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tightjeansjavi · 10 days

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My Joel,

A/N: I have not written a fic with this many words in a HOT minute, and boy does it feel good! What a cathartic experience this has been for me after writing Joel’s letters. I did not expect so many of you to want Joel and his dearest to have an alternative ending, but here we are 🤭 writing this has been a real treat, and I hope I have done their backstory and alternative ending justice! Buckle up, because you’re in for a wild ride! Thank you to @beardedjoel for letting me spam you with all the updates and screaming along with me 🥹 thank you to @strang3lov3 for betaing and creating these STUNNING divider mood boards for each section of the fic 💘

~word count: 14.4k~

Summary: the story of two forbidden lovers finding each other once more.

Pairing | forbidden lover!joel x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, infertility, canon typical violence, mutual pining, child abuse, mentions of S/A accusations (not by Joel) misogyny (not by Joel) homophobia/homophobic slurs (not by Joel) mutual pining, hopeless romantics, forbidden love, societal status, somewhat historically accurate language, arranged marriage (not to Joel), language, mentions of alcohol and tobacco products, virginity/virginity loss, happy ending/alternative ending, no age gap, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

My Dearest,

June 1st, 1844

“This evening you are to meet the banker's son, daughter.” Your mother’s sickly sweet voice floated through your room, where you sat along the cushioned bench beneath the long window, your palm resting along your chin as you gazed out towards the gardens, the grass an unnatural shade of green compared to the common folk and farmers that would only dream of stepping foot on your family's estate. Your wealth was directly a result of your fathers parents, and their long lineage of thoroughbred horses. Your own mare was a descendant of the original three stallions imported into England in the late 1600’s.

But you were more focused on the man leading your mare, and her two stallions flocking at her hindquarters from the pasture: your Joel.

Joel Miller was a mere stable hand who was entrusted by your father himself to care for your family's prized horses. But to you? Joel was much more than just a stable hand. In fact, you begged your father one summer to increase Joel’s pay when he proved to be knowledgeable with the horses and their needs. Your father agreed, but refused to dote Joel with a new title. He was penniless compared to you, but you saw his heart before you saw his status in society. And he? He loved you from the moment you first met.

Spring, 1839

“Sir, sir!” A young Joel, 13 years of age burst into your fathers parlor, his hand-me-down clothes were soaked to the bone as the storm raged on outside the estate walls. “Dahlia’s womb has breached! Her foal is on the way!” He exclaimed with excitement.

Outside of your families prized stallions, the mares were just as valuable, bearing the next line of champions, no doubt. Dahlia belonged to your mother, and this was her third foal. Your mother couldn’t stand the presence of Joel in her home, dripping all over the floor, creating a puddle of water along the artisan rug beneath his muddy boots.

“Boy!” She snapped, setting her book down along her skirts where she was sitting near the fireplace, with perfect posture. Her eyes held a cold, unnerving stare. “You are in no state to be in my home looking like—” her pointed comment was cut off by the double doors leading to the parlor bursting open, to reveal your excited, and visibly out of breath face.

“Dahlia’s foal is on the way?!”

It was past your bedtime, but down the hall you heard the news of Dahlia, and couldn’t contain yourself. You were still in your nightgown, your hair in braids with bows tied into the ends. Joel felt a flush immediately rise to his damp cheeks at the sight of you. You were as pretty as a flower, the same age as him, and he wondered why this was the first time he’s seen you, till he remembered that most girls your age spent their days indoors preparing for marriage to a suitable husband of their fathers choosing, and inevitably bearing children down the line.

Just as quickly as his gaze fell upon you, he looked away, clearing his throat to hide the redness rising in his cheeks.

“Daughter!” Your mother scolded you when you rushed into the room and didn’t curtsy upon your arrival. She had yet to notice the bows in your hair when you quickly curtsied, fingers delicately grasping the hem of your nightgown as you bent down at the waist, one foot in front of the other just as it was ingrained into your brain for years. “Apologies, mother.” You softly squeaked out in embarrassment.

She shook her head, a displeasured look fell upon her hardened features. She rose from the couch, silk shawl clenched in her fist as she crossed the room and draped the garment across your shoulders. “Cover up your modesty.” She snapped unkindly. “Men should never see a lady in her night garments.”

I am not a lady, mother. I am a child! Is what you wanted to say, but instead you weakly nodded, muttering another apology under your breath. That’s when your mother took notice of your braids and the bows tied at the ends of them, a sign of innocent youth when you were to become a woman. She scoffed, nose upturning at the sight of them. Her cruel hand rose and fell, landing harshly against your soft cheek.

Joel visibly flinched from the sound, feeling his blood begin to boil under his soaked clothing. You had done nothing wrong! And who in their right mind slaps their own child!

Your skin stung, tears welling and nearly breaching down your cheeks when she yanked the bows from your braids and mockingly held them in front of your face. “These are for little girls. You are to become a woman, or have you forgotten?”

Your lower lip wobbled, and your knees trembled. Your eyes frantically searched the room, landing upon your father who paid no mind to your distress. He was too busy puffing away on his cigar, and even if he didn’t agree with his wife’s treatment upon you, he didn’t dare speak up about it.

“Joel, be a good lad and fetch my daughters coat. I will not be treading out in a storm such as that one, but someone from our family should be present for the birth of Dahlias foal.” He gruffed out. “Let us hope for a strong colt. There are too many fillies prancing around here.”

“Sir—” Joel started, but was cut off.

“Fetch her coat, and do not make me ask you a third time, boy.” He sternly reiterated.

“Yes, sir. Right away!” He nodded, quickly turning on his heel and exited the parlor, his eyes met your teary-eyed one briefly before he disappeared behind the open doors.

“Our daughter has no business going out in this storm, husband! Especially not with the likes of that—boy.” She seethed, stepping back from your trembling frame and walked in the direction of the fire, the now crumpled bows in her fist. She wasted no time to throw them directly into flames, watching as they were burnt up into ash immediately.

“Relax, wife.” Your father sighed, tapping out the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray along the table, “she is in good hands with Joel, I trust him.”

“Excuse me, miss?” a timid, youth filled voice appeared behind your shoulder, hand outstretched with your coat grasped between his fingers.

You sniffled, turning to face him and quickly wiped at your brewing tears with the back of your hand. “Thank you, Joel.” You whispered, fingers brushing his gently as you removed your coat from his grasp.

He nearly shied from your touch, a series of tingles and sparks shooting up his spine when he felt your soft touch for the first time. You reacted all the same; shocked gazes meeting before he was stepping to the side for you to pass by him first, a gentleman in nature despite coming from nothing. He cleared his throat, offering you his elbow to brace against the pounding rain and blustering winds. “I’ve got you, miss.” He whispered as your palm gently rested along the crook of his elbow.

Despite your mother’s incessant protests, Joel Miller guided you outside, acting as a physical shield as you endured the storm together. Once inside the safety of the barn, Joel parted from your side, grabbing a nearby stool for you to sit upon before entering Dahlia’s stall. You watched in pure curiosity and amazement as Joel spoke softly to the mare while her head rested in his lap. Beast trusted man; man trusted beast.

When Dahlia’s foal was born, she was not blessed with a strong colt like your father hoped for, but instead a filly. She was smaller than Dahlia’s other foals, and coal black unlike her mother’s dazzling, dappled silver coat. Joel helped the young filly stand on her long, spindly legs so that she could nurse. He was incredibly gentle, letting the filly lean her weight into him. Although Joel knew he was not allowed to name the horses, he started to call the filly ‘Little Shadow’ and only left the stall when he was certain she could stand on her own.

That’s when he remembered he wasn’t alone, and that you were still sitting upon the stool, hands clasped in your lap.

“Wanna meet her?” He suddenly asked, wiping his hands down on a nearby towel.

“Oh…” you trailed off, “I’m unsure if—”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head, a small, boy-like grin tugging on his lips. “M’sure your father would want you to have the full experience, would he not?”

“Yes, I suppose he would.” You agreed and graciously took his hand when he offered it. “He will be displeased to hear that Dahlia did not bear a strong colt.”

“I never understood that.” He mused, helping you down from the stool and gently released your hand. “A healthy foal, no matter the sex, is better than an unhealthy one, is it not?”

“Yes, this is true.” You nervously toyed with a loose thread on your coat, avoiding making eye contact with him. “She is…small though, is she not?”

He took no offense to your lack of direct eye contact. He felt undeserving to be in your presence, let alone hold your gaze? “Forgive me if this comes across negatively, miss. But must you always speak so…proper?”

You turned your nose up at his question, dropping the loose thread from your fingertips, “I am to be a lady, Joel. This is how ladies talk.”

He snorted under his breath, shaking his head and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I suppose you are right. And to answer your question, she may be smaller than the rest of Dahlia’s offspring, but her legs are long, and strong.” He commented thoughtfully as he walked over to the nursing foal. “She will be a winner one day, no doubt.”

“Do you wish to name her, Joel?” You asked softly, standing alongside him with your hand outstretched to gently pet the fillies jet black neck.

“Oh, miss—I could never. I was only calling her Little Shadow because well, she is like a Little Shadow.”

“I don’t think father would approve of Little Shadow…but I think Shadow is a fine name for her, sir.”

“Miss, I am not a sir.” He sighed, reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I’m just a stable hand. I do not possess any titles, and I never will. I agree, Shadow is a fine name for her.”

“Joel, I have heard that you are more than just a stable hand, but I address every man as sir. It’s how I have been taught.”

He looked over at you, eyes scanning the side of your face, the same side where your cheek had been struck by your mothers cruel hand. “That it be true, I am not a man, miss. I am just a boy.”

Silence fell between the two of you while you continued to gently stroke Shadow’s neck. You could feel Joel’s gaze landing on your cheek, but you chose to ignore it despite the heat that was slowly beginning to rise to your cheeks.

“Miss…?” He sounded unsure of himself, nervous, apprehensive of the words he was about to speak next,

“Yes, Joel?”

“Forgive me, I should not be uttering these words to a lady like yourself, but the bows in your hair…I thought they were quite—pretty.” He whispered the last bit, expecting you to scold him, to scream, and surely send him to the gallows for even thinking of you in that inappropriate manner, but instead, you smiled softly.

“Thank you, Joel. Mother…doesn’t approve of them. Says they are for little girls, and not for a lady to be. But they are just ribbons, are they not? I like how they look, and I wish she did too.” You sighed, eyes casting downwards.

He was more bold this time around as the images of your mothers hand making contact with your soft cheek flashes in his mind, “she should have never laid a hand upon you like that, miss. You did nothing wrong! Forgive me—I have forgotten my place.” He dropped his chin between his shoulders in shame.

You wept then, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the phantom sting of your mothers palm. You slowly sank down into the straw bed, head in your hands. You looked so small, frail, weak, and Joel never wanted you to feel this way again.

At first he didn’t know how to react to your distress, but soon he found himself sinking down to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to grasp your covered shoulders, “my dearest, do not weep, please. Your mother has never learned kindness in her life, but you? You—” he struggled to find his words, his empathetic nature coming out in full swing.

You slowly tilted your chin upwards to meet his gaze, glassy eyes boring into his. You both took a sharp inhale of breath, time seemed to cease completely. The storm outside raged on, the wind whipped and howled outside the heavy barn doors when Joel Miller’s calloused palms gently cradled your face, thumbs brushing away your glistening tears.

