don’t you dare.”
“…checking out bodyguards…”
“Please don’t.”
“…causing problems…”
“Do you really think that paranoid old man could cope if he knew I was hanging out with that walking wet dream?” Frank asked, brows raised. “Please. For both our sakes, save me the fight and keep it to yourself and you,” he rounded on Joel. “Tell her the truth, that you want to fuck her more when the girls are higher.”
“Can you promise me I won’t have a nip slip on the red carpet if you shove my boobs up to the sky?” You said before Joel had a chance to stumble his way through another response. “Because Quinn might kill me if I do.”
“Do you really think I’d let that happen?” He asked, brows raised. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll put some pasties on the girls, that way if your tits find some way to defy the laws of physics - which, if anyone’s could, it’s yours - you’re not really flashing the whole world.”
“Very considerate,” you said wryly, ignoring the roll of his eyes. “Then sure, put my tits under my chin if that will bring you joy.”
“You’re my favorite client for a reason,” he said, going about pinning the dress into place and you bit back a smile as Joel stood there, his hands in his pockets as he stared determinedly off to the side his eyes darting back your way every half minute or so.
Joel had even been a pleasant presence at home. You’d FaceTimed Ellie the night before while you sat at your kitchen island with a glass of wine, just nodding along and listening to her talk about her day, trying not to dwell too much on the little mannerisms she had that reminded you of Anna. Joel came in - you weren’t sure why, his hand running absently over the granite counter before rapping his knuckles on it and Ellie spotted him then, perking up even more when she did.
“Hey, Big Miller!” She called in a sing-songy voice.
Joel came up behind you, tall and broad at your back, leaning down to get in the frame of the camera of your iPad.
“Hey Trouble,” he said, teasing Ellie with her own code name. “Been keeping your nose clean for your grandmother? Behaving for Seth?”
“No,” she smirked. “But remember that one debate I had coming up?”
“I do.”
“Well, I did it,” she said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. “And I won.”
“You did?” He asked, pride in his voice. Ellie nodded eagerly. “Knew you could, that smart mouth of yours.”
“I kicked his ass,” she said happily.
“Was it that one kid?” Joel asked. “The asshole?”
“Yup,” Ellie beamed. “And I made him look like a fucking idiot.”
“Ellie!” You scolded.
“Sorry, Sissy,” she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Joel. “Freaking idiot.”
Joel snorted.
“Good for you, kiddo,” he said. “Knew you could do it.”
Once you finished up the call with Ellie, you went and found Joel. He’d taken to spending time by the pool since the night he’d found you there. Sometimes he had a book, sometimes he just watched the water, his hands folded between his knees looking like he was lost in thought. He was there then, too, watching the water this time with a bottle of beer at his feet.
“Hey,” you said, knowing better than to approach him silently.
He looked back over his shoulder to you.
“Hey,” he said before looking back at the water.
You came and sat next to him, watching the light ripple in silence for a moment.
“Think Ellie misses you,” you said, glancing to him as you did. He just grunted. “It sounds like she talks with you…”
“We got time when I take her to school,” Joel said, almost defensively.
“I know,” you said quickly, gently. “I just… I appreciate it. You being nice to her, I mean.”
“Oh,” he said.
“She needs that,” you continued. “Her dad was never in her life, it was always just her mom, Elise and me and now… She needs as many people as she can to care about her. She’s been through a lot. I’m glad she has someone else she can talk to like that.”
“She’s a good kid,” Joel said, staring at the water. “Don’t mind.”
You nodded silently.
“Puns are awful though,” he said after a moment, smiling ever so slightly.
You laughed.
“God, they really are,” you said. “She has a book of them.”
He looked at you then.
“Who the hell’s idea was that?” He asked.
You laughed again.
“She picked it up at school a few years ago, one of those book fair things. I think she memorized it.”
“Jesus,” Joel laughed and then sighed. “Guess we’ll never be free of ‘em.”
“No,” you smiled a little. “Guess we won’t.”
It had become a strange balance. Not quite friends, not quite… whatever you’d been before. Some odd middle ground where you cared what he thought and found a disorienting comfort in his presence without the kindness of any affection.
Your phone lit up, a link from Tanya. You followed it and watched the video on TikTok, posted for not even five minutes and already thousands of likes. You smiled at it, the look on your own face as you tried not to laugh at your friend’s ridiculous dance moves and your own clumsy, erratic movements when it was your turn funnier than you’d realized.
“That the video?” Joel asked as you sat at a red light.
“Yeah,” you said, holding the phone out to him just as it looped. He watched for a moment, an almost serious expression on his face before it seemed like he was biting back a smile, shaking his head a little. You laughed. “You liked it!”
“I don’t really get it,” he said, giving you a look before the light turned green and he started driving again. “But… yeah, alright, it was kinda funny. Didn’t think you celebrities really did that kind of shit, though.”
“Why not?” You asked, going to repost the video on your own feed and texting Quinn to tell her that you had so she wasn’t caught off guard by it.
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just… seems like it’s beneath you.”
You frowned a little.
“You do realize we’re just people, right?” You said. “We just happen to do jobs that make us famous.”
“I know,” Joel said. “Still. Feels weird.”
You laughed a little at that. Yeah, fame was weird.
“Ellie seen the video yet?” He asked, glancing your way quickly.
“She’d better be in bed,” you said. “It’s almost 2 a.m. in Texas. But I’ll send it to her in the morning.”
“She do one, too?” Joel asked.
“She did,” you said, smiling a little and going to Ellie’s TikTok - which you’d insisted be locked down to hell and back so paparazzi couldn’t take advantage of it - and pulling up the video. Joel parked in your driveway and you handed him your phone, pressing play for him and watched as he smiled a little as Ellie and her friend Dina did different crazy dances in a classroom at school to the same song you had.
“Looks like she’s makin’ friends,” Joel said, giving you back your phone. He didn’t wait for a response, getting out of the car. You sat and waited patiently for him to come to your side of the car - a safety protocol that felt excessive but you went with it - before getting out yourself. “That’s good. Can be hard for kids that age now, especially at a new school.”
“Yeah,” you said, frowning slightly at him and biting your tongue. How would he know about kids that age? You weren’t sure of his exact age but you were pretty sure he was a few years older than you and it’s not like he had kids.
“Driver’ll be here early,” he said once you were both safely inside and you set the cookies down in the kitchen. “Any itinerary changes I should know about?”
“Nope,” you said. “Just going to be a busy day for me with a lot of sitting around for you. Might want to bring your book.”
“Be sure to keep myself entertained,” he said wryly, opening the tin and getting out another cookie.
You smiled.
“Goodnight, Big Miller.”
“Night, Siren.”
You brought a bag with you the next day.
You’d done enough shit like this in your time - days where you had to run from place to place at almost breakneck speed, places where you knew you’d be photographed to hell and back and others where you had some semblance of privacy and you knew you’d be desperate for some comfort - that you knew how to plan for it.
Joel sat up front with the driver, leaving you in the back seat alone and you sent the TikTok to Ellie, telling her you hoped she had a good day at school and that you were excited to see her in a few days. You took a few minutes to review the lines you were working with that day, making sure you were comfortable with the ones you’d be reading with the kids. You always remembered your first line readings with grown ups once you were actually old enough to fully understand what was going on, how some made you feel at ease and some made your stomach churn and skin crawl. You always wanted to be the comfortable person for these kids. You hadn’t worked with many children in adulthood but it always felt strange when you did, some twinge in you that made it seem like you were watching your younger self but not able to stop what was coming.
“Doomed by the narrative,” you muttered to yourself, skimming the lines of the girl who would play your childhood self.
“Hm?” Joel said back over his shoulder.
“Nothing,” you said, locking the iPad as the car pulled up to the studio gate. “Just running lines.”
There were four kids you were reading with but one that you’d been told was the favorite and she was reading last.
All the kids were talented, you’d give them that. Of course, they had to be to make it this far. They were all 10 to 12 years old, all excited to be there, all somewhat accustomed to this life already. But you posed for pictures with them anyway - the photos going on their agents’ phones so they couldn’t post them before they were allowed to - and performed your lines in all the different ways the casting director asked.
Eventually, the last girl came in, a sense of nervous, almost frantic energy pouring off of her, something that seemed so far away but so familiar from your childhood.
“Can I see her resume?” You asked the casting director quietly as the production assistant went over things with the girl.
“Sure,” she said, rifling through a small pile before handing it over. You reviewed it quickly and found what you expected - some commercial work, a three episode arc on a sitcom, no film. She was just 12 years old and new to this. You slid the resume back and went over to the girl who, you had to admit, looked a lot like you.
She was staring at you, her eyes a little wide and you tried not to laugh. Instead, you smiled and held out your hand, introducing yourself.
“Yeah,” she said, a little awed. “I know.”
“Thought you might,” you smiled a little wider. “What’s your name?”
“Catherine,” she said. “Catherine Ford.”
“It’s nice to meet you Catherine,” you said. “Want to run some lines with me, see how we do?”
She nodded quickly and you showed her where to stand in front of the camera that was capturing your line reads for the director to watch later.
“Let’s go from from the top,” the casting director said, giving you a nod. “Get us started.”
You just nodded and found the character quickly, falling into her headspace, making your eyes meet the girl who was yourself.
“Who are you?” You asked, a panicky edge to your voice.
“Don’t you know?” She asked in response, cocking her head slightly to match your own. “I’m you.”
“No,” you shook your head. “No, that’s not possible, you’re not real, you…”
“I am,” she said, all calm and wise. “I’m you and I know that you… I… crud…”
Her face scrunched and she looked down to the paper in her hands.
“Keep going,” the casting director said to you. “Lead her in.”
You nodded, taking a moment to reset and looking at Catherine.
“That’s not possible,” you said again. “You’re not real, you…”
“Don’t you know?” She said and then her face fell. “Crap, I’m sorry!”
“It’s OK,” you smiled gently. “Want to go again?”
“Is that OK?” She asked. You just nodded and she sighed. “OK, cool. I’ll get it this time!”
“From ‘that’s not possible,’ please,” the casting director said and you obeyed, but Catherine missed her cue to cut in that time, freezing in the moment and then looking like she was about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I promise, I know my lines, I was up so late practicing, I won’t mess up like this if you actually cast me, I…”
The casting director got up but you held out a hand, keeping her where she was.
“Catherine?” You cut her off before she had a full blown panic attack. “It’s OK. Did you warm up before you came in today?”
“No,” she sniffled a little. “No, I should have, and…”
“Hey, I’m not criticizing you,” you smiled gently. “Even if you had, it’s probably been long enough since you left your house that it wouldn’t make a difference now anyway. Why don’t we take a minute, warm up, then try again. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, that would be great.”
“OK,” you said. “Any warm ups you really like?”
“Um,” she thought for a second. “To sit in solemn silence? Do you know that one?”
You smiled a little wider.
“Good pick,” you said. “One of my favorites. Want to start or do you want me to?”
“Can you?” She asked. “I never have to…”
“Of course,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Ready? To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock…”
You did a few warm ups with her, helping her loosen up and get relaxed before you got set to go again, tension coming back into her small shoulders as she got set for the next try.
“Hey,” you said gently. Her eyes met yours. “It’s OK. Just you and me, two actors doing our thing, OK?”
She smiled a little at that.
“OK.”
She seemed to take that to heart, hitting every word that time, the two of you falling into that rare space where you felt truly connected, that you were inhabiting these characters, building tension, pulling these feelings from each other and laying them bare. It was a space that was hard to find, you couldn’t do it with every actor, and this 12-year-old girl had managed it.
The room was silent for a moment when the scene wrapped but then the casting director clapped, you and Catherine both turning to look at her, Catherine beaming.
“Beautiful,” she said. “That was great, really really great.”
The two of you did a few other scenes, Catherine finding her groove more and more each time and you couldn’t help but marvel at her talent. She had raw skill that many of your contemporaries would kill for, skill that she’d only hone over time. She was going to be an incredible actor if this industry didn’t destroy her first.
“Who brought you here today?” You asked Catherine when the read was over, the casting director already talking conspiratorially with her assistant.
“My mom,” she said. “She’s in the waiting room.”
“Can I meet her?” You asked.
“Yeah!” She said eagerly. “She’d love that!”
You flagged Joel down from his spot in the corner and followed her there, her mom jumping up when she saw her come through the door.
“Hey kiddo!” She said excitedly, hugging her daughter. “How’d it go?”
She noticed you then, her eyes going a little wide at the sight of you.
“Hi,” you smiled. “I’m…”
“I know,” she cut you off, her eyes still wide but going somehow wider. “Oh my God, that was probably so rude, I’m sorry!”
You laughed.
“It’s fine,” you said. “Honestly, if it didn’t make me feel like such a self-centered jerk, my life would probably be a lot easier if I just assumed everyone knew who I was. You’re Catherine’s mom?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Margie.”
“Hi Margie,” you said. “It’s good to meet you. Catherine is really incredible, you know.”
“I know,” Margie said, tugging her daughter against her side and giving her a squeeze. “Trust me, we wouldn’t even be trying this if she wasn’t. She just begged and begged for years and eventually it was so obvious she was so good that we should at least give it a shot.”
Catherine beamed at that and you smiled, the familiar pinch of tears at the back of your throat that you swallowed as you did. Her mother seemed nothing like your own.
“I took a look at her resume, looks like you’re pretty new?” You asked and Margie nodded. “Well, getting started is hard, there’s a lot to navigate. Can I see your phone?”
She all but dove into her pocket and unlocked it before handing it over.
You entered your number, saving it with your first name and last initial.
“Don’t share that around,” you said, giving Margie her phone back. “But if you need anything - anything at all - give me a call or a text. Alright?”
“We gotta go,” Joel said quietly behind you. “Cutting it close.”
You just nodded before turning to Catherine.
“It was really great working with you today,” you smiled.
“You too,” she said, smiling hugely.
“Looking forward to doing it again soon,” you said, giving her a hug and a wave before going back to the audition room. Your bag was in the corner and you grabbed it before going to the casting director.
“I want Catherine,” you said, already going through your bag for your makeup kit.
“She was very strong,” she replied. “But she had the shaky start and…”
“No,” you said, cutting her off. “She’s it. No one else came close. Not trying to tell you how to do your job but it’s Catherine. She’s just green but she’s young, she’ll get used to it quick. Trust me.”