1842

Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter. Your Joel transformed into a man before your very eyes. In your youth he showed you how to run, to make mud pies, to swim in the river, despite your mothers disapproval. Your father showed an inkling of care to allow your years before marriage to be spent with Joel by your side.

On the approach of your sixteenth birthday, Joel Miller no longer looked like a boy in your eyes. He was a man, and for the first time in your life, you felt that forbidden part between your thighs come alive at the sight of him. He had grown taller, his arms filling in, paired with strong thighs. The muscles in his back and shoulders were defined with laborious hours of work. His chiseled jaw was speckled with facial hair, paired with unruly curls that you wished you could feel their softness between your fingers. You found yourself transfixed by his lips and often imagined how they would feel pressed to yours in a heated embrace. The only thing about your Joel that didn’t change with age was his eyes; the deepest pools of brown that always appeared lighter when he was graced with your presence.

Your father treated him like a son, inviting him out on the weekends to go fox hunting with your brothers. The prospect of attending college was even on the horizon for him, and Joel could taste his new life brewing on his tongue. His feelings grew for you over the years, feeling his heart flutter and clench whenever you would look his way. Even in your modest attire, he envisioned your womanly figure beneath your layers of tooled skirts. Every night before he laid his body to sleep, he would imagine your lips pressing to his own until the thought of it had begun to drive him mad.

So upon your sixteenth birthday, he approached your father in his office with only one thought on his mind; asking for your fathers permission, and blessing to court, and eventually marry you.

“Come in.” Your father’s voice rasped behind the closed door.

Joel took a deep breath, rubbing his sweaty palms along the front of his trousers, bringing one hand up to smooth down his untamed curls. His calloused palm grasped the brass handle and slowly pushed it open.

Your father was seated behind his desk, cigar smoke wafting through the air in a swirling pattern from where it rested between his lips. He looked at Joel expectantly, arms crossed behind his head in a lax position. “Joel, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Joel stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him softly. He momentarily glanced out a large window overlooking the gardens where in just a few hours, your party would be in full swing. “Good afternoon, sir.” He nodded curtly, “beautiful day we’re having, yes? The weather will be exceptional for your daughter's birthday this evening.”

My Dearest.

“Yes, indeed. The weather has been lovely.” Your father mused. “If you’re asking if you can attend tonight’s festivities, you already know my answer, Joel. The lady of the house wouldn’t stand for it.” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Yes, of course, sir. I won’t be on the grounds this evening. A few friends have invited me to the tavern for drinks. I won’t be out late, I swear it.”

“I see.” Your father nodded, “a handsome young man such as yourself oughta get out there more.” He agreed, “So, what are you here for then?”

Shit.

“Sir, I have—known your daughter for many years now, as you are aware. I am also aware that she has many suitors lined up to offer her hand in marriage, but sir, if I was given your blessing, and permission, I would—”

“Joel.” Your father’s tone cut through the younger man like a sharpened blade. “My daughter has already been promised to another. Do not take me for a fool, boy. I have seen the way your gaze lingers on her longer than what would even be described as appropriate. I see the way she looks at you, Joel. I have bit my tongue on this matter because I happen to like you, son. What I can offer you is another lady, at your choosing. You can live a happy, comfortable life and hold a title that you would never otherwise possess. My suggestion is that you accept my generous offer, and throw away your fantasy of ever marrying my daughter.”

Joel swallowed his disappointment down with a heavy gulp. He was naive to believe that he could ever be granted with your fathers blessing. How foolish of him to believe that a man such as himself, would ever end up with the likes of you. It was a fantasy, an unattainable dream that he was better off extinguishing now instead of dwelling on what could never be. He nodded slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart submerged to the very pits of his stomach. “I understand, sir.” He finally spoke.

“Good lad. I knew you were a smart one from the start. Now, this stays between you and I, alright?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. You didn’t hear this from me, but the lady of the house plans to retire early this evening. If you see the opportunity to whisk my daughter away for one evening, take it. If it sours, do not even think about taking me down with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir?” Joel sounded confused, his eyes going wide momentarily, “I’m confused—”

“Treat my daughter to a night that she will never forget, so that in her later years, when she is in misery after bearing her husband's children, and finds herself in a loveless marriage, she will have her memories of you to look back on. Do not, and I mean by any means, get caught and throw your life away so foolishly.”

“I—I understand, sir.” He stuttered out, his heart lurching in his chest at the prospect of one evening with you in his embrace. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He gushed earnestly.

“Leave now, Joel. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’t, sir. I promise.”

All evening you danced merrily and socialized with the upper socialites of Texas with a fake smile plastered on your pretty painted lips. You searched high and low for your Joel all evening. Your gaze lingered, heart skipping a beat anytime a man that resembled him would stride past, only to be met with bitter disappointment when they would turn their cheek towards you and the resemblance would dissipate like the bubbles in your champagne flute. Your mother had retired for the evening, and your father was in his parlor with his colleagues, smoking, drinking, and playing hands of poker.

And then you felt a presence brush past your bare shoulder, the skirts of your dress ruffling in the warm summer breeze. A shred of parchment was placed into your palm discreetly as you watched the inconspicuous figure disappear in the direction of the nearby stables. Once you were certain no one was paying any attention to you, you unfolded parchment, your heart surging at the familiar penmanship.

My Dearest,

Happy sixteenth birthday. Meet me at the stables in exactly one hour.

Your Joel

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the butterflies erupted and fluttered wildly in your stomach, Your Joel. You brought the parchment to your lips, kissing his words, your lashes fluttering shut.

As the minutes ticked by, your excitement heightened, and when it was ten minutes to the hour, you snuck off to the stables with a visible pep in your step. The barn door was left ajar upon your entering, and when you turned the corner, you found your Joel inside of Shadow’s stall, bows and flowers were braided delicately throughout her luscious mane and tail. When he sensed your presence, he turned around, the biggest grin plastered on his face, dimples peeking through, one stray curl falling across his forehead that was begging to be brushed away by your soft fingertips.

“Joel.” You breathed out, smile mimicking his own.

“My Dearest.” His heart surged in his chest, and then you were launching yourself into his arms unexpectedly. He caught you, of course, hugging you tightly to his broad frame. “No one saw you, right?”

“No.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands fell to your waist. “Shadow looks beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

He chuckled warmly, tilting his forehead to rest upon yours with a sigh of relief, “she doesn’t look nearly as beautiful as you, darlin.’ And why for your birthday, of course!”

His warm, timbre laugh sent your stomach somersaulting, and your mind feeling dizzy. “An evening ride through the countryside, is that my present from you?” You teased him lightly, threading your fingers through the back of his hair.

“No, no, my sweet. It’s actually…a surprise. Are you up for it? Oh! You’ll be needing these, however.” He reluctantly departed from your embrace, stepping off to the side to lift a rucksack from the ground. “I believe they’re your size.”

You raised a curious brow as he handed the rucksack off to you. “You mean, I get an excuse to wear something outside of my fine dresses?” You gasped softly.

“Mhm.” He nodded, smile playing on his lips at your pure excitement over something so small. “I’ll uh—give you some privacy to change.” He cleared his throat, eyes dancing in the direction opposite of you as he turned on his heel so his back would be facing you.

Secretly, you wanted him to see you undress from your obnoxious layers and reveal your untouched skin to his admiring gaze. The times that you would swim in the river together were different. You were both still children, and your womanly curves hadn’t made their appearance just yet.

He silently listened to your fine skirts fall to the dusty barn floor and he was half tempted to peek, but remained respectful as you undressed. Once you gave him the okay, he slowly turned around to face you once more. Gone were your frilly heavy skirts that dragged along the floor with each step that you took. Your skirt was still long, but not as weighted and while the bodice was still fairly constricting, the sleeves were dainty and hung off the side of your shoulders like silk drapery. Your mother would certainly have a fit if she saw you dressed so un-modestly.

“So…” You trailed off, “how do I look?” You twirled on your heel, your smile never faltering.

He unashamedly looked you up and down, twice, before one strong arm looped around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, caging you against him.

“Pardon my French, mademoiselle, but you look fuckin’ stunning.”

You giggled, hands resting against his chest to brace yourself against him. It was the sweetest sound that had ever graced his ears; your laugh.

“Thank you, sir. Mother would scold me if she saw me dressed like this!” You giggled again when his nose came to nuzzle against your cheek, bristles in his beard gently scraping against your skin, “she would, my dearest. But don’t worry about any of that, okay? Tonight you will have the time of your life with me, and your mother will have no say in it.” He assured you.

—

You rode into town on horseback, Shadow moving swiftly with Joel steering her with the reins and you behind him with your arms wrapped around him, pressing yourself as close to his back as possible. You had never been to a tavern before, but tonight would certainly be a night of firsts.

Your first sips of Ale were with Joel by your side, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over, warm breath fanning your face as he asked you what you thought about the taste.

Truthfully? Ale was not your first drink of choice, but you had an understanding for the appeal of it. Joel agreed, and whispered in your ear that he thought it tasted like shit. His tone and crude remark sent you giggling in tandem.

Now, whiskey on the other hand? You enjoyed the smoky flavor that lingered on your tongue and the way it instantly sent a warm fire simmering in your belly, and heat to flood your cheeks. You danced, laughed, drank and you even played a hand of poker! No one in the tavern knew of your status, your wealth. Everyone in the rowdy establishment was just there living, and you silently wished for your life to always be this freeing.

When the tavern closed for the night, you and Joel strolled down the street, hand in hand. The late evening air held that familiar summer sweetness, crickets chirping, fireflies dancing around your heads. Another pair of lovers strolled in front of you and Joel, seemingly unable to keep their hands off of one another as they neared the town inn. Would that be you and your Joel?

His palm felt clammy in your palm, but his face gave no distinction that he was absolutely freaking the fuck out inside at the prospect of finally getting the privilege to press his lips to yours.

“Shadow is staying at the inn’s barn for the evening, my dearest. It’s far too late for either of us to return back to the estate…” he trailed off, eyes casting in your direction to await your response.

“Joel…” you sighed, loosening your grip around his hand, nearly dropping it entirely. “We—we have to go back. Father, mother—”

“My dearest, your mother has retired early for the evening, and your father is probably too deep in a hand of poker to even notice your absence.” He spoke softly, slowly bringing your entwined fingers up to his face, illuminated in a soft, warm glow from the flickering street lights lining the walkway. He brushed his lips against the outside of your hand, eyes locking onto yours, “I understand if you don’t desire me the way I desire you, my dearest. And if that is the case, we can leave immediately—”

“I—I desire you plenty, my Joel. All evening at the party, I kept seeing the resemblance of your beautiful face in every male passerby, but none of them were you. I’m just—I’m so afraid, Joel. My heart—it feels so deeply for you, but it’s forbidden. You and I both know the bitter truth of what we can never be.”

“My dearest, tonight we need not be afraid, okay? It is your birthday, your special day, and there is nowhere else in this world that I would rather be, than here with you. I ask you for nothing, only to trust me. Trust your Joel.”

You could feel yourself caving into his words, your body drawn to be closer to him as if by some invisible force pulling you into his chest. “I trust you always, my Joel.”

He nodded, pressing another sweet kiss to the outside of your hand. You moved in sync, his strong, broad body caging you against the brick wall of the inn, his hands, calloused and warm, holding your face between them as if you were fine delicate china. His forehead came to rest upon yours, warm breath fanning your face, “can I kiss you, my dearest?”

“Please, my Joel.” You breathed out, fingers gently resting along the nape of his neck. “You—you will be my first.” You whispered.

“And you will be mine, my dearest.” He rasped, thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, feeling his heartbeat faster, and faster, when his lips finally brushed upon your own, both of your inexperience showing, but nature took over when your lips finally met, pressing against one another. Your breath hitched in your throat, fingers tightening around his soft curls, pulling him in closer. You wanted to crawl inside his skin, make a home inside of his heart and never leave.

“I—have never felt a sweetness upon my lips till I have kissed you, my dearest.” He murmured sweetly against your locked lips, taking the leap of what felt right when your lips parted like the narrow sea for him to slowly lick into your mouth so your tongues could meet, and dance.

An unexpected moan slipped past your lips when he licked into your mouth, a sound only for his ears, sending blood flowing southwards beneath his trousers and directly to his groin. He parted from the kiss momentarily, a string of translucent saliva hung between your swollen lips. He dived back in seconds later, but this time you felt his lips upon your neck, sucking, kissing, licking at your throat and all the way back up to your lips.

“I scraped up enough money to afford us a night at the inn, my dearest.” He let out a soft grunt when your nails lightly scratched his scalp, and your fingers tugged on the root of his curls, “do you wish to—”

“Yes, my Joel.” You didn’t even wait for him to finish his question, you already knew your answer was going to be yes.

He chuckled at your eagerness, letting his hands drop from your face and rest along your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, “lay beside me tonight, my love?”

“Yes, my Joel. I wish for that.”

He smiled into the kiss, the butterflies in his own stomach were no longer fluttering wildly, his nerves were gone because never in his life had he been more sure about his feelings till now. It was a moment of calm that both you and he felt in one another’s embrace. “Then let it be known that tonight, beneath the stars, I will make love to you, my dearest.” The words he spoke fell like a sweet oath upon your lips.

You kissed him once more, before your lips parted, but only for a little while. He took your hand in his, fingers entwined and led you to the entrance of the inn. The room was paid for, and the excitement was beginning to tingle once more as he unlocked the door to the room you would share. A single bed to accommodate you both.

And when he laid you down, fitting in the space between your thighs, kissing every inch of your untouched skin, drawing sounds from your throat that you had never felt, nor heard before. Calloused palms moved with languid ease, undressing you with methodical care. You did the same to him, marveling at the flex of his muscles beneath your touch. He was so gentle, so patient as you parted for him like a blooming flower. He kissed you there, too. Dark head of curls moving between your thighs, strong fingers spreading you open where his tongue quickly found the little bud that had your whole body quivering, and your back bowing, arching from the mattress.

He kissed, licked, worshiped, suckled on your womanhood, the taste of you was something so foreign, yet familiar, and his cock grew heavy between his thighs, hips rutting into the mattress for any form of relief.

Your speech was slurred, broken, fragmented moans dangling from your lips, and you were only able to say one word; his name.

Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

And when the coil in deep within your tummy was pulled tight, and a burning warmth that could only be described as the feeling of heaven on earth, traveled from the tips of your toes and up your spine, you convulsed around his tongue, eyes rolling back into your skull, muscles spasming, your cunt pulsing, leaking along the sheets. He lapped up every sweet drop of your release, swallowing it down as if he was quenched with thirst. His eyes opened, dark pools of brown staring intensely into yours, grinning like a devil. His chin and beard glistening in your sweet nectar, illuminated by the pale moonlight casting in through the thin, billowing curtains.

He kissed up your body, finding your lips and molding his tongue around yours so you could taste yourself, too. He whispered sweet nothings between kisses when the heavy weight of his cock slowly began to press into you. Tears sprung from the sudden sharp pain caused by the stretch of him easing inside of you. He kissed away your tears, shushing you softly and promising you that it would feel good so soon, my dearest.

Your nails left crescents in his back, thighs wrapping around his waist when he was fully sheathed inside of your pulsing, hugging warmth. It was the tightest vice he ever did feel, and he never wanted to part from you.

“I’ve got you, my dearest.” He whispered upon your lips, drawing his hips back slowly, oh so slowly, before guiding them forward. The coarse dark hair on his pubic bone brushed against your own with each gentle thrust he gave you. A rhythm set in with his movements, your body naturally began to mold to his as you became one. Sweat soaked skin, tangled moans and limbs, wet kisses and words of love shared between what little space was left between you.

And when he spilled his seed deep within your womb, and he moaned your name, proclaiming his love and devotion for you with his face buried against your neck. You refused to part from one another, even as his cock softened inside of you, and your cunt no longer fluttered. You pressed your lips to his scruffy cheek, tangled your fingers through his now sweat soaked curls that were matted to his forehead and back of his neck. You held him, and he held you as the sun slowly began to rise, and the birds chirped cheerfully just outside the window.

“I don’t want to go home, my Joel. I want to stay here, with you…forever.” You whispered softly through the early morning air.

He shifted deep within you, lifting his chin and turned his cheek to the side, brushing his lips sweetly against your soft cheek. His eyes were sleepy, a dopey, boyish grin graced his features, lips curved in a perfect pout, swollen with your kisses, “I need not yet to part from you, my love. But I must return you home before your father and mother awake.”

You sighed softly, dropping your fingers from their grip on his hair to then drag across his jaw, nuzzling your nose against his and pressed a kiss to his lips, “our home, my Joel.” You gently reminded him.

He kissed you back, lashes fluttering shut to savor the moment before opening again so he could once again gaze upon your face and paint a picture in his memory to hold onto forever, “our home, my dearest.”

Reality began to rear its ugly head into both of your minds and he reluctantly parted from your kiss, drawing his hips back slowly to release his cock from your warmth. “We must return home, my dearest.” He sat back on his haunches, his softened cock wet, sticky with a mix of your combined releases and a thin layer of blood.

You slowly sat up, taking the coarse sheet with you as you gazed upon his groin for the first time. Even soft now, your sex induced eyes widened at the girth of him.

He, however, was more focused on the stain of blood on his skin, and swiped his thumb across it before his gaze landed on you, “have you…bled before, my sweet?”

You nodded, “yes, my Joel. I bleed the same time every month since my thirteenth birthday. Mother told me that it means I am ready to bear children, and I have become a woman. She told me that I would bleed again when my husband makes love to me for the first time.”

His chin falls between his shoulders, feeling them sink from the realization that he would never be your husband, and you would never be his wife. “Does it hurt…to bleed? Did I hurt you, my love?”

You shook your head, letting the sheets drop from your chest as you reached out to comfort him. “No, my love. It can be uncomfortable, but you did not hurt me. A dull sting is all I felt, nothing more. You took care of me.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently as you emerged from under the covers, “my dearest, what is to happen if…you end up bearing my children? We are both so young, I wish not to steal what remains of your youth. You deserve so much more than only what is expected of you, my lady.”

You found yourself straddling his hips with your thighs on either side of him, caging his body around yours while his arms wrapped around your waist, using his core strength to stay upright as your hands came to rest upon his face, “if I bear your children, then we could marry, Joel. We could—be together!” You spoke excitedly.

“My dearest, I—have nothing to offer you. I am penniless…we are not of the same status, and your mother and father would never allow it.” His thumbs gently stroked the dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine.

“I will speak with my father! He will understand, he must! No man will ever wish to marry me if I am bearing another’s child! Father—he’ll have to agree!”

“My dearest, what if my seed doesn’t take to your womb the first time? What if we are unable—”

You cut him off with a swift kiss to his lips, pulling him in close with your hand resting along the nape of his neck, “then we keep trying till my womb is swelling with life.”

He kissed you deeply, feeling his cock begin to stir to life between your tightly pressed bodies. He nodded, a silent agreement as he dropped one hand from where it rested against your spine and dragged it between you so that he could grasp the base of his cock and slowly press himself inside of you once more.

By the time you and Joel arrived back at the estate, the sun was already beginning to rise high above the sky. The stables were empty upon your arrival as Joel helped you dismount from Shadow. He urged you to change back into your attire that you wore to the party so that your mother, nor father would raise their suspicions. You parted ways with a kiss, a longing behind his lips as he watched you leave his embrace and walk back into the life you had always known.

At the breakfast table your mother was quick to question why you were not present in your chambers at sunrise, but you already had a rehearsed script planned in your mind. Without missing a beat, you told the story of how you had a few too many flutes of champagne, and fell asleep in the gardens.

Your mother, of course, scolded you, but your father? He had a hidden, knowing smile playing beneath his mustache.

You and Joel were extremely cautious and strategic when it came to planning your rendezvous. They happened frequently, under the cover of night when everyone was sleeping. Sometimes in the stables, sometimes in the gardens, and you even returned to the inn a few times in secret. He could not get enough of you, your kisses, or your touch. The feeling was mutual, and you both knew that the deep, profound feelings you were both experiencing was not infatuation or lust, no, you and Joel Miller were madly, deeply, tragically in love with one another.

Even in the daytime he would seek your presence, asking your father if he could accompany you on a ride through the countryside as your guide, and protector. You had picnics by the river where he would lay his head upon your skirts, eyes closed blissfully as he listened to you read love stories from Shakespeare till he would drift off, soft snores escaping his lips, your voice lulling him to a sweet slumber. Your horses would graze side by side, his stallion, your mare. Their tails swishing to fight off the pesky flies.

Upon the approach of your eighteenth birthday, you wept in Joel’s arms, for no matter how many times he spilled his seed inside of you, your womb did not swell with life; his child. You feared that his love for you would sour and rot when you broke the mournful news to him beneath comfort of the shimmering moon, and twinkling stars.

“My dearest, why do you weep? Who, or what has caused my sweet love to shed her tears?” He sank to his knees with you crumbling in his arms. His heart felt like it was being shredded to fragmented pieces when your sobs echoed off the nearby hedges in the garden where your embrace was hidden.

“My Joel!” You cried, clawing at his arms with fat, heavy tears streaming down your cheeks, “I—I’m so sorry. I have let you down, my love.”

“My dearest, how have you let me down? Tell me what is wrong! What has happened?” He spoke urgently, tone hushed.

“My womb does not swell with life, Joel! We have tried, and tried! No matter how many times, it has been fruitless! I bear you no sons, no daughters—” you wailed mournfully.

“My sweet, are you certain of this? Oh, my girl…” he felt his own tears begin to prick his eyes as he began to gently rock you in his arms. “Do you weep in sadness, or in fear? I do not care that you cannot bear me any children, my dearest. My love for you will never sour.”

“Do not lie to me, lover!” You were on the edge of snapping through your tears, “when my sole purpose in this life is to marry and bear children to my husband! There must be something wrong with me, Joel! How can you say you love me when I cannot be the woman I am expected to be! I never can fucking—”

You surprised yourself and him by your sudden crude language, but then again, spending as much time as you did with Joel, his verbiage began to rub off on you, and yours onto him.

“Then don’t be the woman you are expected to be, my love! There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing, do you hear me? I love you as you are! You are my lady, for fucks sakes! You can be whoever you want to be with me! Do you wish to be a poet? Be one! Do you wish to be a scholar? A singer? Do you wish to live a normal life where your choices are not already chosen for you?!” His voice cracked, coming out as a hoarse rasp deep from within his chest.

You fought the urge to scoff and chide him for being so naive. “My life will never be normal! Don’t you understand?! All I know is what has been chosen for me! It doesn’t matter what I want, Joel! I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth! My studies, my thoughts, opinions, have all been predisposed! Even the fucking food I consume, and the clothing on my back has been chosen for me!”