She considered you for a moment.
“Alright,” she sighed eventually. “She was the top pick going into today but if we need to recast because she can’t hack it…”
“We won’t,” you said. “I’ll make sure she’s got what she needs.”
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll confirm with the director but we’ll get her.”
You got changed into something far less comfortable than the leggings and sweatshirt you’d been wearing but looked way better for TV - Frank putting together a pair of velvet wide-legged trousers and matching jacket with a mesh turtleneck - and did your makeup and hair as quickly as you could before rushing to the car, Joel on high alert any time you were outside.
“You were good with her,” he said once you were safely underway.
“Hm?”
“The girl,” Joel said, his voice gruff. “You were good with her. She was nervous, I could tell.”
“Oh,” you said, watching the back of his head in front of you, as if that would tell you anything about what he was thinking. “Yeah. I just remember what it was like to audition like that. It’s lot of pressure.”
“Can’t imagine doin’ that to a kid,” he said harshly. “Should get to just be a kid.”
“There’s a reason I don’t want Ellie growing up here,” you said, looking out the window at the city going by. “Don’t want her getting any ideas.”
The car pulled up to the theater, a hoard of people outside the doors waiting for you.
“Ready?” Joel asked over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting yours, something about the depth of his gaze making it impossible to look away.
“Ready,” you said.
He got out first and he tried to rush you through the crowd but you saw a little girl who had to be about seven or eight - wearing a t-shirt with the duck you’d voiced years ago, when Ellie was about her age - watching you with hopeful eyes.
“Hi there,” you smiled, getting down on her level. “What’s your name?”
“Parker,” she said, smiling hugely, one of her front teeth missing.
“Hi Parker,” you smiled back. “It’s so nice to meet you! I really like your shirt.”
“It’s my favorite movie!” She said excitedly.
“You have excellent taste,” you said with a wink. You nodded to the piece of paper clutched to her chest. “What do you have there?”
Her face lit up for a moment and she thrust the paper at you.
“It’s my drawing!” She said. “I did it myself!”
You took it and looked down at it, a childish, colored pencil version of the duck you’d played there on the page.
“Parker, this is so good!” You said, smiling at her. “You’re such a good artist! Is that what you’re in school for right now? Art? What college do you go to?”
“I don’t go to college!” She laughed.
“You don’t!” You gasped in mock surprise. “What! How old are you? 20? 21?”
“I’m seven!” She beamed.
“Oh, my goodness,” you said, looking back at the paper. “You were such a good artist and so grown up I figured you were much older.”
You gave her the paper back
“Can you sign it for me?” She asked, holding it out with a pen.
“Well, the artist is usually the one to sign their work,” you said. “But… I’ll sign it if you do, too.”
She beamed at that and you let her use your back to sign her name on her drawing before passing it off to you. You signed it, too, and gave it back before taking a selfie with her mom’s phone.
“Alright,” Joel said when you stood up again, his face drawn tight, his hand on the middle of your back. “Let’s get you inside, fuckin’ sitting ducks out here.”
“Oh, we’re fine,” you waved him off, going back to the crowd and taking selfies and signing autographs as you worked your way into the theater.
“You like trying to give me a damn heart attack?” He asked once you were inside.
“Everyone needs a hobby,” you said wryly as Quinn rushed over to you with a production assistant at her back. “Should try getting one yourself, you know.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, rolling his eyes but following you to the greenroom all the same.
Quinn reviewed the final topics for the interview and you said hi to Jimmy before getting ready to go on stage and put on a show.
Doing interviews like this one still felt odd to you. Not because they were unusual - you’d gotten used to the talk show circuit by this point in your career - but because of their very nature. The illusion of some intimate conversation between friends on display for the few hundred strangers in the same room and then broadcast for all the world to see.
You’d crafted a version of yourself for times like this, one that was built to appeal to an audience and seem genuine and real, some artificial sheen to wrap yourself up in that you slipped into like any other character. This one, though, grated on you. The strange dishonesty of it, the character you were playing yourself instead of the creation of someone else.
The interview went along like any other for a while, the two of you bantering back and forth and you sharing funny stories from set that sounded off the cuff but were actually carefully rehearsed to make sure you and your costars’ stories aligned.
“Speaking of Chris,” Jimmy said as your time was running down and the audience was quieting after another bout of laughter. “I do have to talk about one thing with him.”
“Just one?” You teased and he laughed.
“Well, plenty,” he said. “But did you know that you and Chris are going viral?”
“No,” you laughed. “But I’m sure my publicist does and she’s thrilled. What are we going viral for?”
“There was a moment in an interview this week,” Jimmy said. “I think we have it…”
The screen behind you changed and the moment from the junket days earlier played, you and Chris sitting side by side as he started on his rant, one that you’d thought would never see the light of day.
“First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due…”
You sat there, cheeks getting hot, pressing your fingers into your thigh, nervous energy making your stomach turn as you watched Chris lay into the reporter. You’d hoped that this clip had been squashed by his publicist, that the reporter honing in on one of your lowest points wouldn’t be put out for all the world to consume. Apparently not.
“That’s all it takes to go viral now, eh?” You joked as the video ended. Jimmy chuckled lightly but no one in the audience laughed.
“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty great moment,” he said. “But I was wondering what you thought of it.”
“I think Chris has a way with words that I can’t quite match,” you smiled a small but tight smile. “And I think if I say anything different, he might go off on me next.”
That did get some laughs and you laughed with the audience, hoping that you looked playful and fun, not tense and ready to crawl out of your skin.
“Well we don’t want that,” Jimmy laughed. “Thanks so much for coming on and everyone, go see As We Know It, out Friday!”
You waved your goodbyes and looked stage right, oddly comforted by Joel’s commanding presence there, his face firm as he watched you. You walked right for him as you left the stage, one of his arms going around you as you came alongside him, something grounding in his touch as he ushered you away.
“You’re OK,” he said quietly, guiding you toward the door you came in.
You frowned and looked at him, Joel glancing your way as you did.
“You’re stressed,” he said. “I can tell. I’ve got you.”
You did a more abbreviated run of the crush of fans this time, stopping for a few selfies and signing a few pictures, but not lingering, instead moving as quickly as you could for the car without looking like you were rushing.
Joel didn’t get in the front seat this time, instead climbing in back with you. You frowned as he did but he just ordered the driver to start toward the restaurant where you were meeting with producers.
“You alright?” Joel asked after the car was out of sight from the crowd outside the theater, his eyes oddly soft and open. “That was shitty, them springin’ that on you.”
“It happens,” you said, looking back at him as intently as he seemed to be looking at you. “I should be used to it. I am usually, but…”
“Shouldn’t need to be,” he said. “They should act better.”
You watched him for a moment, trying to puzzle him out but couldn’t see past his stern face with the strangely open eyes. You didn’t understand him. You weren’t sure you ever would.
“I’ll be fine,” you said when you’d been quiet a little too long. “But thank you.”
He frowned.
“For what.”
“Caring,” you shrugged. “Not many people do. But I’m afraid I need you to look out that window for a minute.”
His frown deepened.
“I need to change,” you said. “Shouldn’t be photographed in the same thing this many times so look out that way, please.”
His jaw quirked but he obeyed, shaking his head a little as he did.
“Shouldn’t be photographed at all,” he muttered, arms crossed tightly over his chest as you got a pair of black leather pants out of your bag and set them on the seat between you and Joel.
“Probably right,” you said, shrugging out of the jacket and adjusting yourself so you could slide your pants down and off, leaving you just in the mesh top. “But comes with the territory.”
You dropped the clothes you’d shed beside you, the velvet of the fabric brushing Joel’s arm and he glanced toward you - just a reaction, you told yourself - before he jerked his head back to look out the window again.
“Oh don’t act like half the planet hasn’t seen me half naked,” you rolled your eyes as you got into the leather pants, a task that was easier said than done in the back seat of an SUV. “I promise, I won’t bite.”
“Right,” he muttered.
You got the pants into place and pulled out another jacket, draping it over your shoulders and putting the other clothes away.
“You’re safe, Big Miller,” your teased, tossing the bag in the trunk.
“Try to make a habit of not seeing my clients naked,” Joel muttered, settling back into his seat.
“Sounds boring,” you said.
He gave you a look and you laughed.
“Don’t worry,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’re at risk of anyone thinking you’re interested in fucking me. You’re safe.”
He just grunted and you smiled a little, looking out the window. There was something comfortable when he was like this. You weren’t sure what to do with a Joel who didn’t seem to loathe you, at least a little bit. Even though you wanted him to like you. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you did.
The paparazzi were waiting for you outside the restaurant, too, but you’d been expecting that. Quinn had told them you’d be here and you made sure your pants were actually zipped before getting out and putting on the show you always did, smiling and waving, taking selfies with fans who’d heard you were going to be there, too.
You kept the show on through dinner, talking with the producers of a period piece you were interested in doing, Joel sitting next to you the entire time, his jaw quirking when Leo joined the table, too.
But Henry didn’t make a surprise appearance and, after a while, you found yourself relaxing into things, a few too many glasses of wine deep and giggling when you left the restaurant.
“You got what you need for the premiere?” Quinn asked as you made your way to the door.
“Frank has a vision,” you said dramatically and Quinn snorted. “Don’t worry, my tits are basically hanging out, the press will love it.”
“Well I’ll see you there,” she said, kissing you on each cheek. “Need Frank to have a vision for me one of these days.”
“Call him,” you said eagerly. “I’m sure he’d work his magic! Oh, we could go somewhere matching, that would be fun!”
“OK, you’re drunk,” Quinn laughed and looked to Joel. “She’s drunk. Make sure she gets out of here safely and doesn’t talk to any of the paps outside?”
“I’m not drunk!” You protested and Quinn laughed, taking the lapels of your jacket in your hands.
“You’re drunk,” she said. “And that’s OK, you’ve been doing a lot lately, you deserve to have a little fun. Just don’t make more work for me in the morning when you do. See you tomorrow at the premiere.”
“The premiere!” You said and she laughed, giving you and Joel a final wave. You turned to Joel. “We know what I’m wearing for the premiere, what are you wearing for the premiere?”
“No one cares what I wear for shit,” Joel said, nudging you toward the door. “C’mon, driver’s pulling up.”
“Why wouldn’t they care?” You pouted, looking over your shoulder toward him. “You’re a good looking man, you know.”
“Alright, let’s go,” he said, shaking his head.
“What?” You said. “You are! I’m not trying to hit on you but that’s just an objective fact. Even Frank said so.”
The flashes caught you off guard. You’d forgotten, for a moment, that it seemed like half the planet cared that you’d had dinner here. You smiled and waved and Joel kept you walking straight toward the car, keeping you from stopping and talking to the people screaming your name.
“That felt rude,” you said once you were in the car and things were quiet again.
“Too bad,” Joel said, in back beside you again. “Don’t need to be talkin’ to those assholes, anyway.”
“There were some fans in there, too, I think,” you said, settling down into your seat. “But back to what I was saying.”
“No,” Joel said simply. “Seatbelt.”
“What?” You frowned. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean, put your seatbelt on,” he said.
Your frown deepened and you looked around yourself for a moment before Joel made an irritated sound and reached over you, grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it into place.
“OK,” you said, adjusting it and sitting up a little straighter. “Seatbelt’s on. Why can’t we keep talking about it? I’m just saying, you should take the compliment…”
“Not interested,” Joel said.
“Oh will you calm down?” You rolled your eyes. “I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed, you’re safe from my scary Siren claws, I just mean if you dress well tomorrow at the premiere people would notice because you’re a good looking person, that’s all.”
“It don’t matter because I’m not gonna be seen with you,” Joel said, his voice stern. “I’ll be on the other side of where press and shit are but the carpet will be you, some assistant and that Chris guy. Don’t matter what I’m wearing or how good I do or don’t look, alright? Jesus…”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “You really let them talk you into that? I’m shocked.”
“The premiere’s got it’s own security and it’s actually damn good,” Joel said. “Not good enough for me to just stay home but you’ll be alright. Don’t need me in any more goddamn photos with you than there already are.”
You watched him for a moment.
“You still don’t like me, do you?” You asked.
He frowned, looking at you.
“Why’s it matter.”
“I didn’t say it did,” you shrugged. “You just don’t like me.”
“Don’t need to like you,” he said. “Just need to keep you alive. Besides, the whole damn planet likes you, ain’t that enough?”
You scoffed.
“No they don’t.”
“Yeah?” Joel asked. “What d’you call that shit, the hundreds of people waiting for fucking hours just to catch a glimpse of you if it’s not like.”
“They don’t like me,” you said. “They don’t know me. They’re obsessed with a commodity. I’m not a person to them, I’m just a weird combination of every part I’ve ever played, every passing idea they’ve decided to assign to me, some idealized creation that doesn’t exist but they’re convinced is real. You know me, at least a little, and you don’t like me.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m right,” you said, your stomach twisting at that. You shouldn’t care what Joel thought of you but you did. There were so few people on this planet who knew you - actually knew you - and he was one of them. And he didn’t see something in you worth liking.
The car pulled up to your driveway and Joel got out first, going around and opening your door.
“C’mon,” he said, offering you his hand. “Like you or not, you got an early day.”
You took his hand - large and warm and secure - and slipped down to the ground, tottering on your heels enough that it made you laugh, Joel steadying you as you went.
“I trust you to actually get yourself to bed?” Joel asked as he led you inside.
You scoffed.
“Where else am I gonna go?”
“Sure you’d find some way to get into trouble,” he replied wryly.
“I’ll go to bed,” you rolled your eyes. “See you in the morning Big Miller.”
***
Joel watched you head down the hall, weaving a little as you walked before disappearing into your room, trying not to think about the way the fucking leather pants hugged your ass or the way your hips moved when you walked.
“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, stalking off to the kitchen to get a water.
You just don’t like me.
Lord, how he wished that were true.
He liked you alright. Far more than he should. Enough that the entire planet’s fucking obsession with you was starting to make sense.
He tried not to think about that.
Liking you was not a good idea. It was a completely horrible idea, actually. He wanted to go back to how he felt before he’d come here. It seemed like so long ago now, before he knew about your mom and Elise and Anna, before what you’d told him - and clearly hadn’t - about that fucking producer, before he saw you laughing with a friend or making kids smile just because you could. He wanted to go back to before you were a person - a real person, one with fears and wants and hurts - instead of some rich asshole he could pretend was a different species from himself.