“Of course I understand! All I have ever done is understand that you and I were never cut from the same cloth! And yet, I love you all the same because what else is a man to do? My sweet, we are weeks away from your eighteenth birthday! We can run away together and carve out the life of our choosing! Fuck your parents, fuck the society we live in! Do you want to marry a man you don’t love and live in misery?! Or do you want the chance to live! To wake up at your choosing, to wear what you desire, to love freely with no prejudice? To never again live under your parents control? Don’t you want to…love me?” He was exasperated, chest heaving, nostrils flaring from the pure passion oozing from his words.

You fell silent, your lower lip wobbling, eyes glassy with tears as you looked into his eyes, taking in the redness in his cheeks, the puffing of his chest—the love pooling in his dark irises, “of course I want to love you, my Joel. I—I’m afraid! Can’t you see that? I’m expected to marry and bear my husband's children and now I cannot! If we run away together, I’ll never be able to return home! What if our love isn’t destined to make it! What if we fail—”

“Of course I can see you’re afraid, my girl. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice! You are safe here, with me. With your Joel! I would never, ever, ever let anything happen to you. We may not live a life of riches, but we would live a life rich in love! I—I can get a job! I will work until my bones break if it means that I get to be with you. I’ll work the railways, the mines! Any job that I can take, I will, and I’ll do it all for you.”

You kissed him then, tasting the salt from your own tears and his upon your locked lips. “We’ll move west! As far west as we can! We’ll see the ocean for the first time, plot out our land and live out our days together!” You murmured against his lips.

“California.” He promised you, kissing you deeply as his hands came to cradle your face, “a sheep ranch with Shadow and Sunfyre.”

“Why sheep, lover?” You asked softly between desperation filled kisses,

“They’re quiet, do as they're told.” He teased, chuckling when you gently swatted at his chest for making such a comment.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You giggled, which soon turned into a moan when his fingers slipped down to your waist and hastily began to unlace your bodice, while your hand drifted downwards to undo the string on his trousers. Neither of you knew that one of your own ladies, the same lady that had been promised to Joel by your father, caught the two of you in the gardens while she was out for a midnight stroll. Her presence was undetected as you sank down around Joel’s cock beneath your skirts, moaning his name unashamedly as your entwined bodies moved in sync.

June 1st, 1844

“Yes, mother.” You responded in a practiced, complacent sweetness to appease her.

“He will make a fine husband to you, one day.” She added, her perfectly dainty fingers came to rest upon your shoulder, squeezing it with anything but a comforting touch. She didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on your secret lover, nor did she sense your longing.

“Yes, he will, mother. I look forward to making his acquaintance.”

“Good. You have grown into being a fine young woman, daughter. Your father and I are so very proud of you.”

If only they knew that you were not the perfect, proper lady than they believed you to be, and that your heart belonged to another man.

Your Joel had requested a private audience with your father leading up to the festivities surrounding your monumental birthday. And so after bringing the horses in from the pasture, he made his way to your fathers office, closing the door quietly behind him when he was given permission to enter.

“Sir, I have wonderful news to bestow upon you, Shadow is expectin’. She was showin’ early signs a few weeks back, but it is official.”

“Wonderful news indeed, Joel. And who is the lucky stud?” Your father asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Sunfyre, sir.”

“Ahh. What a combination. A filly, as black as the night, and a colt, as golden as the sun. I wonder what their offspring will look like.” He mused.

Joel swallowed the lump growing in his throat, his palms growing clammier by the second. He took a deep breath to calm his budding nerves, “Sir, I need to disclose something to you, but before I do, I just wanted to say that I have appreciated being able to confide in you in some capacity. I am grateful that you have taken me under your wing and offered me the chance at having a better life, but your daughter—”

“Joel.” He warned, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped together. “Be extremely careful with your choice in words for whatever it is you are about to tell me. Perhaps I need to remind you where your place is? Maybe I should have been wary of confiding in you, boy.”

“Sir, please. You must hear this! If you care about your daughter's happiness, and her well being, you will listen to what I have to say. I swear that our conversations have remained confidential! I have spoken about them to no one, I swear it!”

Your father let out a deep sigh, bringing his hands to his face where he pressed the pads of his fingers into the deep set wrinkles in his forehead. “Go on then.”

“Your daughter—she is unable to bear children. She is afraid of what is to become of her if she cannot bear children for her future husband, sir. And I fear for her as well! Sir, men are unkind, and she is sweet. She is sweet and kind and deserving—”

Your fathers heart slowly began to sink, his composure crumbled because of his darling little girl, who would certainly face a life of hardship and misery if you could not bear children and enact your duties as a perfect wife for your husband. He didn’t agree with it, but that was how society worked. Men ruled the house, and the women cared for their husbands and children. “How do you know of this, Joel?” Your fathers tone wavered, his eyes casting in Joel’s direction and he saw a younger version of himself in your forbidden lover.

“Sir, you know the answer to your own question.” Joel nearly whispered, avoiding direct eye contact and let his gaze fall to a portrait behind your fathers desk, two young men with their arms around one another’s shoulders.

“You love her, don’t you?” His question hung heavy in the air.

Joel froze like a deer that was inevitably caught by hunters in the meadow. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think as he listened to the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his pulse pounding, “with all of my heart, sir.”

Your father slowly nodded his head in understanding as he let out a sigh, “then you must know that you have to swallow down your feelings for my daughter for her benefit and your own. You are playing a dangerous game, Joel. One that could very well cost you your life.”

“I don’t fucking care. I have never loved another being outside of your daughter. Our love may be frowned upon and forbidden, but it is real. I have felt for her since I was just a mere boy, when the storm was raging outside and she accompanied me to see the birth of Dahlia’s foal. My love for her will never sour, it will never over ripen and rot like the low hanging fruit upon the trees. I have nothing to offer her but my heart, and that holds a weight more valuable than gold or silver.”

Your father smiled, one that did not reach his eyes as he slowly stood from his chair behind his desk and walked in front of it. “You remind me so much of my younger self, Joel. Willing to do anything for the person you love. Despite all the odds being stacked against you.”

Joel took a hesitant step back, the heel of his boot nearly catching along the rug, “do not patronize me, sir. I love your daughter, and nothing will stop me from loving her. Even after death, my love for her will remain.”

“Of course nothing will stop you, Joel. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He smiled sadly, a look of longing hidden behind his eyes. Joel knew the look all too well.

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to tell you something that you have to swear you will never utter to anyone. It is a secret that you must take to your grave, Joel. You cannot even tell my daughter. Are we clear?”

“I swear I will not tell a single soul, sir. Not even your daughter will know.”

“Good, I trust you. You have a good heart, Joel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your father reached for his box of cigars, silently offering one to Joel who politely declined. It had been many, many, years since your father spoke about his past, and while he lit the end of the cigar, those memories began to surface. “I meant what I said when I told you that you remind me of my younger self.”

Joel nodded in understanding.

“When I was your age, the world was at my fingertips, Joel. It was my oyster, and I could have any lady of my choosing, but I had to marry. That was my parents one rule upon me was that I had to marry.”

“You could have any lady of your choosing, but it wasn’t a lady that held your affections, was it, sir?”

“No. It was not a lady that held my affections.”

“The man…in the portrait behind your desk, was he your…?”

“Yes, Joel. The man in the portrait was my lover. The butler's son nonetheless. I of course tried to appease my parents and court the finest lady in town, but my heart longed for my lover. We were going to run away together, Joel. It was all planned out, and I was ready to throw away my old life for him. It was, and still is taboo and forbidden to lay with the same sex. We were careful, until I came to him with the grave news that I would have to marry, and that we could no longer be together. He was angry, I was angry, we got reckless, and one night we were caught.”

“By…the lady of the house? Your now wife?”

He nodded, leaning back against the front of his desk, “yes, she was the one who caught us in the act, in my chambers. She screamed so loud, as if she was witnessing a murder! I begged her to keep her voice down but she wouldn’t listen. She was disgusted with me, and proclaimed that I would rot in eternal hell for the sins I committed.”

“What happened…to your lover, sir?”

“My own father nearly beat my lover to death in front of me. I was forced to watch the life drain from his eyes. I begged and begged for him to stop, to let him live! Maybe he would have, if it wasn’t for the lady of the house to spread a rumor that the butler's son came onto me against my will. My father didn’t want to believe that his son was a fairy, and so my lover was sentenced to hang. I visited him for the very last time when he was shackled, malnourished, and begging for death to take him. I stayed with him all night, praying that the sun would never rise. The following morning I was forced to watch him hang. Every single spectator in the crowd, except for me, cheered for the death of another fairy!” He used the back of his hand to swiftly wipe at his eyes when his tears began to well and roll down his cheeks.

“He was buried in an unmarked grave and I went through with marrying the lady of the house. I wasn’t given another choice, and on the night of our wedding, she whispered to me that she knew the truth, and that she wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail me for it.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Your lover—you, I’m so sorry. I do not understand why people are so cruel and hateful. Love is love, is it not?”

“Please do not sympathize with me, Joel. I do not seek your sympathy. I am telling you this because if you do not swallow your feelings for my daughter, you will surely face the same fate that my lover did! Don’t you understand? She has been promised to another. She meets with the banker's son tonight and in time, they will be married. It is her duty and expectation. And you will have the choice to marry the lady I have chosen for you. Your love for my daughter will fade, and you will be grateful that it did.”

“How dare you! How dare you stand there—you coward! You could have been with your lover now if you had run away together! You had the opportunity, and didn’t seize it?! Don’t stand there and claim that my love for your daughter will fade, when yours for your dead lover has not! You stand there, weeping for him! Your life could have been different—”

Crack

Your fathers cruel fist made direct contact with Joel’s beautiful nose, the force of impact sending him stumbling backwards, clutching his face in despair as blood trickled and dripped between the grooves of his fingers, staining the golden threaded hearthrug in splotches of crimson.

“Get the fuck out of my office. It is clear that you have forgotten your place, boy. You will never marry the likes of my daughter.”

Joel retreated through the office doors with what remained of his dignity. He confided in your father purely out of trust, and he thought it was a mutual feeling. For the rest of the afternoon, leading into the evening, you did not see your Joel.

The banker’s son was polite, well-mannered, but goodness—was he a bore. You had no interest in hearing him drone on about the stock market in New York City. He didn’t bother to ask you about you, or your interests as they were already predisposed by your mother.

Fucking cunt.

He strolled with you in the gardens with your hand lightly grasping onto his elbow. Your eyes wandered off, in search for that familiar stature, and head of distinguishable dark curls as you passed by the stables, but your Joel was nowhere to be found. Your heart sank and you asked the banker’s son, Timothy, if he would mind giving you a moment of privacy in the garden's gazebo. He obliged, but not before he could press an affectionate kiss to the outside of your hand. The bristles in his perfectly groomed mustache tickled your skin before he reluctantly pulled away.

You let out a sigh of relief, your posture returning to a relaxed state as you watched him walk back towards the festivities inside. When you were certain that he was not lingering, you began to nervously pace the short distance inside of the gazebo, muttering about how Joel would never just leave you like this, would he?

Where the fuck was he?

Then you heard it, the groaning of the tired wood beneath his boots, and that warm, deep rasp in his voice. “My dearest.” He croaked, and you immediately knew something was wrong, something had happened. His voice sounded far more nasally, and when you turned around to face him, that’s when you noticed the dry, crusted blood beneath his fractured nose, the rusted blood stains in his white shirt. You ran to him, delicately cradling his beautiful face in your palms.

“My Joel!” You cried, “what has happened? Who has done this to you! Your nose—your beautiful nose!”

“Hush, my darling. It’s—just a fracture, lover. It will heal.” He lowered his tone to a whisper, his hands slowly coming to rest around your waist. “It does not matter who did this to me, my dearest.”

“How can you say such a thing? Joel, please, my love, who did this to you?” You softly begged, thumbs gently stroking the scruff speckled on his strong jaw.

“Your father.” He murmured, bitterness laced in his words.

“What?” You murmured in disbelief, dropping your hands from his face, refusing to believe it. “Why would he do such a thing to you! Joel, please, please tell me what happened!”

“My love, please promise you will not hate me for what I am about to utter. Swear to me that you won’t.” He pleaded, tightening his grip around your waist in fear that you would slip between his fingers like grains of sand.

“I swear it.”

“He knows about us, my dearest. He knows that I love you, and you love me. He knows that you cannot bear children because I am the one who confided in him this afternoon. I did it in hopes that he would understand, and stop the banker's son from courting you tonight. I—I thought maybe we wouldn’t have to run away, and we would be accepted as lovers!”

“Oh Joel, they will never accept us! You stupid, stupid, beautiful little fool.” You sniffled sadly, feeling your tears oncoming. “You are too good for this world and everyone in it! Your heart is made of pure gold, and I love you for it, but now you have put yourself in grave danger! That was so fucking stupid of you to do, lover.”

“My sweet, I may be a fool, but what else is a man to do when he is in love? Your father knows, yes, but now we must seize our opportunity to leave, tonight! The party is in full swing, is it not? No one will notice your absence, my dearest. If we don’t leave tonight, I fear we will never have another chance at eternal happiness.”

You swallow down your tears, melting into his embrace and his words. “The banker’s son waits for me inside, it will be suspicious if I do not return to him within the hour…” you trailed off.

“Are you having your doubts, my love?”

“No, no! Of course not. I am in fear that we will be caught if we aren’t careful, my Joel. I will return to him and you will go to my chambers. Lock the doors and do not open them for anyone. Take the back entrance, through the kitchens! No one will see you, I swear it.” You reached for his hands on your waist, interlocking your fingers through his.

“And you? I cannot fathom thinking of the banker’s son touching—”

“My Joel, please do not allow your thoughts to sour. I am expected to dance with him and when the timing is right, I will come find you. I promise.”

He nodded, bringing your clasped hands up to his face so he could kiss your knuckles, wincing from the dull ache in his nose.

“Together?” He murmured, eyes locking onto yours.

“Always.”

You parted ways after he kissed you, promising you that all this pain would be worth it in the end, and of course, you believed him, for what else is a girl to do when she is in love?

You returned to Timothy’s side, assuring him that you just needed to be alone with your thoughts. He was an understanding man, and you could understand why your father assumed that he would be a perfect match for you, but no one would ever be your Joel. And while you danced, and made small talk with him and his friends, Joel was making his way through the kitchens, ducking into one of the main hallways, muscle memory guiding him the way to your chambers, but unbeknownst to him, he was being followed.

It was a quarter to midnight and your lover could hear the party growing rowdier by the minute even behind your locked doors. He grew weary, doubts settling into his mind that perhaps you had forgotten him. Perhaps you were having a good time with the fucking bankers son. His spirits lifted when he heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. He sprung up from the edge of your perfectly made up bed, heart racing in his chest when the doors opened.

His face fell, blood running ice cold when the person revealed behind the door was not you, but the lady who was promised to him by your father. He took a step back, palms growing clammy.

“How did I know that you would be lingering in her chambers, Joel?” She closed the doors behind her and locked them for good measure. “What would her father say if he knew you were in here…hmm?”

“You fucking followed me here, didn’t you, Lady Florence?” He seethed, feeling like an animal trapped in the corner with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Because you were promised to me, or have you forgotten?” She cocked a brow in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I never approached you. Never even attempted to court you. Just because her father promised me to you, doesn’t fucking mean shit until actions are taken after words.” He snapped.

“I suppose, but then again, you’re in a not so favorable position, Joel. Trespassing after hours, and in his daughter's chambers nonetheless? I’m almost certain you would hang for such a crime.” She mused, stepping closer to where he had tucked himself nearly into a corner closest to the window. “Perhaps he would love to hear how I caught you and his daughter fucking in the gardens a few weeks back. How truly reckless of you both.” She tsked.

He scoffed at her attempt at blackmailing him in such a petty way. “Your threats are made in vain. Her father already knows about my love for his daughter. He’s well aware, and you look fucking desperate and pathetic at your attempt to blackmail me.”

“Blackmail you? Joel, you have me all wrong!” She laughed, “I don’t have the heart to blackmail you!”

“Then what the fuck do you call what you just attempted to do, hmm? Don’t take me for a fool! You are nothing but a jealous little—”

“Joel? It’s me, my love. I don’t have my key…someone must have nicked it!” You whispered through the outside of the closed door, looking around the vacant hallway anxiously. “Are you in there?”

He strode past Florence, shoulder checking her on his way to the door and quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside before closing and locking it again.

Your eyes landed on his face, and then trailed over his shoulder to Florence, one of your ladies, who you had believed up until this point was loyal, and not a conniving little—

“Lady Florence? What are you doing in my chambers? What is going on?!”

Joel reached for bare forearm with a gentle grip to pull you back. “My dearest, it isn’t what you think! Lady Florence is the one who nicked your key and followed me to your chambers! She cornered me, threatened me with blackmail, and claimed that she caught you and I in the gardens weeks ago!”

“Is this true?” You felt saddened, betrayed, and disappointed. “Flo, how could you do such a thing to me? I thought we were friends!”

“My lady—he lies! I never would steal from you, he is the one to corner me! He sought me out, forcing me into your chambers—” she lied between her teeth, digging herself in a graver hole than she was planning.

“LIAR!” you yelled, ripping your arm from Joel’s grasp, “he would never lay a hand on a lady, nor pressure her! You speak only of lies Florence!”

“Lover! We do not have the time for this! We have to go, we have to go now!” Joel urged you from behind, reaching for your arm again. “She isn’t worth it! Please, we must—”

And then you heard your fathers voice booming down the hall. Your biggest fear was coming true, and now there was nowhere for you or Joel to hide when the doors bursted open, the locking mechanism snapping in half from the force of your father.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He demanded.

Lady Florence, being the snake in the grass that she was, immediately flocked to your fathers side. “Sir! You arrived just in time!” She said exasperatedly, “Your daughter was in her chambers freshening up and I went to go check on her, being the good friend that I am, when I heard her dreadful scream! I came upon the heinous crime of the filthy stable hand taking your daughter against her will!” She wept her crocodile tears. “He threatened to—”

Your father wasn’t buying it for he knew that Florence was a terrible liar, and a rotten friend. “Lady Florence, this does not concern you. Return to the party immediately, and speak this to no one.”

“But sir—”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. She narrowed her eyes at both you and Joel before slinking out of the room, closing the doors behind her.

You immediately stepped in front of Joel, silently vowing to protect him no matter what would happen, you would not allow your father to harm another hair upon your lover's head.

“Daddy, please, I love him! Please, let us be! I know it goes against what is expected of me, but Joel is a good man! He has only ever been good to me, father!”

“Your mother will never allow it, daughter. All Joel has done is tempted you and filled your head with fantasies! You have been promised to the banker's son and that is final! You think of me to be cruel, but I am only doing what is best for you!”

“I do not care what you think is best for me, father! I do not want to marry the banker's son! I wish to be happy with my one love, and I do not care if that means that you and mother will exile me! I do not care that it means I will no longer live a life of riches! I am rich in love and happiness with him by my side!”

Your father ignored your pleas, even when you clung to his arm and dug your heels in the ground to stop him from advancing towards Joel. “Please, father! Please! I am begging you to leave him be!” You cried, and your words were caught in your throat when the backside of your fathers ring clad hand made swift contact with your cheek, sending you tumbling to the floor in shock. All Joel could see was red behind his eyes when your fathers hand made contact with your cheek. He sprung into action, but your father, despite his age, was quick, ready for Joel’s attack.

“YOU DARE FUCKIN’ LAY A HAND ON HER?!” Your lover yelled with a rage you had never heard leave his lips, “I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU IF YOU LAY A HAND UPON HER AGAIN!”

Your father used Joel’s rage to his advantage, letting the younger man assume he had control of the situation when he was shoved against your tall, wooden chifferobe.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” You cried, “BOTH OF YOU, PLEASE STOP!”

In your moment of distress, Joel was distracted for a millisecond too long when your fathers fist connected with Joel’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. He landed another hit, and then another, weakening Joel enough that he crumbled to his knees, bringing his arms over his head to block out the fists raining down upon him.

Your father was relentless, grabbing your lover by the back of his neck, yanking it upwards so he was forced to look up at the older man from his knees. He bent down to his level, getting close to his ear and whispered only for him to hear “I warned you this would end badly if you weren’t careful, boy.”

Joel spit a mixture of congealed blood and saliva directly onto his face, spattering it in speckles of crimson. “Fuck you, you coward.” He hissed between gritted teeth.

Your fathers fist trembled, his hand surely was broken, but all he could think about was how he was forced to watch his own lover be beaten in the same fashion, and now he was on the delivering end of it. “Get out.” He seethed. “Leave the property before lady Florence runs her large mouth to the lady of the house and spreads a false rumor about you and my daughter. Leave before I change my mind, Joel.”

Defeat; complete and utter defeat is all Joel Miller felt in his bones when your father released him with a rough shove to the ground. He struggled to sit up, coughing up more blood, and when you attempted to crawl to his side, your father grasped your elbow and yanked you to the door.

your fading screams of his name echoed down the hall as your father dragged you further and further away.

Bruised, beaten, and feeling hopeless, Joel Miller forced himself to his feet and obeyed your fathers word to leave while he still had the chance. He felt like a coward now, but what else could he do? If he stayed, surely he would face the gallows for a crime that he didn’t commit. Lady Florence had infact gone to run her big mouth to the lady of the house, claiming that Joel Miller raped you in your bed chambers. It was of course a fabricated lie, and only lady Florence, Joel, your father, and you knew the truth.

June 4th, 1844

My Dearest,

I am deeply remorseful for the events that transcribed three days ago. I know I have put you in an undesirable situation now with your father’s wishes for your arranged marriage to the rich banker's son. Forgive me, for I don’t care to remember his name. My dearest, do not put the blame upon yourself. If we had known that there were prying, hateful eyes watching us, I would have waited for you in the stables and not inside your chambers. Jealousy drives even the sanest of people to do the unforgivable. The deep wounds your father has inflicted upon me will heal, but my heart? Oh, how it aches for you, my dearest. If I were not a coward, I would turn back and face the gallows just to see your face one last time, for what else is a man to do when he is in love? I’m heading west, like we planned in the gardens, in hopes that you will follow me and go against your father’s wishes. Please write to me soon, tell me that you are safe, and grace me with your sweet words.

Your devoted Joel

Unspecified date.