It wasn’t a good idea to care about you. He had to protect you, he couldn’t be distracted by things like your fucking feelings. Caring about you was dangerous.
He opened the fridge and went to grab a bottle of water but, instead, took one of the beers that was sitting there. Not that drinking right now was a good idea, either, but fuck it.
Joel brought the beer to the pool and sat on the edge of it, the glow of your bedroom light almost tempting. The curtain covered the window but he could make out the silhouette of you through the glass and gauzy fabric. You must not have a shirt on, the outline of your breasts clear in the hazy, warm light. He watched for a moment as the outline of you pulled on some baggy piece of fabric, covering yourself, and he forced himself to look back at the water.
He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t.
He wasn’t going to admit that he thought about it the day before, too.
He wasn’t going to admit that he thought he might break his fucking jaw from clenching it as he watched you with the actors during the audition shit the day before.
You with these men all made for the screen, designed to be your fucking equal in a way he never could be even if he tried - which he wouldn’t because it didn’t matter. They read lines with you and he watched as you looked at them with adoration, touched them with some kind of longing, pressed your body to theirs, arching around them to fit yourself to them like you belonged there. Because you did belong there. If not with these men in particular then with a man like them. Not a man like him.
Not that it mattered. It didn’t fucking matter.
No, he wasn’t going to think about those things. He wasn’t going to think about the way your tits looked in that fucking dress that Frank had asked his opinion on. He wasn’t going to think about glancing over at you in the car today when he knew he fucking shouldn’t have and seeing you there, half naked in your fucking see through shirt, your thighs looking so warm and welcoming and fucking soft.
He wasn’t.
He’d thought about it the night before. He wasn’t proud of that but he had, the image of you getting fitted for the damn dress at the forefront of his mind. It was like his head was a scratched record, skipping over that point in time again and again and again.
He tried to think about anything else as he stood in the shower that night but fucking couldn’t, his cock half hard as he tried to shove the memory of you away.
When he went to bed, he caved to his baser instincts. He decided to jerk off. Just to get it out of his system because he couldn’t be still stuck on this the next morning and he didn’t think he could sleep with his balls swollen and aching as they were.
He tried looking at porn but he couldn’t figure out what the fuck he wanted to watch. He was absently scrolling through a site, nothing standing out until something caught his eye. Your name, on a video.
He stared at it for a second, your name followed by EVERY SEX SCENE - COMPILATION.
His mouth went dry. His cock was painfully hard.
Could he watch that? It’s not like it was really wrong - it wasn’t something that had been shared without your permission and it wasn’t actual porn. It was just something he could see if he went on Netflix right now and sought it out.
But you hadn’t made it so fucking assholes like him could jerk off to it. And it wasn’t like you were a stranger now, he knew you. Could he do that?
His dick throbbed at the thought.
Could he stop himself?
Joel clicked on the video, his stomach twisting as he pressed play. There was an ad and he read the comments while it played.
She’s so fucking hot.
Bet she moans like a whore in real life.
Fuck I want to choke her out.
She was hotter before, she hit the wall when she hit 30.
The sound of you moaning in his headphones grabbed his attention, dulling the violent anger that swelling in him when he read what other people said about you. Joel took a shaky breath and made the video full screen. He was already this far down the rabbit hole, he may as well fully commit.
The first chunk of excerpts were from the movie you won the Oscar for and he could only stomach a few seconds of it. You looked disturbingly young to him, just a teenager with a softer version of your face getting on her knees, starting to take off her shirt making him jump ahead. He jumped again when it just felt too strange, watching you start to get undressed or turn around when you were obviously shirtless - seeing your skin this way feeling too keenly wrong.
It was the last scene in the video that he found himself watching in earnest. It was something more recent, you looked almost the same as you did now, none of the childish softness to your face that had been there in the first scenes. It was a romantic scene, one that was carefully shot so the viewer saw nothing illicit. The curve of your bare waist, the edge of the swell of your breast, a hint of your ass.
But Joel liked it this way, this moment not tinged with the wrongness the others were. You moaned as your on screen lover pushed inside you - or mimicked it, Joel corrected himself - your fingers spreading wide over the man’s back.
Joel took his cock in his hand, swallowing hard, his heart beating fast. He worked himself slowly as he watched as the man on screen explored your body, close up shots that revealed nothing interspersed with your face as you gasped in pleasure.
He let himself get lost in that, in the sounds you made, stroking himself harder, faster. He wanted to make you make those sounds. He wanted to press his lips to the delicate skin of your throat and kiss and lick and suck as he sank inside of you. He wanted his hands to run over the softness of you, to press his firm chest to your plush one and feel your heart beat through your skin. He wanted to feel you swallow him whole, his body slotting into yours as he made you come.
You moaned and gasped on the video and he let himself pretend that it was for him and he came, imagining it was you and not his own fucking hand he was buried inside as rope after rope of his come spilled over his skin.
His cheeks got hot as he closed the video and cleaned himself up, a pile of tissues on his nightstand the only sign of his indiscretion.
He tried to clear his mind as he settled in to sleep, reminding himself of what he already knew: You were not meant for something like him. It didn’t matter what he wanted, you were for someone better than him. You needed someone beautiful like you, someone with money and power and purpose. You deserved someone like you. And he needed to get past that, at least enough that he could do his fucking job and keep you safe. That was all he was good for now. He knew that.
He tried to remind himself of that again as he sat by the edge of the pool, his mind lingering on you, on your striking beauty and disquieting kindness and keen talent.
He took a sip of beer.
It didn’t matter, he told himself. None of it mattered.
That was the truth of it. Even if you were his equal - even if he was rich and famous or you were just some waitress or school teacher or something besides the most famous woman on earth - it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like he could do anything about it, anyway.
About a year after he lost Sarah, he’d tried dating. It hadn’t been his idea but Tommy had set him up with a friend of a friend and it hadn’t gone well. Not because she wasn’t a good woman - she was. She was kind, smart, beautiful.
But it didn’t seem to matter what Joel did, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to really care for her. He liked her well enough. Enjoyed her company and enjoyed her body but any real affection seemed far away. He’d broken it off before things would need to get too serious, just the thought of getting any further involved making his chest get tight and his head swim. He wasn’t meant for things like that anymore.
He’d left humanity behind when his daughter had. Anything like love and care was closed to him now, he knew that.
So why did he keep thinking about you?
He downed the rest of the beer and sighed before getting up, looking toward your window. He watched the outline of you pull back the blankets and climb into your bed before stretching and turning out the lamp.
He just shook his head and went inside, putting the bottle in the recycling bin before heading to his own room, trying not to think of you lying on the other side of the wall.
It didn’t make a difference. You were still in his dreams that night.
You were standing opposite him like you had the men you’d read lines with but, instead of the comfortable clothes you’d worn to the audition, you were in the mesh top you’d had on that day. Just that and your panties, like you’d been in the back seat of the car.
“Ready?” You asked, your eyes meeting his and he actually let himself look into them now, and how soft and deep they were. You didn’t wait for his response. “I’ll read you in.”
Your body changed, the physicality of you shifting as you became someone else inside your skin.
“What are you so afraid of?” You asked, almost forcefully.
Joel knew his line. He’d heard it enough the day before.
“You!” He said. “I’m afraid of you, of this power you have… I can’t protect you, I can’t…”
“I don’t need you to protect me,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “I need you to trust me.”
You were close enough that you were touching him.
He knew this part, too, but he didn’t stick to his lines.
“But I need to protect you,” he said. “It’s all I know how to do, I… I can’t…”
You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes meeting his, your body arching against his own and he could feel every line of you through his clothes. You moved to kiss him and he went to meet you but you stopped just short, your breath warm on his skin.
“Why didn’t you protect me, Joel?” You whispered, your lips brushed his as you spoke.
He frowned, pulling back ever so slightly.
This wasn’t in the script.
“You should have saved me,” you said, stepping back from him.
Suddenly, he was somewhere new with you. The middle of the road, a burning car to one side of you. You stepped back from him again, cradling your arm to your chest, blood spreading quickly over your skin from a wound at your stomach.
“No,” he reached for you, but you stepped back. Your ankle was at an odd angle, making you limp. “No, this isn’t…”
“You should have been there,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “You should have saved me. Why didn’t you save me, Joel?”
“I…” he began but you collapsed then and he jumped to catch you, pulling your body tight to his chest, panting for breath. “No, no, no, you’re OK, it’s alright, you’re gonna be OK, you hear me?”
“No,” you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. “I won’t. Because you didn’t save me.”
He woke with a start, ready to jump between you and any unseen threat. His chest was tight so he could barely breathe, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.
It took him a moment to remember where he was, in a bed that was his but wasn’t, in a foreign land that wasn’t really so different from his own. It was still dark outside and he clutched at his chest, trying to calm himself down.
You were safe. You were safe and he was close enough to you that he could protect you if something happened.
He repeated it in his head like a mantra and it helped but only so much. There was this little, nagging thought that, while he thought you were safe and well, he couldn’t be sure. Not until he saw you.
It was early, still dark outside, but he checked his phone. It wasn’t the middle of the night, at least.
He got up on the off chance that you might be awake, glancing toward your bedroom door and seeing it closed. But it looked like there was a light on in the main part of the house so he followed it, finding you leaning against the counter in the kitchen in a bathrobe, a towel around your head. You were scrolling through something on your tablet, drinking from a mug of coffee. There were only a few lights on, the room still mostly dark, something quiet and almost illicit about his presence there. But the tension in his body eased all the same. You were whole, he could relax.
“Did I wake you?” You frowned, glancing up at him from the glow of the tablet screen.
“No,” he said, almost defensive. “Why.”
“Because,” you shrugged, looking back at the tablet. “You usually wear a shirt when I don’t catch you by surprise.”
He glanced down at himself and almost groaned. He hadn’t even thought about putting something on.
“Just woke up,” he said, going to get a cup of coffee for himself. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”
“Well, I needed to get a workout and a shower in before the glam team shows up,” you said, taking a drink from a green smoothie that he hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go anywhere. I just swam some laps and Quinn’s assistant brought me this.”
You held up the cup and waggled it in his direction. He rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, because heaven forbid I’m concerned about you gettin’ grabbed by some stalker,” he muttered, getting himself a coffee and leaning against the counter across from you and tried to resist the urge to look down the neck of your robe, something that would be so easy to do with you bent over the counter the way you were.
Then you stood up straight, setting the tablet down, making his life a little easier.
“I’m sorry for yesterday,” you said, your coffee cup tight in your hand.
Joel frowned.
“What d’you mean.”
“I mean,” you took a deep breath. “That I behaved unprofessionally. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, I shouldn't have said the things I did. You’re right, it’s not your job to like me and it doesn’t matter if you do or not. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable but, if I did, I apologize. You’re good at your job and I appreciate the work you do. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh,” Joel said, taken aback. “Um… It’s… It’s fine.”
“Good,” you said, downing the last of your coffee. “Glam squad will be here in a little while. You may want to hide while you can. I might promise professionalism but I can’t speak for my stylist.”
Joel snorted at that.
“Good advice.”
You smiled tightly, taking the smoothie back toward your bedroom.
“Hey, Siren,” he said, almost wincing as he said it but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to use your real name, the words seeming almost too intimate. But you stopped all the same, facing him with your eyebrows raised. “I meant that. It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t go beating yourself up about it.”
“Thanks, Big Miller,” you smiled a little, softer this time. “I appreciate that.”
Joel ate something and got dressed before people started showing up for you. He met each of them at the door, making sure he knew who was in the house and what they were there to do. Makeup artists and hairstylists and, of course, Frank and his assistant. There was even a team of people escorting a fucking necklace and earrings in some oversized red box that made Joel grind his teeth. It was a little surprising, just how many people it took to get you ready to go to a fucking event.
He couldn’t imagine what they could all be fucking doing, especially not for hours upon hours. It’s not like there was anything on you to improve, he wasn’t sure why the hell it’d take an entire day to get you ready for anything.
But when you eventually emerged from your room, he understood.
Frank was carrying the back of your dress while you held up the front and you were nodding along to something the woman beside you was saying and Joel couldn’t help but stare at you.
It was like you were a sculpture or a painting, more a work of art than any mortal thing. The gown looked like it had been made for you, finding and highlighting every soft curve of your body. There was a diamond necklace with a massive center stone resting in the hollow of your throat, making him think about how delicate your skin would be there. Your makeup perfectly framed your eyes and the arch of your cheekbones and the plush of your lips. Your hair and nails and eyelashes were all longer and more elegant than they’d been just hours before and you were so beautiful it was hard to look at you. It was painful, wrong in some way. You were something beyond him entirely, ethereal and other. He wasn’t meant to look upon the likes of you.
“You ready?” You asked, turning your attention to him.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he’d meant it to be. “You really gonna watch an entire movie in that thing?”
“Not the most uncomfortable gown I’ve worn, trust me,” you cocked a smile at him. “But we should go, there’s always traffic for premieres.”
Joel just grunted noncommittally. He needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t afford to let you distract him just because you were beautiful. Not after his dream this morning, not when he knew what was at risk.
He stared determinedly out the window all the way to the theater.
“You’ll have to let me know what you think of it,” you said as the two of you sat in traffic, getting closer and closer to the red carpet.
“Of what,” Joel said, looking your way for the first time in a while, forcing himself to not let his eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your throat.
“Of the film,” you said. “You might be the only person here who will be honest to me about it. I’m curious to know your thoughts.”
“Not a movie critic,” he muttered.
“I know,” you said. “That’s why I’m curious.”
The two of you finally made it to the red carpet and the door opened, your costar there waiting for you with his hand out.
“My God, love,” he said, looking you up and down. “Do you ever look anything but perfect?”
“I do what I can,” you smiled, giving him your hand and letting him help you out of the limo.
Joel got out, too, going around the back of the crowd instead of following you up the carpet, the distance from you making his heart beat faster and his muscles clench.
“Fuckin’ risky,” he muttered to himself, following your path from the other side of the cluster of fans who were pressed against velvet ropes. There was a large screen set up, a camera tracking you and Reese’s progress down the carpet and Joel kept his head on a swivel, watching you and the crowd and the space at the edges for any threats, trying not to grind his teeth at the way your costar’s hands rested at your waist, hip, back.