My Joel,

I write this to you in secret. My words are only for your eyes, and when you receive my letter, tell no one, my lover. Father is angry, so very angry, and mother only speaks of hate towards you. She is determined to make me press charges against you to hang for a crime you did not commit! Father won’t stand for it and instead we have abandoned the estate, left all of our belongings including our dear horses! They will not tell me where we are going, but I miss you terribly, my Joel. My brothers have been free to marry by their choosing, but I? I cannot. It’s rather cruel, isn’t it? To be given one life and since birth, since I first opened my eyes and gazed upon the new world, my choice has been stolen from my grasp. Oh, my Joel, you speak in sorrows, but the fault lands upon my shoulders. I’m so sorry, lover. I should have been more careful and discreet with our planned rendezvous. I deeply loathe Lady Florence for spying upon us! You are right of her jealousy, and now she claims to be remorseful! Oh, I feel your lips now. Your kiss, your touch upon my skin. My love for you has not weakened, I promise. Hold my words close to your heart, my Joel. I fear I will not be able to write to you again, but I will try, for you. My Joel, you are in my thoughts, always.

You have my heart,

Your Dearest.

January 1848, one hour after dusk

The decision to leave Texas and travel to New York to stop yours and the banker’s son’s wedding could quite possibly be the last thing that Joel Miller would ever do. But how could he sleep at night knowing that you were out there, somewhere in the city, thousands of miles away. You had not written to him in so long, but that didn’t deter him from following his heart back to you. He couldn’t fathom life without you in it any longer, and what else is a man to do when he is in love?

That’s how he found himself in the familiar stables, the horses peeking their heads out from their stalls and nickering softly to him in greeting. He kept the single letter you wrote to him safely tucked away in the pocket of his coat, rucksack thrown over his shoulder with what little belongings he possessed. After a new family moved into your home he was given a higher title, a warm bed to sleep in, and he could have married his new boss's daughter and lived a comfortable, happy life, but he declined, for she would never be you, his dearest. Despite turning down every single one of her affections, she still lingered, hoping that one day she would be good enough for his affections and heart.

He was frantically tacking up Sunfyre, cinching up the girth when the barn doors creeped open and Phoebe, his boss’s daughter appeared.

“Joel?” She whispered through the cool evening air, lantern in hand to peer into the low-lit stalls, “what…are you doing?”

He let out a sigh, dropping his hand from the girth and turned around to face her, “lady Phoebe, it’s late. You shouldn’t be out after hours.”

“Neither should you.” She chastised. “Where are you going at this hour, Joel?”

“My lady, that is none of your business. Please, return home. Forget that you ever saw me.”

“You’re going after her, aren’t you? Joel, it’s been years, and she has only written back to you once! It’s in all the papers that she is marrying the banker's son. You could be happy here, with me.” She whispered the last bit, feeling her heart ache for a man who would never feel the same for her.

“Lady Phoebe, “You are a dear friend to me, but I cannot love you, for my heart belongs to another.”

“But I can love you, Joel. I’m right here! She is thousands of miles away and—”

“She is my love, my one true love, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow my heart. Your heart sings for me, but it’s not my tune to hear. You will belong to another, I promise.” He moved from Sunfyre’s side, grasping Phoebe's hands gently in his calloused palms, “you have to let me, and what could never be between us go.”

May 6th, 1848

My Joel, if you’re out there…please, please come find me, lover.

Your Joel wasn’t even sure how the fuck he was supposed to find you in a city as large as New York City. All he knew is that today you were expected to marry the banker’s son, and he would be damned if he didn’t stop this wedding from happening. He asked nearly every passbery in the street if they knew where the biggest wedding of the month would be taking place. It took less time than expected to find his answer, and once he did, he rented the finest suit that he could afford, tucked the ring box safely in his suit pocket, and rode to the chapel.

The wedding bells were already beginning to sweetly chime, and he felt his blood run cold at the sound. Was he too late? He would never forgive himself if he was.

“If anyone here, in this room objects to the unifying marriage between this man and woman, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant spoke at the head of the altar, just as the doors leading into the chapel burst open.

“I OBJECT!” Joel’s familiar voice boomed up the aisle. Hushed murmurs, and surprised gasps echoed throughout the chapel when your eyes landed upon your Joel. All time ceased as you dropped Timothy’s hands, racing down the aisle, the train of your perfectly fitted wedding dress dragged behind you.

Tears flooded your eyes as you threw yourself into your lover's embrace, clinging to him in disbelief with your hands cradling his face. “MY JOEL, YOU CAME FOR ME!”

“Of course I did, my dearest. For what else is a man to do when he is in love?” He murmured, unable to truly process all the feelings he was experiencing at once. But what did it truly matter? The time apart was years, but it was all worth it leading up to this moment.

Your father was already making his way down the aisle, followed by your mother and Timothy when Joel grasped your hand tightly in his and whisked you down the aisle towards the exit. He wasn’t going to let them take you away from him again, not this time.

His grip on your hand did not loosen at the harsh sound of your fathers voice, and even when you were running down the chapel steps in unison, he did not let go until you and him were safely tucked behind a wall of a building, out of sight from the wedding party.

He kept you safely caged against the wall, a burst of memories from the night of firsts that you shared together all those years ago. “My dearest,” he breathed, “I thought I was too late! I thought the wedding already happened and you—”

“My Joel, I—I never thought I would see you again! I only ever received your single letter and I thought that you had moved on, that you had forgotten about me!”

“What?” He shook his head, brows furrowed as he grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips, kissing every inch of your skin there. “My Dearest, I wrote to you many, many times! Did you receive all of my letters? I thought the same! I thought you forgot about your Joel.” He admitted quietly.

“Fuck! I bet it was mother, or father! I bet they were keeping your letters from me, lover! Maybe they thought that if I believed you had forgotten me, I would be more inclined to marry the banker’s son!”

“I would believe that to be true, my sweet. But none of that matters, okay? I’m here now. Your Joel is here, and I will never leave your side again.”

“I-I can’t believe you’re here! Oh, my Joel, I’m so sorry—for everything! I have not stopped thinking about you all these years, I swear it. My heart only has ever belonged to you. I wear his ring, but it means nothing to me!”

“Shh, my love. I know, I know. My heart has only ever belonged to you, my dearest. Only to you. Fuck his ring. I will remove it from your finger so you never have to gaze upon it again.” He rasped, gently grabbing your left hand, scoffing at the enormous rock on your ring finger. “And I will replace it with my own.”

“Please, my Joel.”

He slipped the banker’s son’s ring off of your finger, tucking it into his pocket before he pulled out his own ring box, revealing a smaller, dainter ring beneath the velvet cover.

“It’s not much, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t grace your finger with the largest diamond the world has ever seen, but—I love you, dearest. I came all this way because I couldn’t possibly fathom the thought of losing you to another. I have never loved another soul as I do you, and while I don’t have riches to offer you, shiny carriages, silver platters, I have my heart and I know that it’s worth something to you, darlin.’”

He slipped his ring onto your finger, where it always belonged, and then you finally kissed him, your lips meeting in gentle brush before he surged forward, kissing you with everything that he had to offer. He believed that he was hallucinating, that he was back in Texas, longing for you in his empty bed. But you were here, you were real beneath his fingertips as he licked sweetly into your mouth, hands splayed around your waist, holding you close.

“It’s perfect, my Joel.” You murmured against his lips.

“Only because the lady that wears it is the most beautiful in the entire world. Sunfyre is waiting for us down the street. We can go as far east, west, wherever your heart desires. I will love you eternally, and no one will ever keep us apart, my dearest. I swear it.”

“Let’s go home, my Joel. To Texas. Take me home.”

And so he did, for what else is a man to do when he is in love?

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nmilkh0tel · 10 months

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a late night din

#star wars #the mandalorian #my art #din #din fan art #mando #mando fanart #pedro pascal #drew this listening to suki Waterhouse #I cry at my own creations #I love him so much #comfort character of the century #din djarin #mandalorian

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lionlena · 6 months

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Headcanon: When Joel goes limp… (JoelMillerxf!reader)

Okay, so @creedslove infected my brain with this thought through this post. Joel's simply bruised ego is something that affects me like blood to a vampire… I had to write it! I had to comfort my old grumpy teddy bear!!!

Warnings: smut, erection problems, flaccid dick, Joel's bruised ego (deserves a separate warning), swearing, age difference but not clearly defined…

Sex with Joel was always special.

Sometimes it was rough and made you feel it the next day. You proudly looked at the bruises spread all over your body and you felt like you could still hear his growls in your ear.

Sometimes he was gentle, almost lazy, and only his rough hands on your thighs reminded you how strong Joel could be.

Well, sex wasn't a problem until one day when suddenly it was.

There was no indication of this. Joel came home from work late that night and you were sitting on the couch in just his t-shirt and panties. That was enough to make him horny.

You dressed like that for a reason. Joel had a tough job and for over two weeks he had been coming home while you were already asleep and leaving while you were still in a deep sleep.

So you started to miss his thick cock stretching your pussy.

So you both were hungry for each other's bodies. It seemed like a perfect equation, the solution of which was wild, hot sex.

It started well. Joel got to you. He pulled your panties down with one hand and began to prepare you. His other hand was already under your T-shirt and kneading your breasts.

You panted and kissed his neck as his thick, rough fingers worked inside your pussy.

You felt a bulge growing in his pants.

"Come on honey, I'm ready... I had some fun before you came back."

Joel chuckled and gripped your hips tightly.

"You've been a naughty girl, huh?"

He lowered his pants and boxers in one move. His cock stood proud. You bit your lip, preparing for the first stinging thrust, and…

Nothing.

You blinked your eyes and looked at him in surprise. Joel looked at you equally shocked and you didn't know what he meant until you looked between his legs.

"Oh, Joel... Sweetie, it's..."

Joel cut you off, not letting you finish. He quickly pulled up his pants, hiding his flaccid cock, and moved to the other end of the couch, mumbling, "I'm sorry."

Your heart clenched at how broken his voice was, and even in the dim light you could see that his face was red.

You carefully approached him as if he were a scared animal. You stroked his arm gently. "Joel..."

Joel looked down at his lap, cleared his throat, and replied gruffly, "There's nothing to talk about. I'm old... I should have expected it, that I couldn't keep up with your youth..."

You raised an eyebrow and wanted to laugh, but you knew he would assume you were laughing at him and not at the bullshit he was saying.

You moved even closer and cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. You tried hard to keep your voice calm, soothing, and comforting, but not pitying. You didn't want him to think you felt sorry for him.

"Honey, you know it's not true. These things also happen to younger men and they have a thousand reasons. Fatigue, stress, diet, medications, illness..."

You rubbed his cheek gently and smiled. "You've been working a lot lately and your body finally couldn't handle it. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Joel looked a little calmer, but there was still some anxiety in him: "Maybe you should find someone..."

You glared at him. "Joel Miller, if you finish this sentence, I will kick your ass!"

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. One of his hands went to your thigh and he started squeezing it gently. He placed the other one on your cheek.

"You know, I'm ready to satisfy you in some other way. My mouth, tongue, and fingers are at your disposal."

And it was a really tempting proposition. You loved the feeling of his beard on the inside of your thighs, but…

You saw that Joel was still very sensitive, and vulnerable. You didn't want to give him the false impression that you were only with him for sex.

"NO."

Joel looked at you worried. "No? But you wanted it. That's why you waited for me."

You smiled and sat on his lap.

"I was waiting for you because I missed you. I missed your warm, strong body."

You kissed him passionately and decided to explain something to him.

"Joel, I'm not with you because of your thick cock and the fact that you're so fucking handsome... I'm with you because you make me feel safe. Because you're the type of man who can fix a faucet, change tires on a car... And a thousand other things that make me want to be with you."

Joel looked at you, completely enchanted and in love. He hugged you tightly and buried his face in your neck.

"I love you. And I promise that... It will be better next time."

You rubbed his back and kissed his head. "I love you too, Joel. We'll get through this. You just need some rest."

Joel simply murmured more sweet words into your neck and relaxed into your closeness and embrace.

Two weeks later, Joel finally finished the heavy assignment and you two had more time together. That's why you decided to go to the bar.

You were sitting alone at the bar, waiting for Joel to come back from the bathroom. A young man approached you and you immediately didn't like his behavior. He was pushy and didn't understand your polite "fuck off."

When Joel came back and saw this scene, his blood boiled. And at the same time, he thought back to the moment when he let you down. For a moment, he even had the stupid thought of not interfering and giving you a chance to pick up someone younger. But he saw that you weren't comfortable. So he walked up to you and gave the guy a death glare.

"Any problem, honey?"

Joel wrapped his arms protectively around your waist and the young guy huffed.

"Get lost old man, this chick needs a ride on a young stud."

Before Joel could say anything, you jumped off the stool. You felt your blood boil and you stuck your finger into the guy's chest. You gave him the ugliest look and hissed, "Listen to me, I've been polite, but now... Fuck off! I don't need a little boy for one night stand when I have a real man at home."

The guy gave you a hostile look and normally you would be scared, but you felt Joel's strong frame pressed protectively against your back. The guy said to you contemptuously, "You don't know what you're missing" and left.

You felt proud and you want to turn around to kiss Joel. But you narrowed your eyes at the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass.

Joel rested his chin on your shoulder and growled, “Bathroom, right now, please.”

You were more than willing and moved forward with Joel still right behind you.

You were damn lucky because the women's bathroom was free. Joel immediately pushed you inside and blocked the main entrance. In one movement, he lifted you up and sat you on the counter next to the sink. He took off your panties and slid his finger into your pussy.

"Are you wet already?"

You laughed quietly. "You turned me on."

"Me? You were like a damn wild cat..."

He leaned down and bit your neck. By this time, your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper to free his thick, throbbing cock.

Joel looked at you with love and excitement. "Ready to ride a mature stallion?"

You nodded and bit your lip as he entered you with a decisive movement.

You moaned happily as you felt the familiar stretching.

You grabbed onto Joel's tightly muscled arms as he tightened his large hands on your hips and set a brutal pace, growling in your ear.

"Fuck, I love you... Your pussy is perfect... You make me feel younger..."

Soon you were barely holding back your loud moans, but Joel clearly wasn't going to keep quiet and was grunting loudly himself as he painted your walls with his hot cum.

Afterward, he kissed you gently and tenderly whispered against your lips, "Thank you."

You laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're welcome."

Joel helped you down and knelt down to help you set up your panties.

When you left, a line of several very annoyed girls had already formed in the hallway.

But you two just started laughing and said a carefree "sorry".

Joel led you to his truck and you drove home where Joel fucked you again. This time even longer and more intensely.

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller headcanon #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #joel miller is my old teddy bear #my poor joel #and his poor ego #joel is old and it could happen #but he is so fucking hot #I have to comfort him #smut

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loslentesdepedrito · 5 months

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A Restless Night

Bottom left gif by: fourdev, top right gif by: @a7estrellas

My Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: You have issues with sensory processing, making it difficult for you to fall asleep. After a restless night of tossing and turning, Joel awakens, determined to do everything in his power to help you sleep.

A/N: I wrote this based on my own experiences with SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) as someone who has ASD. I refrained from labeling it as x ASD!reader because not everyone who struggles with SPD is autistic/autism, and not everyone who is autistic/has autism has SPD. Also, just a gentle reminder that every individual's experience with ASD varies significantly. If you’ve met one person with ASD, you’ve met ONE person with ASD. Enjoy!

Rating: 18+ Suggestive. Nothing explicit, but this is an 18+ page. Warnings: No Outbreak, hurt/comfort, slight angst, suggestive stuff, insomnia, food consumption, taking an Antihistamine pill.

In the eerie and suffocating stillness of the night, the angry crimson glow of the alarm clock projects the harsh reality onto the walls. The room, cloaked in darkness punctuated only by the faintest glow of the alarm clock, offers no solace. Silently, the digital clock announces the unyielding passage of time: 2:04 AM. With your eyes repeatedly drawn to the clock, you become a silent observer of your own restless fight for sleep.

Minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last. In vain hope, you closed your eyes, waiting for the elusive embrace of sleep. Frustration mounted, and your whispered mantra of "just go to sleep" echoed in the void, its efficacy long worn thin. At this point, the words are obsolete—they hold no meaning for you or your brain.

Your sheets, supposed sanctuary, became your tormentor. The sheets cradle your form, and your fingertips discern every thread, every imperfection in the fabric. Lying on them felt like lying on a box of sand. Even clothed parts weren’t exempt from the torture, as the sheets, like sandpaper against your skin, induced insufferable itchiness. The fabric, an abrasive paper, scratched against your tender skin, leaving trails of discomfort in its wake. Your nails dug into flesh, offering brief respite. The noise it made made you cringe, but you couldn't stop scratching.

Another hell was your hair. Endless adjustments led to desperation, and you gathered it into a makeshift crown atop your head, a futile attempt to detach it from your body. The sheets then morphed into a layer of microscopic needles, punctuating your flesh, and it could almost leave a trail of welts.

The silent plea for rest fell on deaf pillows. Experimenting with positions in the hope of finding the right combination, you lay facing the ceiling, then Joel, then turning away from him—the dance of insomnia continued. After each position, you stayed still, closed your eyes... and nothing. All movements amplified your discomfort, especially the rustling of the loathed sheets, adding to your torment.

An unseen army of ants seemed to crawl across you, their presence beneath your skin. The sensory assault intensified, feeling like the ants invaded your hair, their microscopic footsteps on your pillow resonating in your ears.

As your nails dig into your scalp, a brief moment of panic washes over you, fearing that actual animals might be crawling on you. However, a deep breath and rational thinking help you dispel the irrational fear. Reassuring yourself, you repeat, You’re just making things up, it’s okay, you’re okay.

Just for reassurance, you pass your fingernails through your neck where you feel the phantom animals. When you look at your hand, it’s empty. A sigh of relief escapes you. Closing your eyes for what feels like the millionth time, the sheets below you rustle. "I can’t take it any longer," you mutter to yourself just above a whisper. Just as you're about to jump out of bed, you feel your husband stir beside you.

He wakes up in somewhat of a panic, his big hand reaching out to feel for you. You find comfort in his touch, and it gives you something else to focus on. In the dark room, Joel looks around, reassured by the presence he feels beneath his touch. Knowing the room is clear, he turns his face to look at you.

“Shit. I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep, baby,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Concern etches Joel's face as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

"Nada. Duermeté (nothing. go to sleep)," you downplay.

"Nah uh. What’s wrong?" he persists, turning to his right to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. The soft glow reveals the exhaustion on your face.

His eyes linger on your tired face and he swiftly moves closer.

“I can’t sleep,” you confess, the vulnerability in your admission apparent in the dimly lit room.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

"No thanks. I don’t think that’ll help right now," you say sincerely, a subtle shake in your voice.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Joel asks, unable to simply stand by while you suffer.

"I don't know, I just can’t sleep," you admit, your voice breaking.

Your husband's heart aches at the strain in your voice and the glistening of tears in your eyes. "What do you think will help?" Joel asks gently, willing to do absolutely anything.

You shrug, a gesture of helplessness. "The sheets. They just feel rough on my skin. It’s itchy. I keep scratching, but nothing helps."

Joel's gaze softens with empathy as he registers the genuine distress in your words. With a gentle touch, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The warmth of his calloused skin against yours brings you a sense of peace.

"'M sorry. I fell asleep and didn't even think about it. I was waitin' for you to get home-"

You gently interrupt, your voice laced with understanding. "Joel, sweetheart, this isn't your fault. I was excited to go to bed next to you; I forgot about the sheets too."

Fully sitting up on the bed now, you position yourself on your knees, facing your husband. Cupping his face in your hands, you assure him, "Don't feel bad. You work hard. I know you wanted to wait for me, but you passed out 'cus you're tired."

Joel responds by nuzzling his face into your hands. "I'm supposed to comfort you, you know?" he chuckles lightly, his hazel eyes radiating love.

Smirking playfully, you respond, "And how are you going to comfort me?"

Joel starts to shift, but upon feeling the sheets, his hands freeze, remembering the issue. As he thinks about what's different about the sheets tonight, Joel's expression shifts, realization dawning. "Fuck. Our usual sheets are still air drying. We can go check on them, but they're probably still damp, sweetheart."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," you say with a sheepish grin, feeling a flush of warmth spreading across your skin. The sheets had been rendered wet and soaked from the intimate activities of the previous night. Given their delicate nature and high-end price point, the sheets couldn't be tossed into the dryer, so you had to buy emergency sheets from the nearest store.

A playful glint dances in Joel's eyes as a satisfied smile graces his lips. "My back still hurts. Thank you for that, honey."

"Oh, please, I did most of the work. You've gotten lazy on me, Miller," you tease, your words infused with playfulness.

"Lazy?" he exclaims. "You squir-"

You swiftly cover his mouth, your whisper-yell barely audible, "Joel! The kids will hear you." Your words are hushed, ensuring they stay just above a whisper.

Joel rolls his eyes, his voice returning to normal as he lowers his tone. "You squirted all over the bed!" he playfully exclaims. "I'll show you lazy," he scoffs. In a swift motion, Joel gently rolls you over, a shared laugh escaping both of you. As he lowers himself, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies. You expect the warmth of his lips, but just as the closeness intensifies, he lifts himself away, leaving the bed.

Before you have a chance to berate him, Joel places one hand on his waist, the other on his beard, rubbing his stubble. A furrow forms on his brow as he puts his tongue to the right side, creating a bump on his cheek. "Maybe we can do something about the sheets. Would you like a different one, or perhaps I can find something to soothe your skin? I should have laid something different underneath you."

The spare sheets you had kept for such situations ended up damaged during the move to your new house—the one you and Joel had designed together. Amidst the chaotic process of relocating, your attention was divided between ensuring the safety of Sarah’s books and your youngest daughter's beloved stuffed animals. In a moment of distraction, you accidentally dropped the extended sheet onto the floor. When you hastily pulled it up, the fabric caught onto the door, resulting in an unfortunate tear right down the middle.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal because they were your backup sheets, and you were certain that getting a new backup pair would suffice, given your primary sheets were still intact. However, the problem became apparent when you forgot to place the order, and with your main sheets damp, you found yourself without an immediate solution.

"You're helping now; that's all that matters," you tell Joel, getting up from the bed.

He gives you a smile and then asks, "Are the sheets the only problem or the blanket too?"

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you pause, settling on the edge of the bed. "Just the sheets," you affirm with a small exhale.

"I’ll find something to put underneath you," Joel assures.

"I’ll go to the restroom. See if that helps," you say, walking over to him.

Before you can make it to the restroom, your stomach rumbles audibly. "Great, and now I'm hungry," you groan, a hint of frustration in your tone.

"Ya comiste? (Did you eat already?)"

You nod. “I had some of the mosaic jello the girls made after I came home from work."

“My love, that’s not enough to fill your stomach," Joel responds softly.

"I know; I was tired and just wanted to sleep."

"Oh, sweetheart, come here," he beckons, closing the distance between you.