He’d very nearly relaxed when you and Reese had worked your way down most of the fans. You’d almost made it to the press, the more contained part of the carpet where you’d be more secure. Maybe, he thought, he was just being paranoid. Maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about here.
You started talking to a young man at the end of he cluster of fans, one not much older than the college idiots that seemed to dominate Austin half the fucking year, but there was something about him that set Joel on edge.
You took a selfie with him and signed something for him but he kept clutching at your arm, not letting you move. Reese’s usually carefree expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together, lips pursing. He put his hand at your waist and gave the man a wave, saying something and smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before pulling you away. You smiled warmly at the man, probably saying something nicer than he deserved, and let Reese lead you on but the man wasn’t letting you go. Your eyes went up, immediately finding Joel’s, a spark of fear in your gaze he could see even from this far away.
Both of the man’s hands closed around your wrist and he yanked you back toward him, pulling you out of Reese’s hold and making you stumble and Joel was moving before he fully realized what he was doing.
It was instinctual, shoving his way through the press of fans with no care for who he knocked down on the way. Even with the tightly packed crowd, he was to you in seconds, the man’s hands locked tight around your wrist, bending it at an unnatural angle, Reese trying to pry the man’s hands away from you. Your eyes were wide, the hand that wasn’t in the mans’ grip on his elbow almost soothingly, as though your gentleness was all he needed.
“No, you don’t understand!” The man was pleading. “I love you, I need you, I’ll do everything for you, everything, no one else will ever love you the way I do, I…”
Before he could finish talking, Joel punched him across the face. The blow was hard and sharp and sent the man reeling, almost taking you with him before Reese caught you around your stomach and pulled you back from the velvet ropes.
Event security appeared then, swooping in on the man as he sat on the ground, looking dazed.
“About fuckin’ time,” Joel snapped to them before hurdling the rope and going to you. Reese had angled you away from the camera that had been following the pair of you down the carpet, cradling your wrist in his hands, saying something to you that Joel couldn’t quite hear.
“You OK?” Joel asked, a little breathless. Your head snapped up, your wide eyes meeting his, something almost frantic in your gaze. Your chest was heaving, your breaths coming in fearful little pants and he closed the distance between the two of you quickly, taking the uncanny beauty of your face in his hand. You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek into his palm and his fingers held you tighter than they should but he couldn’t seem to pull back. Your skin was soft, smooth, warm, perfect. You took a deep breath. “You’re safe, it’s OK.”
“Joel,” you said softly, your voice trembling and wet, none of your typical bravado to be found.
“I know,” he said. “But they got him. Not gonna let him hurt you, you’re safe.”
You nodded into him.
“Do we need to leave?” Reese looked to Joel, his brows drawn tight together.
“No,” you said quickly before Joel had a chance to respond. He frowned, going to argue with you but you cut him off. “No, we’re almost to the press, we need to just keep going, it’s fine, I’m fine. We keep going.”
Joel searched your eyes, your face still in his hand and, as afraid as you looked, you were just as determined, too.
“Fine,” Joel clenched his jaw.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
“I’ve got you,” Reese said gently to you before turning back to Joel. “I’ll take care of her.”
Joel nodded once, firmly, before finally - painfully - taking his hand back from you. You closed your eyes and took a deep, centering breath. You raised your chin defiantly and steeled your spine and opened your eyes again. You smiled a little as you did and, for the first time, Joel recognized a shift in you. It was like the auditions, when you embodied someone else. You weren’t yourself anymore, you were just another character now, someone with your face and voice but detached from you.
“Let’s go,” you said, leading Reese down the carpet toward the press.
Joel watched until you were at the backdrop, smiling and posing with your costar, making sure event security was close by before slipping back into the crowd.
The man who’d grabbed you had been wrestled away from the crowd, tucked off to the side and now in custody of police. Joel went and found them, introducing himself to the cops and telling them about the stalking threat he’d been hired to protect against.
The man was still yelling, fully sobbing as he said again and again how much he loved you, how all he wanted was to take care of you. Joel wished the police would turn their backs for a moment, just a moment, just long enough for him to get another hit in on him. He wanted to hurt him, scare him, make him realize that you were protected and that he couldn’t get to you.
Joel had never dealt with a stalker before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if this was the guy. The level of obsession, the passion, the willingness to hurt you to get what he wanted made it seem likely.
That was good, he thought. If this was the guy, you were out of immediate danger. You’d be safe - or as safe as someone as famous as you could be. There was a certain sense of peace in him at that.
But there was this keen longing in him, too.
If this was your stalker, his contract would be up. He would go back to Texas with you, pack up the things at your house and say goodbye to this strange semblance of a life he’d found himself in with you and your niece. He’d be without the both of you, alone in the tomb of his house, waiting for the next time he could jump in front of a bullet for someone else so he could feel alive.
He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest at that thought, the sickening feeling in his stomach.
This had been a mistake, this whole fucking job had been a mistake. The second he knew who you were he should have told Tommy no, he couldn’t. You were too close to Sarah, the job too long lasting. It was too big a risk for him, too much of a chance for him to get attached to someone he had no business getting attached to.
“Joel.”
He looked around to find Quinn at his back, her face drawn.
“She alright?” He asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“She made it through the press but she might have a broken wrist,” she said, her voice low. “She’s ducking out the back once the film starts, we need to get her to a doctor. She has fight training starting soon and an injury is going to be who knows how much in production delays…”
Joel bristled.
“And if she’s got a broken fuckin’ bone it needs to be treated.”
“Obviously,” Quinn rolled her eyes. “I thought that went without saying.”
“She’s not just a fucking profit center,” he narrowed his eyes at your manager. “She’s a person.”
Quinn looked at him for a moment, considering him.
“I know that, Joel,” she said gently. “I just wasn’t aware you did.”
Quinn, at least, had the foresight to get your usual SUV to pick you up instead of the limo you’d arrived in. Security let Joel in the back door and you were waiting for him there, looking so out of place among the boxes and storage in your gown and jewels. You were stiff and oddly small, shoulders hunched as you leaned back against a cinderblock wall, cradling your injured wrist to your chest. Someone tried to talk to him but Joel ignored them, instead going straight for you.
“Changed your mind?” He asked, hands in his pockets so he didn’t touch you again.
You looked at him through your lashes, something sharply vulnerable in your eyes for a moment before you straightened and smirked a little.
“Figured going to an afterparty with a wrist the size of a grapefruit was a bad look,” you said, showing your arm to him. Your wrist was swollen and discolored and he resisted the urge to take it gently in his hands. “Don’t want the press to be about this, we want it to be about the movie.”
“Alright, c’mon then,” he said. “Get you checked out.”
He put his arm around you, tucking you against his side as you held your wrist against yourself. He stayed close to you on the drive, your body warm and relaxed against him.
“Do you think that was him?” You asked quietly, voice small.
“I don’t know,” Joel said. His hand was on your arm. Your skin was soft. “I talked to the police, told them about the stalker, they’re gonna investigate…”
“He scared me,” you said softly. “I know there were threats but… It didn’t seem real. I didn’t think anything would happen.”
“I know,” Joel said, his thumb tracing a slow, steady path over your skin. “I’ve got you. Keep you safe.”
He said it as much for himself as he did for you. He tried not to think about why he needed to.
The driver took the two of you to a small doctor’s office that, at this hour, was quiet. A nurse met you both at the back and you were quickly ushered into an exam room and given an x-ray, you in your gown on the cold paper of the exam table a sight that made Joel’s heart clench.
“You did indeed break it,” the doctor said, pointing out a thin line on the x-ray. “It’s a minor fracture, shouldn’t need a full cast and just a splint for three to five weeks.”
“How soon before I can train?” You frowned. “Can I train in a splint?”
“That really what you should be worried about?” Joel asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
You looked over to him, your eyebrows knitting together.
“There’s a whole movie depending on me, Joel,” you said. “People have contracts, they have bills they need to pay. I can’t just take weeks off.”
“Can’t make a movie if you don’t heal,” he muttered.
“You need to take at least three weeks before you do anything extreme with that wrist,” the doctor said. “If you don’t, you’ll need a cast and you’ll be out of commission even longer.”
“Alright Doc,” you smiled. “You win, I’ll take it easy.”
“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to see you try to hold an Oscar in a cast.”
It was a relief to get you back home again, in a contained space that Joel had gotten to know in the last week. Frank and a hairstylist met you there, the three of you disappearing into your room for a while and Joel considered sitting in his own, not sure he could handle seeing you again but then, he wasn’t sure he could handle not seeing you, either. So he sat on the couch, existing in a state of limbo, not sure what to do next.
“Sounds like you saved the day,” Frank said when he eventually emerged, a garment bag over his arm.
“Dunno about that,” Joel said. “Still let her get her fuckin’ wrist broke.”
“Seems like it could have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in,” he said. “Broken wrist will heal.”
Joel just grunted.
“Anyway,” he continued. “Thank you. She’s one of the good ones.”
He left before Joel got a chance to respond. The hairstylist left not long after, a bag of hair in her hands, and, when you didn’t come out right after, he almost thought you’d gone to bed. He was considering doing the same when you slowly, almost cautiously, came down the hall, peering into the living room as though your presence in your own home was somehow illicit.
“Oh,” you said, in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and wrist splint. The makeup was gone, the long nails and lashes and hair, too. But you were still beautiful, maybe even more so now. It was the most human Joel had ever seen you. “Sorry, I thought you’d be in your room…”
“Don’t need to apologize,” he shrugged. “Your house. You OK?”
“Fine,” you shrugged. “A little sore but… I’ll be fine, it’s just a minor fracture.”
Joel nodded slowly and you stood there awkwardly for a moment.
“I’m going to make tea,” you said. “Eat something solid for the first time today now that I’m out of that dress. Call Ellie, check in. Want to join?”
He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes, follow you to the kitchen and be next to you, have tea, talk to Ellie. He wanted to keep existing in the same sphere as you, be folded into your life the way he had become the last few months.
But he couldn’t. He knew that. You and Ellie and your lives weren’t for him.
“Should go to bed,” he said instead. “Been a long week.”
You smiled - a little sadly, he thought - but nodded and went to the kitchen and he listened to you just exist for a moment before he left you there alone.
It didn’t seem to make a difference. He dreamed of you again.
It was different this time. You were far away from him, in the t-shirt and sweats you’d changed into, larger than life but out of reach. All he could do was watch as someone hurt you and you looked for him to help you. He ran and ran but he couldn’t reach you, couldn’t do a goddamn thing except watch you hurt because he couldn’t do the one thing he’d been built to do.
He stared at the ceiling when he woke up, his heart pounding and body tense.
He had to stop this. Whatever road he was going down, whatever he was doing, he had to stop. He couldn’t live his life this way, where he was always afraid and waiting for things to go wrong. He’d learned that lesson once, the hard way. He couldn’t do it again. He just couldn’t.
“Ready to get back to the Lone Star State?” You asked, already in the kitchen when Joel got up.
“Guess so,” he said. You watched him, like you were waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“Well,” you said when he was quiet for too long. “I know Ellie is looking forward to you coming back, she told me something about that video game you guys…”
“Look,” Joel cut you off. “Ellie’s a great kid…”
“Agreed.”
“But, if that guy was your stalker, I got no reason to be at your house all the time,” he said.
“Oh,” you said, your shoulders slumping a little. “Right. I hadn’t really… That makes sense. Yeah.”
Joel poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Should go get packed,” he said.
He didn’t wait for a response, just going back to his room to gather his things and avoid you and it was a relief when the car was there, ready to take the two of you to the airport.
“We do have to make one stop on the way,” you said, holding the red box that had shown up yesterday.
Joel frowned.
“Don’t you got people for that?”
“Well, the original plans got a little fucked with the whole ‘crazy man at the premiere’ thing,” you said. “But keep your shirt on, Big Miller, it’ll only take five minutes.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his eyes, wishing he was back in Texas already.
He sat in back next to you, anyway.
The stop at the jeweler was quick - you trading the large and ostentatious red box for a much smaller one - and it wasn’t long before the two of you were ushered onto the plane, the last people aboard as you tucked yourself into the window seat in the front row, a baseball cap tugged low over your face and a sweatshirt covering the brace on your arm.
Joel was tense the entire flight. He hated when people realized you were aboard and started demanding autographs and selfies, when you got up to use the bathroom, when the plane hit turbulence and he knew there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do to save either of you if the plane went down and that level of powerlessness disturbed him at his core.
He’d been stupid with you. Careless, reckless, dumb. He knew better now, he knew where giving a fuck led and it was nowhere good. He thought that wasn’t a risk with you, that your spoiled fucking attitude and obscene wealth and the ease of your life would make it so he could never care for you but he was wrong. He gave a shit. For the first time in five years, he cared.
And he needed to get far away from that before it killed you both.
He went wordlessly to his room at your house in Austin when you got there, Seth beating you both to the house to take over so Joel could have a few days off. He grabbed a few things he knew he’d want and resolved to ask Seth to pack the rest for him when the police confirmed that it had, indeed, been your stalker last night. For now, he just needed to get out of here and get away from you.
“Hey, Joel!” You followed after him as he stalked toward his truck, his duffle over his shoulder.
He gritted his teeth and turned to face you.
“What.”
You all but flinched back from him, blinking in surprise at his curt tone. He knew he was being short with you but it needed to happen. It had to.
“Oh,” you said, the smaller red box from the jeweler in your hands. “I just…” You thrust it toward him, looking at him with wide and oddly honest eyes. “I got you something. I ordered it before the thing yesterday, just to say thank you for everything in LA, but it can be kind of a going away gift now, too, since… well, anyway.”
He took it, the fact that you seemed out of sorts disorienting, and opened it. Inside was a watch. It was simple, rectangular with a silver case and black leather strap, but obviously luxurious.
“It’s engraved,” you smiled, fidgeting with your sweatshirt sleeves. “Which is probably dumb but I couldn’t resist, I’m a sucker for shit like engraving, don’t ask me why…”
“You think this is what I want?” He asked, holding up the box, voice cold.You just blinked at him for a moment. “That I want some fancy fucking jewelry? That I’m like your rich fucking friends you can just buy off or something?”
“What?” You looked at him, hurt. “No, no, I… I just… Yours is broken and I wanted to say thank you for…”
“For me doin’ my job,” he cut you off. “That’s what this was, a job. We’re not friends, you don’t need to thank me for shit. You paid me, I protected you, end of story. I don’t want your fancy fucking watch, I don’t want…”
“Then sell it!” You snapped, angry now. “Consider it a tip, run it over with your car because you hate me so fucking much, tell the tabloids about how the movie star bought you a present, I don’t care! I know you’re thrilled to be rid of me, anyway. Nice knowing you, Miller. Have a nice life.”
You didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, you stalked back into your house, leaving him there with nothing left but a hollow ache in his chest and the watch that he wished he could find a home for on his arm.
Next Chapter
A/N: Look. If you're here because you've read my other stuff, are we at all surprised that we ended up here? Is anyone surprised that I'm back in my natural habitat - torturing Joel Miller - yet again?
I wish I knew why I was like this, I really do, but alas, here we are. Thanks for reading it and for putting up with my total lack of a posting schedule. I really appreciate you being here and caring about these characters enough to read the monster chapters I put out about them.
Love you!
Taglist: @christinamadsen@eff4freddie@brittmb115@copperhalfcent@r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter
#fanfic#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x oc#tsats#the savage and the sanctuary
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Okay okay so the victor naming scheme with like celestial bodies (I like to think this is what the Watchers call them) is really really cool to me so i was trying to come up with more for the potential winners
(I decided I’m going to go through all of them while i wait for grian to poST HIS FUCKING VIDEO so please bare with me lmao)
Grian is the Sun, of course. It’s his series, not to mention he shares a name with the Irish goddess of the sun. Mumbo can’t win bc he’s out but like if he ever does win, i think he should also be the Sun like Grian, because they canonically share a soul (at least in hermitcraft). He could also be Icarus as a tribute :3
Scott is the Stars. Why? I dunno, fandom consensus lmao. I don’t personally keep up with his pov because he and grian don’t really cross paths much (i mostly only watch grian, mumbo, and scar 😭). He also had that little crown in Last Life that looked like stars so
Pearl is the Moon, firstly, because she is PearlescentMoon, but also because she had a strong connection with the wolves (Werewolf!Pearl my beloved). It also completes the trio lol
Now here’s where we get into the people that don’t necessarily have an agreed upon title, starting with Martyn. To me, he is Mars. The Roman god of war is a contributor to that, but he also just has the vibes (it also rhymes with Stars but atdhdbjd). Similar to Mumbo, Ren could also be Mars if he won bc his soul is shared with Martyn now (i think??). If not, then maybe Jupiter, like the king of gods, and the red dot can be Red Winter.
Scar is the Earth. He had an earthy color palette for most of the season, but that’s not the only reason. He is alone. The Earth is alone in the universe when it comes to life (as far as we know).
Now, i’ve seen Cleo as Mercury and as Venus, and I love both of those. Venus is the Roman goddess of love and beauty, and I think that’s very fun for Cleo. Mercury also is kind of just her vibe. However! I thought of Pluto, at first as a joke, because Cleo “technically doesn’t count”. But i decided it fits because Pluto is the Roman god of the Underworld, and Cleo is a zombie! :D
Okay now i’m making some up for fun for potential future winners 💀
Jimmy could be a Comet! Somehow it’s similar to a canary to me, i dunno it just makes sense lmao. If Tim ever won, it would be like he’s hurtling toward the finish line like a big flaming ball, so it’s funny. I don’t have the words to explain the symbolism i want to get across, but it’s there i promise
Lizzie could be The Void, one because ShadowLady, and two because she died to the void in Secret Life. I know it’s not exactly a celestial body, but it can apply to the dark matter of space :)
Etho could be Saturn, purely just for color and vibes. Alternately he could be Jupiter and the red storm can be like Etho’s red eye!
Joel is Uranus. Just cause it’s funny.
Gem could be the constellation Gemini. I know it doesn’t exactly count as a celestial body, and Scott is already the Stars, but i don’t care lol
A potential one for Tango is Mercury. His blue fire form could represent Mercury’s retrograde.
Big B would probably be Neptune, for his sweater, or! Venus because of his recent Creaking stuff.
Unfortunately i don’t really have one for Bdubs, so if y’all have suggestions let me know! Maybe like, the Horsehead Nebula?
I’d like for Impulse and Skizz to be intertwined somehow, something like Alpha Centauri, which are two stars that orbit each other.
Tell me if you have suggestions! I might also be using some of these for my pirate au…. 🤫
#trafficblr#wild life#wild life smp#grian#mumbo jumbo#scott smajor#pearlescentmoon#martyn inthelittlewood#rendog#gtws#goodtimeswithscar#zombiecleo#jimmy solidaritygaming#jimmy solidarity#solidaritygaming#lizzie ldshadowlady#ldshadowlady#etho#ethoslab#geminitay#tango tek#tangotek#bigbst4tz2#bdubbleo100#bdubs#impulsesv#skizzleman
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very important official zine stuff for real this time guys please spread this around
we realized we haven’t asked you what you want this zine to be, so here is poll with some different options for things we could do, but this still won’t set things in stone cause we’re aware that we’re working with a relatively small albeit amazing awesome and extremely appreciated audience, but it’ll give us a good idea for what direction you want the zine to go in.
some examples of what we mean for added coherence, please read before voting unless you wanna be like that guy in the Simpsons movie:
an eras tour zine (yes this is a Taylor swift joke shut up if you’re judging us you’re wrong) would be like different pieces dedicated to each, for lack of a better word, “thing” that Joel has done. @/inthelittlezine is a great example of this concept, except the mod has far better organizational skills than we ever could hope to
tourism brochure would be like we pick a specific thing Joel, such as esmp 1 or 2, or x life, or one of his hardcore/survival worlds (I haven’t listed Hermitcraft season 10 cause that’s still in progress but if you guys really really wanna, that too), and make an in universe guide to it expanding upon the lore and characters and builds and stuff. @/scarland-artbook is an amazing example of this, though of course we would be a much smaller scale of a project.
do you wanna tell a story? Or ride our bikes around the halls? We can’t help with the second one, we’re not very sporty people, but this option is both the most difficult and dangerous to the success of the zine, and the one that intrigues me specifically the most. Like, guys, I know I’m polling this, but I’m secretly hoping that this one wins. Like all the hoping. Ever. But I’m not gonna just say yeah let’s do this because if like only three people also wanna this zine will never get made and I will be really, really sad. This option is basically do we wanna take something Joel has done and work together to create an original universe/story based off of it, each contributing a small part of the story in comic or writing form. Unless you’ve been living under a rock and/or this post broke containment sorry if it did I assure I’m usually mostly sane, you probably know where I’m shamelessly stealing taking inspiration from. We heart you @/hotguycomiczine. If we went with this we would obviously create our own universe and storyline, and we’d try to base it off of one of Joel’s characters if possible. Also, if we went with this, we’d start the mod and application process and stuff and once we knew everyone who was going to be in the zine then we’d all get together and start working on the story, and this is the part I’m worried about because if we’re all stumped then I guess the zine is out of luck and I’d be sad. Also even if we did do this, like preemptively temper your expectations I am no where near as good as the legends at hotguycomiczine at organization and promotion and story writing and all that good stuff. However, if you have an idea for a story and want to share, send us an ask cause we might just end up using it.
I think the last two are mostly self explanatory.
please reblog for reach.
#smallishzine#Smallishzine boring forms n’ stuff#<this falls under the “n’ stuff” category#joel smallishbeans#smallishbeans#smallishbeans joel
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Wild life was something!
I’m going to do my own take on the celestial poem. I don’t fully expect anyone to take it seriously but feel free to read over if you want!
Spoilers ahead!
Ok so first off congrats to Joel for winning! I know it probably been spoiled to death by this point but I’m going to be courteous to the people on my blog who don’t already know.
Secondly my take on the celestial is that the later winner are no longer celestial bodies. They represent something else entirely.
The first five:
The Sun (grian), The Stars (Scott), The Moon (Pearl), and Mars (Martyn). Then their is our home the Earth (Scar)
After that we have the explorer (Cleo) and their vessel (Joel).
Now Joel’s is easy to explain, everyone is equating him to his Car since it was such a big part of his series and it feels disingenuous to separate them, hence the vessel, which could be a car or a spaceship, which is exactly how Tango described Joel’s car the first time he saw it.
As for Cleo this one is a bit more nuisances. It feels like most people just write her off or equate her celestial body to something small like Pluto. However, I think we can definitely do something more profound with her.
Due to how off the Real Life series was, what with it’s VR aspects, short run time, and big players like grian being out quickly (first in this case. It almost feels like Real Life is an outlier. Almost like it was the first attempt that Grian did to try and separate the life series from the watchers. First by removing all traces of their powers in real life, and then exerting his own control over the narrative in Wild Life.
For this he was punished, in real life he was killed off first, and in Wild Life he not only had his window curse reaffirmed but they kept the canary around just because they knew it would bug him (P.S this is a joke, Jimmy did real well and I am proud of him. He might have possibly won if he didn’t have grian plotting to kill him)
So for all of the watcher series their an air of finality and their winners get celestial body names. Third life: Sun, Last Life: Stars, Double Life: Moon, Limited Life: Moon.
The only one that feels like it doesn’t fit this trend is secret life, but I think it still counts because it was clearly the series that the watchers partook in a more active role. And the odd series name mixed with the celestial body contagions shows that it a turning point for the series. The watchers and Grian are battling for who has control over this series. As the watchers make the tasks but it Grian’s job to check them and implement them. This is when he realizes he can make the rules now and he no longer at the mere whim of the game.
Thus his games have strange titles Real life, and Wild life. And his winners had names befitting of those from the outside coming in and taking over the watchers galaxy. Joel is the spaceship (Car) and Cleo is the Astronaut (or wander or explorer, whichever you prefer)
They are an astronaut because they are sometimes that is gone in the blink of an eye, just like a human is to the universe, they feel and act out everything they do, and in the end while their life was short they made a major impact on the universe they were in, even if no one knows it yet.
That my take on it at least, if you guys prefer celestial bodies then Cleo can be a comet, here for a short time but going out in a blaze of glory, and Joel can be Pluto, because Pluto is a very memorable planet and I doubt any of us will forget Wild Life any time soon. It has a chaotic orbit, which fits the theme, and it small which both thematically matches his mane and he one of the few people who the crew makes short jokes about.
#minecraft#traffic life series#life series#wild life smp#life series winners#grian#scott smajor#pearlescentmoon#inthelittlewood#martyn inthelittlewood#goodtimeswithscar#zombiecleo#smallishbeans#solidaritygaming#watcher lore#watchers#celestial poem life series#this is a tangent#sorry not sorry
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Chapter Six
no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc
series masterlist
series playlist
warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV
a/n: so we are in for another heavy sitting. as always, my goal is always truth, nothing gratuitous, but honest. my DMs are always open, I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this one.
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Step into the light poor Lazarus
Don't lie alone behind the window shade
Let me see the mark death made
I dream a highway back to you
I dream a highway - Gillian Welch
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Where does the thaw begin? It is always gradual. Always give and take. Taking tentative, preening steps out into the sun one day, only to be snapped back into place by a sudden snarl of cold the next. But eventually, that perpetual dull thrum of white starts to melt. The streams in the mountains swirl and slurry up with it, a froth of life that churns down into the rivers that run a faint thread along the highway. Boulders will be moved, small trees uprooted, a whole new season breeding activity. The landscape rearranged, reconfigured until eventually, settling, eventually, green.
The flock is certainly happy for it, proud and relieved bleats, their heads tossed back in the clear, cool morning air. The two newest members of the group are still getting their legs under them, a little uncertain in maneuvering around the remaining slush, quick clipped jumps and jolts to catch up with their mother. And Dove is never far behind these days. Not even Dolores in his mind any more. Dove, Dovey, Dovey-girl whenever they go down to the bar and she’s beating him or John at darts.
Punch and Judy might like her just as much as they like their mother, necking and nuzzling up against her shins like cats, contented sounds whenever she greets them in the morning. Joel tends to hang back, letting her make her rounds, inarguably the favorite of both flock and feather. A gift, bells of laughter and the bright glint of her smile, even when she catches his eyes from across the field, like maybe it could be for him too. And then he remembers that is it for him too, because she always comes back, always comes to him with her eyes squinting into the sun and her smile slanting with the scrunch of her nose.
“They’re getting bigger everyday.” He thinks to himself that he wishes she wouldn’t remind him. Time has a way of getting parceled and pinched out here. Secret time, stolen time, no one paying much attention to time. How long has it been? Counting months in his mind as they make breakfast. He figures nine by the time they sit down. So much time. Time he has been greedy with. Enough of it that she may no longer need to stay. Or may no longer want to. He winces into his mug, small, sharp hurt that he is all too familiar with. Doubt makes him sulk, makes him slump. But then she always does something like she does right now. Touching just to touch. Something curious about it, like she is still unsure if she is allowed to, like this is not something she has had before now. Careful fingers curling around his wrist from across the table, coaxing his palm up to the ceiling so she can press her hand flat against his. He can feel her pulse where the pads of his fingers rest against the soft inside of her wrist, steady, with the occasional stutter.
“Do you want to go tonight?”
“If you do, yes.” Who says what, it doesn’t matter. Call and response goes both ways for them. If you do, then I do, and if I do, then you do.
“We don’t have to stay long.” Always giving her an out. She curls her hand around his.
“You just don’t want to lose at darts again.”
“You always win.”
“Don’t be a poor sport about it, I won’t want to play with you any more.”
“Hey.” That smile is for him, no question.
…
It isn’t often that Joel gets anything in the post. There is a mailbox at the end of the dirt road leading to the house. It has a large dent in its side, and has since he bought the place, near impossible to pry open. The mailman’s frustration with it is clear in how the lid is now hanging off its hinges, some sort of envelope, thick and obvious, sticking out of it as they drive home in the afternoon.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, I wasn’t expecting anything.” But he knows exactly what it is when he opens it, the knife he used to slice through the top of the padded envelope clattering onto the dining table when he pulls out a thick stack of documents from inside.
On top is a birth certificate. A hospital in Lincoln, Nebraska, and the first name is Dolores. And he shouldn’t, but she’s still toeing out of her shoes and hanging up her coat, so he quickly thumbs through the rest. A packet, and he recognizes what it is immediately. All those years ago, with Sarah’s mom, he got a packet that looked just like this. Divorce papers.
“Joel?” It startles him, and he knows he’s been caught, quietly setting the stack of papers down on the table, not quite able to meet her gaze.
“Those are for you.” He can’t watch, only catching a glimpse of the way her brow pulls down, a slight frown as she pads around the side of the table to get a better look.
“Oh.” She doesn’t pick them up, just drags her hand across them to fan the papers out on the table. And it’s a posture he hasn’t seen from her in a long time, the way she curls her arm back into herself, everything shutting and shuttering up tight and small. No, he can’t watch, but he can’t walk away either, shifting in his boots, his eyes landing on her only to flit away fast. She’s not moving, and he’s not sure if she’s even breathing, it’s that silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards with his anxious shuffling.
“Do you have a pen?” It takes him a breath to realize that she’s asking him, and then he sets himself into stuttering motion. His hands feel too big, too shaky as he fumbles through the junk drawer in the kitchen, though something has changed in Dove, her shoulders straightened and smoothed out when she takes the pen he offers her. She hunches over the table, squinting through each page, a quick flurry of signatures that he knows she shouldn’t be dashing down so fast. But there’s no stopping her. Rampage and war path all in one, she huffs when she gets to the end of the packet, pinning the whole stack down with the pen and stepping back from the table like she escaped from something just in time.
“When do you want to leave for the bar?” She asks it light as air, a strange rolling back of her shoulders, her eyes settling somewhere just past him, not quite meeting him. He has to gather himself before he answers, stunned, and a little spooked, if he’s being honest.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“What does that mean?” All edge and ice, his stomach lurches quick and awful at this new thing, this very new, very frightening thing that she seems to be doing.
“Nothing, Dove, it doesn’t mean anything. But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to.”
“Okay.”
Dinner is tight and silent as a fist. Neither of them looking at the other. She pushes the food around her plate, though he’s not sure if any of it actually gets eaten. And he can feel his own frustration mounting, that urge to get just a little big, and a little loud, to tell her no, to put his foot down, to stop whatever this is. But he knows that whatever this is, no matter how mean she makes it look, it is a hurting thing.
So they go to the bar, and he lists at the periphery of the small crowd, making meaningless conversation with Rod about the weather while he keeps the lion’s share of his attention on Dove.
She doesn’t like to drink, not usually. Most of the time, she’ll politely sip down half a beer, promptly handing it to Joel for him to finish. But tonight, she has already lined up three tidily finished bottles on the table next to where she’s playing darts with John, and while everyone else is jovial, enthused and amused by this sudden outgoing shift in her demeanor, all Joel feels is a nervous stutter in his chest.
He watches, quietly and carefully, until he cannot stop himself from stepping in any longer. It’s quick, the way she stumbles back into a table, sending a few bottles rolling over onto the floor before John can hook a steady arm around her shoulders. It’s enough to get Joel moving.
“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.”
“John, I think it’s time for us to be heading home.” It’s slurred and stilted, a garish mimicry of his voice that she punctuates with a hiccup and a fragment of a laugh, still slightly swaying from her hold on John’s arm. And when Joel reaches for her, a murmured please, Dove, pain wraps itself around his heart, an awful throb of it, when she jerks her arm away from him, stumbling over her feet and in turn nearly causing John to lose his balance. She is mean like this, he realizes, meanness that he didn’t know she was capable of. A hot scoff and an I’m fine sharp from the back of her throat, steeling herself away from John and holding onto a table to steady her shake. Joel swallows around heat and sickness in his throat watching the broken sigh that curls in her shoulder blades. Not mean, after all, but hurting.
“Yeah, I’d say so. I think Dovey-girl here had a little too much fun tonight.” He knows it’s John’s weak attempt to smooth whatever tension seems to be hissing. Right, fun. Joel tries for what he can of a smile, though it’s more grimace than anything else, quietly coaxing an arm around Dove’s waist, not even sparing John a second glance as he shuffles them out of the bar and into the quick snap of cool night air.
She’s laughing, her head thrown back on her neck, lolled to the side. And it isn’t the laugh he has gotten used to. It’s a bitter thing, an ugly thing, mingling and mixing with that broken rasp of hers. A miracle that he can get her into the car. Usually so tentative with touch, her hands are everywhere, skittering up his chest, tugging in his hair, pulling at his coat, his belt, all while slurring soft iterations of his name. He feels like he’s going to throw up. And maybe it’s a little mean, the way he collects both her wrists in one broad palm and tucks them pointedly in her lap. For a moment she stills, a tremble in her lip that he thinks is threatening tears, but then she tilts her head back in another sharp giggle, distracted enough with her own unraveling that he can shut the passenger-side door and hurry around to his side of the car.
The roads are dark, the mountains the faintest purple shadow in the distance. He rolls all the windows down, hoping that the swift whip of wind might help sober her up. She’s silent in the passenger seat, but he can feel her heavy stare, her cheek dropped down to her shoulder to look at him.
“Joel.” Lilting and long, a little sing-songy call of his name, Jooooel. He doesn’t indulge it with any attention, keeps his eyes focused on the road getting eaten up by headlights in front of them. But she doesn’t abide by that for long. He tries to shake it off at first, jostling his knee like that might make her take her hand away. A quiet don’t, do not, Dove, when her palm starts to skirt higher, curling around his thigh. And it becomes too much so suddenly, so quickly.
“Godfuckingdamnit!”
In a blink, in the time it took for her hand to brush against the in-seam of his jeans, he has driven them off the road and into the soft, new grass on the side of the highway. He has gotten loud, and he has gotten big, shoulders hulking up toward his ears as his eyes flash, frenzied, over to her. And she has gotten small again, pressed back against the passenger-side door, silent and unblinking. He has scared her. But she has scared him as well.
Neither of them say a thing. He allows himself two deep breaths, and then he guides the car back onto the road.
She is still, subdued, and when he finally parks in front of the house, he realizes that she has fallen asleep, her lips parted and her head tilted back. He had hoped that she wouldn’t, but she stirs when he opens the passenger door, an indignant sound in the back of her throat as he unbuckles her seatbelt for her. He moves to take his hand away, but she catches his wrist, a weak hold that he doesn’t resist.
At first, he cannot understand what she’s saying, something mumbled and murmured, her lashes dropped down to her cheeks. She says it once, twice, and it starts to become clearer. You, me, you don’t, me, you don’t want me.
“That’s not true, Dove.” She sighs, running her thumb over his knuckles, her weepy eyes flickering up to his beneath her brow. And it’s terrible, tearing something open inside of him when she tries to lean forward, tries to pull him closer, tries again. Terrible that he has to press a hand to her shoulder to keep her from doing something that she will surely regret. Something he doesn’t know if she would even want, if not for the haze she is in. Maybe the most terrible part of it, actually.
And then that same chorus. You don’t want me, want me, want me, you don’t want me. And he could laugh, and he could cry, because all he has been doing is wanting her, and trying to stop himself from wanting her.
“Not like this.” He says it so quiet, he doesn’t know if she hears it, listing somewhere between consciousness and sleep. If she does, she shows no sign of acknowledging it, just letting out a long string of sighs as he helps her out of the car and into the house.
Her face is tucked into the side of his neck, blowing hot breath against his skin as he makes the awkward stumble up the stairs with her clinging under his arm. He manages to get her shoes off, and her coat, which once was his, but has been hers for a while now. It’s silent, save for her quiet murmurs of protest to any movement, eyes scrunched shut as he coaxes her under the covers. All she offers is one more sigh of his name, like penance or prayer, before she slips back under merciful sleep’s thumb.
Joel doesn’t get into bed with her. He can’t. He knows that he can’t, not right now. So instead, he sits down on the floor with a quiet groan, letting his back rest against the wall across from the bed, his head tipping back, like maybe there might be some sort of answer in the vertical.
There is no answer.
…
The difference between grief and mourning is noun and verb. Grief, the thing, and mourning, what you do with it. Never pretty, never perfect, never graceful, or gracious, any of it.
When Sarah was in middle school she went through a phase of being interested in the paranormal, in death, and what might come after it. Every night, Joel would come home and find her on the couch, watching the same show in which people recounted all their various and supposed hauntings. It had worried him at the time, going to his mother, even to Tommy, asking them if they thought it was strange. It would pass, the advice he received from everyone around him. Being young, it’s natural to wonder if and when the time for all of that to end will come. So when he would come home at night, he would wordlessly join her, somewhere between awake and asleep, half-listening to the television. But now, he remembers something that was said through the thick static of cable. Unfinished business, right, hauntings happen when patterns must be returned to and repeated. Phantom figments playing out all that was left unsaid, undone.
What happened last night had nothing to do with him. He is pretty certain it could have been anyone sitting in the driver’s seat alongside her. All that Dove needed was a willing participant, a captive cast member, to enact a haunting of her own, to close some gap, stitching some snapped thread in her mind. No, nothing to do with him, nothing at all.
At some point, sleep caught him, slumped to the side, a sharp pain in his neck when he wakes up, still seated on the floor. Dove isn’t in bed, a rumple of sheets where she had been laying. He’s too tired for that quick pulse of panic to fan into any real flame, but he does consider it. That maybe this is what leaving looks like.
But no, he stumbles out onto the porch, hurting with how bright it is, no. She is out there with the flock, still in her clothes from last night. He can only see her back with the way she is sitting in the field, spine curled over and into itself.
Shame settles thick and toothsome in his gut, though why he isn’t sure, anxious and awkward in how he comes to stand just in her periphery, letting presence be known, but not needed. She is crying.
“I am so sorry, Joel.” She says it plainly, voice flat and distant. And he isn’t going to say that it’s alright, because they both know that whatever that was, nothing about it was right. Purposeful, but not intended for pain. When cornered, a wounded animal will lash out against anything that moves, innocent or arbiter.
“I know you are, Dove.” When he takes a step closer to her, Avril lets out an indignant bleat from where she is watching a few paces away, part of her flock, a warning that she will do more if she does not like what she sees. Under any other circumstances, Joel would roll his eyes at the animal, ridiculous, but today it keeps him at a distance, sitting down far enough from Dove that he could not reach for her if he tried. And he would like nothing more than to reach for her, to forget what happened last night, to go back to the way things were. A stupid wish, a childish wish, one that cannot be made real.
“I don’t ever want to be like that again.”
“You aren’t like that.” And he means it. That wasn’t her, not the present her. A ghost somewhere inside of her that found its way to the surface, breaking beneath her skin.
“I understand if you want me to leave.”
“I don’t.”
“I was awful to you.” He doesn’t speak at first. Because yes, it was awful. An awful thing that makes him feel sick now even thinking of it. And awful too, that he knows he would forgive her of anything. Already forgiving this.
Punch comes wobbling up to her, taking the laces of her boots in her mouth before snuffling up her leg, nosing under Dove’s palm, intent on affection that she is so willing to give. Maybe they have let these girls get too domestic, a little too comfortable with humans, but he doesn’t care, watching a watery smile try to spread across Dove’s lips as she scratches behind the lamb’s ears.
“How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts, but I deserve it.” No, he thinks, none of this has been deserved. A strange cascade of poison. Cause and terrible effect.
When he reaches for her, Avril abides, plodding away, if not a little indignant. He takes up her hand in his, and though ligament and lines remain limp, she lets him, still not looking at him, but letting him.
“I am so sorry.”
“I know you are.”
…
He takes care of it for her. Seals the packet of paperwork back in the envelope and writes the requisite address on the front, tucks the whole thing in the backseat of the truck. And they move like careful planets, still in orbit, but trying hard not to touch, to linger.
The first thing he does after dropping her off at the diner is go to the post office, though he thinks twice of it. Reopens the envelope in the driver’s seat for the third time now and reads through the whole thing, every condition, every clause. A clean break seems to be the sum of it, nothing glaring to any of it. So he closes the envelope one more time, and posts it back to Nebraska.
It’s a wordless communication, the way she turns in the passenger seat to check for it when he picks her up in the afternoon, settling back when she sees that it is gone. Still smarting, both of them, they move carefully through their usual errands, the grocery and the library, the drugstore for a new bottle of Advil for her.
Her voice has gotten worse over the months, since what happened in November. The word that she uses for it, not what he would call it, worse. Usually the hardest to hear her in the mornings, words cracking into whispers or suddenly stuttering up a pitch. He knows it upsets her, how she will quickly close her mouth mid-thought, lips pressed in a thin line like she couldn’t stand for any more of that sound to come out. He brought up the idea of taking her to see a doctor in Denver once, and she had scoffed, the whites of her eyes showing with their roll because no insurance, and what money she has, set aside for a different problem entirely. She hadn’t let him even begin to say that he would help her cover it.
Today, it is particularly bad. Not in how it sounds, at least not to him, but in how it is clearly painful for her to speak, wincing around the few things she does say, the menial mundane things of errands, clearing her throat in between each response, a hand curled and hovering over the front of her neck, not touching, but sensing something that has seemed to change permanently.
Maybe the alcohol, he thinks, the abrasive slip of it down her throat. Or maybe the fact of loud, the loudest he had ever heard her, those clipped laughs. Maybe a combination of the two. Whatever it is, he can see her frustration mounting with it, until finally, she sits with a terse crease in her brow and her lips kept in a stoic pinch on the drive back home. Betrayed by her own voice, in more ways than one.
The only thing she does say, once the groceries are put away and Joel is preparing to help her make dinner, a rattling rasp, I’ll do it. A wave of her hands, away and behind her, and he won’t argue, worried she might cry if she has to speak any more.
Disappointed that it’s him and not her doing the evening rounds, the sheep are at best tolerant of his care, keeping a dignified distance as he fills their water troughs and checks on the lambs. The chickens are less loyal, and more stupid, he thinks to himself, but even they seem a bit jaded when he is the one that shuts the coop for the night.
The house is warm when he comes back inside, windows spilling syrup into the oncoming night. It smells good, salt and savor, something simmering on the stove. A strange contrast, the inherent life that a kitchen suggests, and the solemn way she is moving around it. Recompense, remorse, heavy things pulling at her shoulders, curling her smaller over pots and pans.
“This looks good, Dove, thank you.” She nods, passing him a full plate, warmth seeping into his palms from the bottom of it. But when they both sit down, he recognizes it immediately, so many steps back. Her hands are in her lap, and he already knows that she’s waiting for him to start. Doing that thing again, and he can do it too. Fork and knife remain untouched, he sits back in his chair, a small challenge. Maybe ten minutes pass like that, the steam from their plates long dissolved into the air, when she finally looks up at him, frustration clear in the pull of her brow.
Something that she learned. Something that was taught to her, just like all the rest of her fear. Back when she first came to stay with him, she was always apologizing, always thanking. And the cooking, and the waiting for him to start before she would even consider her plate. Like punishment, like always being aware of some score, and afraid of what might happen if she does not balance it. And he’s watching her sink back into it, all of it, right now.
“Dove, please.” She blinks at him, a slack frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“You should eat, Joel.” She puts every ounce of sound she can behind it, and it still comes out quiet, a quick burst of decibel on eat, like her voice tried to kick up in her chest just enough to end on a good note, though his name comes out the softest of all of it, a whisper that seems to hurt.
“So should you.”
“I will.”
“Now, please.”
“I feel terrible.” And he knows that she isn’t talking about her lingering headache, not even the pain in her throat. He knows that she has probably been exacting perfect retribution on herself in her mind, all day. She looks miserable, because she has made herself miserable with guilt that has festered into shame.
“I forgive you, I do.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“You didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flicker, so small he might have imagined it. But no, something shifts behind her grimace, and he realizes that he might be wrong, that there had been some truth to her want last night. A want that she doesn’t know how to manage, a want that she doesn’t know what to do with. A want like his.
“I don’t know how to, Joel.”
“That’s okay.”
“I don’t think I can stand it.”
“What can’t you stand?”
“For you to not–” She cuts herself off, a sharp breath that threatens tears. But he knows it’s the same thing he’s afraid of that she is speaking to. Want can be so violent, so rash, so wicked and wretched in how big and bold and blustering it can get. But really, it is a child, hoping that someone will hold its hand, hoping, for once, that someone will walk it home, see it through the night.
“It’s the same for me, Dove. I can’t stand it either.”
On her terms, the only way this will ever work, he offers a quiet come here, please, pushes out his chair from the table, and waits for her to respond, to react. And yes, it takes time, but eventually, she does.
“Warm.” Said to herself, maybe not meant to be said at all, her eyes intent on where her palm splays over his chest. He places his hand over hers, keeping it there.
There is no one around for a good few miles, but here is what the coyotes see in the yellow drip of light coming from the kitchen windows. A man, sitting in a chair pushed back from a dining table, and a woman, standing between his legs, her hand on his chest, and his hand on her hand. And they are not smiling, neither of them, and they are not speaking either. They are looking at each other. The man places his other hand on the woman’s waist, and he gives her a small nod, a making sure, making okay. The woman nods too, and she lets her other hand settle along the man’s jaw.
But people are very boring to coyotes, especially broken ones like these, so they do not stick around to see the rest, skittering off with a chorus of yips and clackering sounds, seeking their own small satisfactions.
No, the coyotes do not see when the woman carefully dips her face down, nor do they see the man tilt his chin up in answer. And the coyotes certainly do not see the small, shivering kiss that is over as soon as it starts. Two shadows turning into one, and only the smallest sliver of light between them when they separate again.
The coyotes have much more interesting matters to tend to than such human things. After all, spring has finally come to the mountains.
..............................
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#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#the last of us#joel miller fics#joel miller series#joel miller story#joel miller au#joel miller imagine
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Going on a date with dbf Joel and they run into readers dad
“Just pick a song damn, girl!” Joel playfully shouted at you over the constant changing music playing through the truck speakers. He swung by earlier to pick you up after asking if you’d want to get some drinks and play pool at the shitty bar he was no stranger to. “If I settled on one station you might miss a good song on the other one!” You hollered back. He glanced over at you and shook his head while letting out a chuckle. Joel parked in the gravely parking lot and shut the truck off. He’s been telling you all night that he’s gonna kick your ass in pool, but he doesn't know your dad showed you how to play pool when you were a kid. Probably won’t win the ‘best parent award’ for that, but it’ll come in handy for once. You started to make your way toward the door, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and placing small kisses on your head. You told him you’d grab the beers if he wanted to get the pool table set up. “That works for me darlin’ you remember what I like, right?” he sarcastically asked and gave you that grin that just makes your knees go weak. “Yeah, cowboy, I remember the beer you like. I’ll be right back.” you said as you gave him a wink and walked to the bar. The bartender asked what you’re drinking and you told her before she went to the cooler to grab two bottles. Walking back to Joel with smile, you held out his beer until you brushed against him. “Are you ready to lose, Miller?” giving him a cheeky grin, he sipped his beer while locking his eyes with yours. His attempt to intimidate you was cute, but pool was your thing. “I don’t lose much of anything, darlin. Now shut up and hit the damn balls.” You noticed the twang in his tone more prominent as he’s getting focused, you bend down to get the pool cue just right. With a loud clack you send the balls shooting in every single direction on the table, Joel staring at you in amazement. “Well, looks like I've got some competition don’t I?” the enjoyment spreading across his mouth.
As the game went on, Joel had a small lead on you and he wasn’t letting you forget at all. “So what happens after I win, baby? Should we go again or are you gonna pout?” he mocked as he dragged his finger from below his eye down to his jaw. Just as you were getting ready to answer, an all too familiar voice came from behind you and your whole entire body froze. “Miller, the hell are you doin here, buddy?” your dads voice boomed across the bar. Joel scratched the back of his head and met your dad halfway. “Oh ya know, I thought I’d come get a beer.” He was always thinking so quickly and you were still scrambling for an excuse when your dad finally noticed you were standing there. “What are you doing here, hun? I thought you were going out with friends tonight?” You turned to face your dad, fighting everything inside to not look at Joel. “I did, we came here and got some drinks; nothing too fancy.” He looked at you, then Joel, and he wasn’t done asking questions. Before he could spit out anything more, you decided to fill the silence “They got pretty tired and I noticed Joel down at the other end of the bar. I asked him if I could trouble him for a ride after some pool since my apartment isn’t too far from here.” Nodding in agreement, Joel said nothing else and chugged the rest of his beer. “Well don’t let me stop ya. I'm gonna grab a beer and I'll come watch ya play before you leave.” He was off to the bar and you gave Joel a glance, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
Your dad found a seat on a stool off to the side as he watched the game closely. What he couldn’t see was you and Joel stealing looks every chance you got. It was Joel’s turn, all he had to do was sink the 8 ball into the pocket. Knowing you had no chance of getting him to miss so you could take a chance at the same ball to win, you went to grab your jacket off the hook on the wall. He thought he had the win when he looked up at you raising your arms for your jacket and watched your shirt fully expose the top of your black thong. He coughed in shock and ended up putting both pool balls in the pocket. Your dad let out a laugh and came from behind Joel, patting his back firmly. “I told you don’t shoot from that angle you’d lose!” Your dad dryly told him. Biting your lip to contain a laugh, Joel agreed and held out his hand toward you, “Good game, sweetheart. Not bad at all.” You knew part of this was a show for your dad, so you returned the handshake. “Alright c’mon Miller, time to take me home.” Goodbyes were said as you waved at your dad on the way out, and finally let out that laugh you were hiding. Joel pushed you up against the brick wall and immediately attached his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek. Your hand went to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair when you felt a soft squeeze around your throat. He tilted your head to the side and peppered kisses along your jaw when he stopped right by your ear, his voice low and breathy “I lost because someone’s slutty little panties were showing and all I could think about was how I wanted to rip them off you and spread you open all over that fucking table baby doll.” his hand moved from your throat to the back of your head and he tangled his fingers in your hair to give a slight tug. "Well, if you're that upset about losing you can take me home and let me make it up to you" you barely choked out with a smirk as you took his free hand and shoved it down the front of your soaked panties. "Oh I can't wait to see this, baby."
#this was much longer than i expected oops#the last of us#dbf!joel#joel miller#joel tlou#joel miller drabble#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#pedro pascal#anon request
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And Then There Were Two
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@trafficzine 5th Edition: This is my piece!!! A retelling of the Pearl and Scar duel.
There's a secret task I had to follow writing this... can you tell what it is?? (Answer at the end of the piece.)
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Pearl never wanted to make it to the end.
Everything she’s done, had been for her Mounders, her loyalty had dictated it so.
Mumbo had died first, to the posts round the bend. Then Bdubs and Joel in the same fell swoop, barely a moment to process it, a tale of woe.
They left Pearl to ally with the one person on the server with no real friend. With Gem now gone, she already knew how this would go.
But when she offered Scar her life earlier, he opposed the idea vehemently. “I refuse. We go out together. I genuinely don’t want to win that much anyway,” he declared. Nobody else would know the pain and exhaustion fighting solo brought, honestly. And she had respected his words, looking ahead.
A duel he had wanted, so a duel he’d get, she thought, raising her sword unwillingly. Here, with just the two of them left, Scar looks at her, bow drawn.
The dogs had to go first, Scar decided. Pearl watches as he sets off the TNT, the shadow of her past win clasping her heart in phantom pain. With nobody left to die but them, Scar lets his arrow loose, resolute and undaunted. It lodges into her side, the sharp fall in her health telling how little time she had before she’d be slain.
She weaves in and out of the swarm of mobs, sword at the ready by her side as she laughs at the poetry. What a fight, between two crazed fools who remember the hollowness of living in total isolation. Neither of them fighting for the win, and their duel being the final one nothing short of irony. She darts away from the crowd of zombies and spiders, avoiding embers from their sunlit flames, but not escaping the fire in Scar’s expression.
His eyes are bright, filled with grief she recognises in herself. His shots fly everywhere, frantic just as he is. And there’s nothing she can do but mourn. In her emotional haze, her own sword strikes miss.
One of his determined arrows finally lands, square in her shoulder, the burning pain screaming from the force in the shot. She ignores the sting (it’s nothing she hasn’t felt before), turning to swipe her sword angled with the sunlight to start a fire. Scar makes a shocked sound, indignant as he douses himself with water, her strike all for naught. The numbness in her shoulder spreads; she can’t lift her arm high up now, her situation dire.
Pearl never wanted to make it to the end.
Everything she had done, had been for her allies.
She sees the defensive instinct backing every action that only someone with no one has, and chooses to treat him as a friend. She sees the slow, deep breaths Scar takes, the breaks in his voice and forced banter, and identifies the weariness she once held in her own scarlet guise.
There’s gold fruit glinting in her inventory, all she needs to rejuvenate herself, with a quick bite and swallow. It’s all she needs to last longer than Scar, clearly exhausted from all his fights (victories) on their last day. Instead, she leaves it untouched, looking at the dance he wishes to lead with valor alone, choosing to follow. There is no doubt who remains standing after this, but she’s ready to accept her fate as it comes her way.
But then she gets a little too close, and he sets the TNT down in a quick moment that sends her heart into a fright. Swiftly backing away is all she can do, the boom behind her loud and terrifying. It’s enough to have her disregard all logic, expression lighting up in a mirror of his desperation, and she turns her sword into him with all her might. But it’s enough for Scar to strike another arrow into her heart, brutal and damning.
Arrow after arrow, swipe after swipe, they trade blows, but Pearl knows he has more health than she does. His kill on Gem had ensured it. Her measly two and a half hearts wouldn’t last her much longer, and so she raises her shield as she goes. He draws another arrow from his diminishing quiver, lips pulled into a thin line as he sets it loose, only for Pearl to counter the hit.
“Behind you,” he says, tone lined with concern that Pearl knows to doubt.
A split-second long look back, and then she’s turning back with the smallest smile on her face.
“Oh, you really tried it right now,” she replies, but she sees something worth calling out.
His call may have been fake, but hers are something he ought to listen to with grace.
“You better look behind you,” she starts carefully, voice lined with concern she knows he’s not going to trust easy. “Uh Scar, look behind you. I’m serious.”
To his credit, he does, however uneasy.
But it’s frenzied in a way that she knows means he’s scared of turning his back to her, and she can’t blame him. He misses the zombie, choosing to aim one of his incredible arrows straight at her. She skips across quickly, shield at the ready as the projectile sails past her, but the margin is slim. And yet, after everything, she wants him to be safe, for his victory to occur.
“Behind you Scar,” she starts, but it’s too late. He’s nocked another arrow, and this time it lands its mark with ease. It sends her flying back, and she knows it’s time for her to meet her fate.
“Ah, jeez.”
Pearl never wanted to make it to the end.
Everything she had done, had been for the people she loves with loyalty.
It’s inevitable, how she falls into the ravine she missed earlier, truly something to reprehend. (The same, frantic turn Scar had done, and suddenly she realises why it felt so familiar to see.) A chuckle barely leaves her lips, oddly subdued. Things had gone just as she wanted them to, and the fall makes her feel oddly free.
Pearl never wanted to make it to the end.
Everything she did, had been so that nobody would ever be as alone as she was, in this terrible game that stole their spark.
Before she hits the ground, she can only hope Scar sees the zombie that’s making its way towards him without prelude.
And then she does hit the ground, and all is dark.
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Life series alliances and enemies I want to see!
(BIG DISCLAIMER: All of the people in the life series are friends and will choose what happens in an improvised series, me wanting two people to be rivals like Renchanting vs The sand hippies doesn’t mean I want them to hate each other in real life, this is a for fun post as season 6 is coming very soon)
Alliances:
Grian and BigB: They have gotten close a few times but never a long series alliance. I really love their friendship and I want to see them team together more than one episode.
Mumbo and Scar: I loved how they were in early episodes of secret life, a long series alliance would be so cool, especially if Mumbo last longer.
Scott and Tango: We’ve only seen bits and pieces of these two but I think it would be interesting. Some people have been rude about these two teaming so there’s a bit of spite in there too. I just think it would be cool to see.
Cleo and Jimmy: Even less interactions. Why these two? I don’t know, I think they would make a great alliance. Probably best work with a third person so I shall suggest Pearl or Bdubs here.
Ren and Scott: I am not over third and last life with these two. I don’t want them as enemies or fighting to the death, I want to see Ren and Scott be allies. Be bros. I want to see theatre kid Ren with Scott okay?
Lizzie and Etho: Sorry Joel, your wife is teaming with your ex-soulmate.
Joel and Pearl: Please please please please please- I just think they would be neat :3
Scott and Joel: While I really want Joel to take Scott’s final life, I would 100% down with these two teaming. What a great alliance it would be to be with the guy you tried to kill multiple times! In other words, I think it would be funny for me. That’s the most important thing.
Any combination of Skizz, Mumbo and Lizzie: Our guys that weren’t in double life, I need these three to interact more okay?
Martyn and Grian: I know someone asked Martyn to make a one side homoerotic relationship with Grian next season but I would be so down for a team up. Yeah yeah they were in Southlands together but I want just them as a duo.
Ren and Martyn: “hey didn’t they already team?” Yes and? I have been waiting for so long for these two to talk again and Ren might not be in this season again. I don’t have any evidence to say he won’t but I’m not getting my hopes up again.
Lizzie and Pearl: We got a taste of these two in secret life and I think they would have a solid alliance. Plus red life with these two? Two wet cats with a taste for blood? Sign me the fuck up.
Enemies:
Pearl and Gem: “uwu wouldn’t it be so cool if they were together and pearl helped gem win?” Fuck no. I want blood. I want them at each other’s throat. I want Pearl to actively take Gem’s final life. You had murder camel, let me see these two fight to the death okay? Fuck an alliance I want murder and death.
Martyn and Tango: Watchful eyes would see that over the seasons Martyn and Tango have a sort of rivalry or at the very least Tango is bullied/teased by Martyn. Rarely have they been on the same page. Therefore, I want them to be official enemies.
Tango and Skizz: I don’t want them to be actual rivals, it just would be nice for Skizz and Tango to branch out from each other as they have teamed in every season besides third and double life. Being rivals is a treat.
Impulse and Skizz: Same as above but more because they are best friends, I would love to see them tease each other lol.
Pearl and BigB: I don’t think this would happen but it would be something new. Especially how Pearl wanted BigB to win limited life when they were the nosey neighbours.
Scott and Joel: Pretty please take Scott’s final life I love the guy but I need Joel to do it please please please-
Ren and Martyn: Yes I want them to be alliances again but enemies? Oh? Oh ho? We had a taste of this with last life’s final four battle royal and Martyn confirming that he was always going to betray Ren. I need to see that.
Bdubs and Etho: Purely for the angst <3
Mumbo and Grian: I love these two so much but proper rivals would go so hard. Bonus if Scar is teamed with one of them lmao.
Impulse and Bdubs: It won’t be brought up but I think the clock grudge lasting all the way to season 6 would be funny as hell.
Bdubs and Joel: Short.
Cleo and literally anyone: She is very scary as an enemy not in a “Cleo would beat your ass” she couldn’t, but in a “they will hurt you with words”
Anyway who do you want as allies or enemies in season 6?
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WIP Wednesday
Thanks for the tags @sawymredfox @mermaidgirl30 and @milla-frenchy
I have 2 new current wips stewing and I can never just give a small snippet so sorry. We got ranch hand and Austins most eligible bachelor below for your perusing:
Ranch hand Joel
I'm working on many things. But then I fell off a horse yesterday and was inspired to write this ranch hand Joel fic:
"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like you had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?"
His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get you back to the house. Might need to go to the doctor."
You'll be damned if you involve any more people than necessary, you never fall off the horses, why did it have to happen in front of the hottest cowboy alive.
As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, making sure you're secure before he swings up behind you. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just days ago was little more than a stranger.
The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.
"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at ya."
Austins Most Eligible Bachelor
The DJ's voice booms through the small kitchen speakers: "Good morning, Austin! Are you tired of the same old dating scene? Swipe left, swipe right, and still no luck? Well, hold onto your cowboy hats because 'Austin's Most Eligible' is saddling up for another season of love, laughter, and maybe even a little bit of lassoing!"
[Sound effect: Horse neighing and whip cracking]
"That's right, y'all! 'Austin's Most Eligible' is back and better than ever, bringing you the finest catches in the Lone Star State. Here's your chance to give that special someone the recognition they deserve. Nominate him today, and he could be crowned Austin's Most Eligible Bachelor, winning a luxurious date night and a feature in the Austin Chronicle!"
[Sound effect: Cowboy yeehawing]
"Join us every Friday night at 8 PM on K-AUS 99.5 FM for your chance to meet some of the most amazing bachelors Austin has to offer. From entrepreneurs to musicians, from tech gurus to cowboys with hearts of gold – we've got 'em all lined up just for you, but remember only one can be Austin’s most eligible.
Don't miss out on the fun, the flirting, and maybe even finding your forever love. Mark your calendars for 'Austin's Most Eligible,' every Friday at 8 PM, only on K-AUS. And remember, when it comes to love, Austin's got the beat!"
[Background music fades with a harmonica outro]
"Keep it weird, keep it romantic, and keep it tuned to K-AUS, your source for Austin's Most Eligible!"
[Sound effect: Fade-out with a guitar strum]
"This is K-AUS, signing off. Y'all come back now, ya hear?"
Sarah nearly chokes on her eggs as she giggles uncontrollably. "Dad," she says between laughs, "you should totally enter this!"
Joel raises an eyebrow at her suggestion but can't help chuckling along with her infectious laughter. "Me? Nah, I think I'm a bit too old for that kind of thing." He shakes his head and focuses on finishing his breakfast. But Sarah isn't easily deterred; she has that look in her eye – mischievous yet earnest – that tells him she won't drop it so easily this time around.
NPT and im sorry if youve all been tagged so im tagging a bunch of you <3: @syd-djarin @sixhours @mountainsandmayhem @aurorawritestoescape @missannwinchester
@ameerawrites @ace-turned-confused @604to647 @frenchiereading @fhatbhabiee
@oonajaeadira @ovaryacted @thundermartini @laligraves @pascalssbabyy
@freelancearsonist @josephquinnswhore @proximaamidnightt
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the abandonment|| Joel miller 📚😫🥵
part 4
Natalina's pov
i wake to beeping. where am i? i open my eyes and see im in medical? what happened? last i remember was me not getting the baby aborted. i groan "ow" feeling the pain. "darlin" joel. i turn and see him. his hair a mess his eyes have bags underneath them. worry within them. i smile and say "hey" kissing him softly at an attempt to try and get back to normal. our normal. he melts into me and then pulls away "darlin?" confused.
i sigh "so we're done then? why am i here?" he pauses "done? no darlin. i just...don't see why you'd wanna kiss me with everything goin on...wait...you don't remember?" i ask "remember what?" he tells me "you left here. like left left. bags and all while...pregnant. you got hurt and i found ya. i thought you'd be screamin and kickin me out...not kissin me...that's why i pulled away. not because i don't wanna kiss ya"
fuck he knows. fuck. "where ya ever gonna tell me? about the baby?" he questions. i reply "when was i supposed to be able to joel? at the dinners you never showed up to? the dates you stood me up at? when you snapped at me to tell you later and that whatever i needed to tell you wasn't important enough for you? if i was able to go through with it...there wouldn't even be a baby to tell you about. i realized just how little i meant to you. i needed you. wanted you. you might've thought i was pushing you away but i was holding on for dear life joel. i just needed you to need me back. for more than sex. you went from loving me and not being able to get enough to making me feel like a live in whore for you to use whenever you needed a release. i'd just...lay there and hold onto you because that's the only time you'd even touch me or pay any mind to me. the baby deserves more than a broken relationship with a broken mother and a uncaring father."
he looks broken. shattered. "lina i...im so fuckin sorry. i had no idea. i'm sorry" he's crying.
joel's pov
i feel disgusting. like i raped her. how could i let this happen and go on like this? how could i break the woman i love like this and not even notice? she was going to have an abortion. that's how far i pushed her. how do i fix this? can i even fix this? i ask "what stopped you from doing it? the procedure? i know how you feel about this with your upbringing darlin"
"i saw him or her...on the monitor. i fell in love with the baby. and...dr Hayes...she said it's a miracle im even pregnant. all the damage i took on the road...the injuries...it damaged me joel. if i aborted...i might never get pregnant again" she sniffles. fuck. i reach to wipe her tears and she moves away and does it herself and i nod and drop my hand. "the worst part of all of it for me is seeing you with her. every day. laughing. smiling. touching. getting closer and closer. you spend your whole day with gina and can't even spare me a conversation." she tells me.
i tell her "nothings ever happened with me and gina. nothings ever gonna happen with her and i. there isn't a her and i. she's my partner at work. so we do spend a lot of time together. and i'm sorry i didn't make time for you. for us. i was so wrapped up in making this the safest place it could be for us. you, ellie, me. and now...this baby. i took extra shifts at patrol to keep any possible dangers out. took on more build projects so we can expand this place to make it more of a home for you. i did it all for you. and in the process i was losing you and didn't even see it. darlin i know i got no right. but i'm gonna ask anyway. i know we're broken right now. and i got a lot to make up for and to fix. but i want to. i want to fix this. i want us to have this baby that's one thing. and i want to do it together. and i want to spend this pregnancy beside you and winning you back. i want to be the man you're happy to be with. the man you don't have to hold onto for dear life and cry during intimacy with. i want to be the man you trust and can say these things to. i wanna be the man that brings you flowers home and makes time for you and eats dinner with you and to show up to dates as i should've always been. please darlin. let me earn your trust back."
"darlin?" i ask at her silence. she's zoned out. "Lina?" i ask. she winces and mutters "i remember what happened out there" shit "okay darlin take it easy." i say softly. and she says "we can work on it joel. but you'll only have this one chance. one. then that's it. well co parent the baby but i can't be the woman that beats at a dead horse and be that example for our baby." i nod understanding and she says "i want em to have better than i did. we need to be better joel" a tear falling and i move to wipe it and pause and she takes my hand
i wipe the tear from her face "i swear on my life we'll be better. but darlin you gotta work with me here too. yes i fucked up. beyond fucked up. but you didn't even tell me how ya were feelin. i can't read ya mind sweetheart. you gotta communicate with me. especially when it comes to sex. it's your body and your choice. you don't gotta have sex with me when ya truly don't want to. i feel like i raped you. and that...god darlin that fuckin hurts more than anything. you started cryin and i asked you. what you wanted. what you needed and you lied to me. you should've told me to leave ya alone. to stop."
she replies "it's the only time i could have you joel." sniffling. "and that's on me. you feelin like that is my fault. but givin me access to your body when you truly didn't want to...fuck" i say. she sniffles "im sorry" i kiss her forehead "dont apologize. just communicate with me lina. how you feel no matter how good or bad or how it might hurt me. tell me so i know and i can do better. so i can help you." she replies "i don't want you to feel like you raped me" i tell her "i don't know how else to feel about it darlin. i don't. and i know it wasn't your intention. i had sex with you thinkin you'd just say no if you didn't want to but i should've known. been able to tell what state you were in. but i wasn't able to because i...i abandoned you. us. and lost my ability to read you along the way darlin. and i'm sorry" she nods "both have work to do huh?" i nod "only if you want to" "i already said you have one shot" she says and i nod and say "i wont blow it"
part 5
#joel miller#cordyceps#pedro pascal#the last of us#tlou hbo#joel tlou#the last of us fanfiction#pregnant#angst with a happy ending#hurt/comfort
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Wild Secret Life Guessing
NameMC Spoilers ahead!
All right then! As is tradition, as we get towards the end of a Life Series season, it is time for me to start making predictions about future episodes, mainly so I can look back later and either laugh at myself or feel smug and omniscient. Maybe a bit of both. Last session was absolutely wild and it's clear the Secret Keepers are driving towards the finish, so here's what I think is going to happen in Session 8 and possibly beyond!
There is a better-than-even chance that Session 8 is the last session for Secret Life. Under no circumstances will the game go longer than Session 9. CCs want Christmas off too, after all.
There will be no yellows left by the end of Session 8. The reds will take out all the yellows to secure as many hearts as possible, then turn on one another.
Scar permadies in Session 8. We know he turns red in the session and has an absolute banger of a skin for it. Chaos Scar has been aching to emerge for weeks, and he is finally allowed fully out of his cocoon. Scar will not pay attention to the idea of red tasks directing red violence, he will make his own fun and self-destruct gloriously.
Scar will manage to kill at least once in Session 8.
One of the previous winners will sacrifice themselves in an effort at kingmaking. Nobody really wants to win twice, but they all have their favorites. My money right now is on Scott to let somebody take him down to red for the ten hearts.
Mounders alliance is over in Session 8, and all the members join other groups or go unaligned. Joel and Bdubs will probably hook up with Martyn and become Big Dogs. Pearl might try and join the Cherry Blossoms or even the Big Dogs as well (not being literally red has never stopped her before), or she might go off on her own. Mumbo will remain deceased.
Heart Foundation alliance is over in Session 8. BigB will desert the team and retreat into his base with his excellent new Red skin. Tango and Skizz might stick together, but both of them will be gone by the end of the session.
Cherry Blossom Alliance does not formally dissolve but is functionally over in Session 8. Gem and Impulse both betrayed the alliance last session and Scott and Cleo reinvoked the Widows Alliance, which they have clearly been wanting to do all season. NameMC says all of the Cherries are red by the end of the session and I just don't see a lot of trust remaining there.
Roomies Alliance survives during Session 8. Etho got zombified in Session 7 and still managed to not betray the team, cementing their bond of trust. They are also all still yellow at the start of the session, which means they are all a target. They'll still all get picked off, but not, I think, by one another.
There is a slight possibility that Pearl and Gem do some kind of Thelma and Louise thing involving the camel, but that's based on interpretations of Pearl's Twitter emojis and I don't stand by it.
And the big one: Assuming Session 8 is not the final session, who lives, who dies, who goes on to a Session 9 showdown? Here's my list of Session 8 permadeaths, in decreasing order of likelihood.
Scar
Skizzleman
Tango
Bdubs
Gem
Pearl
Martyn
And my prediction for eventual winner? It's hard to say even now, there are a lot of contenders, but I'm going to say Etho. He's positioned very well at the start of Session 8 for a win, he's got good allies and he's yellow with a lot of hearts left. Plus it would be really dramatic if we get to see whether Bdubs is literally ready to die for him, and you know how I feel about the Drama!
Watch this space, I'll be back next week to analyze how things went and how smart I am. And feel free to use comments or reblogs to tell me how very right or incredibly wrong I am, or to add predictions of your own!
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