Joel envelops you in a comforting embrace, his touch proving to be a solace without causing any discomfort. When you lie still, a wave of overwhelming sensations tends to surge, particularly due to the absence of distraction. The stillness becomes a canvas, intensifying your heightened sensitivity. It's worth noting that in your day-to-day life, your clothes can also be bothersome, primarily because of your aversion to certain fabrics.

"Go to the bathroom, and I promise to make everything better, okay?"

"Okay," you reply, and Joel seals the agreement with a tender kiss on the top of your head. With that, you make your way to the en suite bathroom.

Exiting the bathroom, your eyes are drawn to the bed. Joel has carefully laid down a thin cream-colored sheet – the salvageable portion of your once-intact backup sheet. At the foot of the bed sits a small foldable table over the ottoman.

Joel enters through the bedroom door, shirtless, balancing a plate of food and a cup. The darkness obscures the details of what he has on hand.

"I made Camarones a la diabla (Deviled Shrimp)," he announces, placing the plate atop the table. "And a cup of horchata," he adds, the room now enveloped in the rich aroma of the dish.

You wordlessly thank him, and with the fork from the plate, you scoop up a spoonful of the sauce and pair it with a mound of fluffy white rice. The flavors dance on your tongue, prompting an involuntary "mmm" of appreciation. "Oh my God," you exclaim with delight, savoring the delicious food. "It tastes so good!"

He patiently waits for the audible gulp, a signal that you've swallowed the mouthful, before teasingly saying, "That's what you said last night."

"Shut up," you playfully elbow him, a laugh escaping your lips. "Me destie mucho (you gave me too much), I don't think I can finish it," you tell him. He chuckles and reaches into his sweatpants' pockets, fishing out a fork. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Reaching into the other pocket, he retrieves a foil package. "Oh, and I got you some Benadryl."

You smile at him, accepting the package. With delicate fingers, you peel back the foil, taking out a single pink pill. Without hesitation, you swallow it down with a sip of the horchata.

As you both continue to enjoy the dish, Joel finishes his portion first. He rises from the ottoman and heads to the nightstand, prompting your curiosity as he opens the bottom drawer. Your gaze follows him as he retrieves your body brush and a bottle you've never seen before.

Returning to you, Joel asks with a knowing look, "Up for the brush, love? You know it helps with the itchiness." Agreeing, you nod, and he gently guides you to the bed. You lie down, and the softness of the sheets beneath you finally soothes you.

His strokes with the dry brush are methodical and gentle, the bristles gliding effortlessly over every inch of your extremities. With each pass, a deep exhale escapes, and you feel tension dissipating as if melting away, allowing your body to succumb to a state of complete relaxation, and the itchiness gives way to a calming sensation.

"Thank you, Joel. It really does make a difference."

Once he's done with the brush, Joel presents the bottle he got from the drawer. "I know you don’t always like lotion, but I bought something I saw online a few days ago. Would you be willing to give it a try? People say it doesn’t leave that filmy sensation," he explains, his eyes reflecting a hopeful sincerity.

"Does it have a smell?"

"It's supposed to be odorless," Joel replies with a hint of pride in his voice. He had done extensive research, well aware of your aversion to the lingering sensation of lotions. The avoidance of body lotions is a common thing for you, and he had made it his mission to find a solution that aligns with your preferences.

"I want to try it."

"If you don't like it, we'll wash it right off," Joel reassures, deftly opening the lotion bottle and squirting a small amount into the palm of his hand. He then proceeds to apply the cream to your left hand just above your wrist. The initial coldness prompts a sigh of relief from you. Joel lifts his hand off your skin, allowing the lotion to settle. As you open your eyes, there's a pleasant surprise—it feels good. "Wait, it's actually good. It doesn't feel sticky on my skin," you say with genuine amazement.

"Really?" Joel responds, his excitement evident.

"Yeah," you laugh. "Thank you, honey," you add, your gratitude almost bringing tears to your eyes at the thoughtfulness of your husband.

"No tears, okay?" he insists.

You nod, and he pulls you up, giving you a sweet kiss. You melt into his lips, and just as the kiss starts to deepen, he pulls away, helping you stand up.

"Let's go brush our teeth," Joel suggests. You both head back into the bathroom and after finishing there, Joel takes the plate and cup into the kitchen. As you wait for him to return to the room, you neatly put away the brush and lotion, deciding to store them in your restroom. When you return to the room, Joel is already back, seated on the ottoman, engrossed in his phone.

"What are you doing?" you ask, walking over to him.

"Just ordered some stuff," he replies.

Climbing onto the bed, you rest your head on his shoulder, peeking at his phone with curiosity.

"Three more sheets?" you ask, shocked.

"We need to be ready, sweetie," Joel says, turning his head to look back at you.

"Joel, that's a lot of money," you express your concern.

"What do you say all the time?" he asks, unbothered by the cost.

"Mas vale prevenir que lamentar," you say begrudgingly, knowing that Joel is right.

"Exactly, better safe than sorry, and what else?"

"Uno nunca sabe, (One never knows)" you mumble grumpily.

"Mhm! They'll be here in three days," he informs you, turning his phone off and climbing onto the bed.

"Joel! Expedited shipping?" you exclaim, now on your knees.

"What did we just talk about? Only the best for my wife," he says, adjusting the quilt to prepare for sleep.

"Okay, fine. But you better not spoil me too much."

He chuckles warmly. "Of course, I will, my love. Ready to go to bed?"

With a playful eye roll, you nod. "Yes, but I think it’ll help if I sleep upside down."

"Head on the foot of the bed?" Joel asks.

"Yes," you reply, loving that he knows you so well.

Joel puts your pillows on the end of the bed. "Come on," he says, resting his head on the pillow and opening his arms for you.

You eagerly get into bed and lie there, smiling.

"Thank you," you say.

"No need to thank me. You know I'd do anything for you," Joel assures.

"I know, baby. I love you," you tell Joel with a yawn.

"I love you," he replies, and you finally drift off to sleep peacefully.

Extended note: Joel finally gets a happy ending! I don't usually write HEAs for him, but this piece is one of my favorites that I've written about him. I had trouble falling asleep yesterday, and I remembered I had written this, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and reblog if you'd like!

@pedrostories

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #Hurt/comfort #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #no y/n #pedro pascal character #hurt no comfort #tw: pills #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

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boliv-jenta · 18 days

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I didn't think I had a comfort character until it struck me today that I do, 'Pedro Pascal'.

I have this version of him that exists in this space. It's based on second-hand tales and assumptions from interviews and photographs. It's a character that I've made by weaving all these things together.

He brings me comfort as a beacon of how people should be when they have a platform. Grateful, humble, respectful, and an ally to those who don't have their voice easily heard.

That character will always bring me great comfort, and I wish the man I've drawn inspiration from nothing but happiness.

#pedro pascal #my comfort characters

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soft-cryptids · 1 year

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Ezra, Prospect (2018).

#Ezra Prospect #Pedro Pascal #Ezra fanart #single adoptive space father gotta be my fave trope #He’s my slightly unhinged morally ambiguous comfort character.#and I love him very much ok.#ok #glad we had that talk #to quote my friend #He looks so soft! That's hamster Pedro.#my so called art #* deep sigh *

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theanothersherlockian · 9 months

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“my poor little baby” i say to my favorite character while he kills another person

#this is entirely about francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie my beloved #francisco morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #favorite characters #comfort character #javier peña #joel miller #jack daniels #oscar isaac

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wisefoxluminary · 9 months

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These are my comfort characters who I can't stop thinking about. I can't help but feel drawn to these badass, mysterious yet dorky men.

#ken #dean winchester #din djarin #steve harrington #black noir #supernatural #barbie #stranger things #the mandalorian #the boys #jensen ackles #ryan gosling #pedro pascal #joe keery #nathan mitchell #my comfort characters

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pedropascalsx · 2 years

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A very giggly catfish.

#pedro pascal #Mine: pedro pascal #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #my gifs #**#he is my favourite person ok #comfort character #baby #cristina makes crappy gifs sometimes

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calibrationneeded · 1 year

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Tlou wouldn’t bother my daddy issues so much if it weren’t for the fact my dads name is Joel

#tlou fanart #the last of us #bella ramsey #character art #fanart #pedro pascal #i have daddy issues #why does my comfort carácter have to have the same name as my emotionally absent father #my keyboard is set to Spanish #hbo max #my art

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reina-writes · 10 months

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MISSED CALL. Pedro Pascal x reader [Hi, it's me -series, #2]

Summary: After a long day on set, Pedro leaves a heartfelt voice message, expressing his concerns and struggles.

Characters: Pedro Pascal x reader Warnings: Mention of a prop gun and shooting. A/N: This is a short fanfic, being part of my "Hi, it's me" -series with Pedro, collection of simple, short fanfics. This series with short fanfics is inspired after having a dream about Pedro leaving a comforting voice message. As I said before, I wanted to explore more his character and improve my own writing. I usually don't write anything with a real person, but this time I made an expectation. Pedro is so sweet. I will ensure that the fanfic remains tasteful and respectful towards the real person. Part 1: LATE NIGHT CALLS.

*********** The prop gun in Pedro's hand felt heavier than usual as he adjusted his stance, trying to get into character. The scene called for a tense confrontation, and he had to portray a conflicted character torn between duty and compassion. In front of him, a small blonde woman knelt on the ground, her tear-streaked face covered in dirt, desperately pleading for mercy while shielding a frightened child on her lap.

Pedro's gaze locked with the woman's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. He could see the genuine fear and desperation in her eyes, even though he knew it was all part of the scene. But as he held the weight of the gun in his hand, an unexpected hesitation washed over him. In that brief pause, Pedro's mind couldn't help but wander to thoughts of you.

As the camera continued to roll, he found himself caught between the scripted lines and his own inner turmoil. "There's a debt to be paid, Rosie," Pedro said, his voice faltering for a moment before regaining its composure. "This is the only way the scale will be balanced." His tone was cold and calculated as he pressed the trigger. The scene came to an end with the director calling "Cut."

As the director approached Pedro and his co-star, he knew this would be a long day at work.

******

Sun had set hours ago, when Pedro finally found himself alone in his trailer. This wasn't his best day and even though he had tried his best, somehow the outcome wasn't exactly what he wanted. Every scene, every line, every moment was overshadowed by the yearning to be with you. Ruffling his soft curls while letting out a long, exhausted sigh, Pedro pulled out his phone to see if you had already answered in his latest text message.

As Pedro's eyes scanned through his notifications, his heart sank a little when he realized there was no response from you yet. He knew he shouldn't let it bother him too much. After all, everyone had their own lives and responsibilities. But deep down, he couldn't shake off the concern that something might be wrong. Feeling a mix of worry and disappointment, Pedro decided to give you a call. He held his breath as the phone rang, but there was no answer. It went straight to voicemail. A wave of unease washed over him, and he couldn't help but leave a voice message, hoping to ease his growing anxiety.

"Hey, it's me," Pedro started, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. I know we're both busy, and I understand if you haven't had the chance to respond. But I can't help but worry about you. Please, whenever you get a chance, give me a call or just send a message to let me know you're okay."

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "You were right, by the way. About this film, I mean. This character I'm playing, he's really something... I don't know, this was one of the hardest day on the set so far. I kept messing with my lines and my character, I don't even know why. I just..." he took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I want to give my very best for this film, I don't want to disappoint everyone."

His fingers tapped the armrest of the sofa as he tried to find right words. "I... I don't want you to be disappointed in me. You're the reason I finally agreed to do this, because you said there wouldn't be anyone else to make this character alive. You believe in me, you're always supporting me no matter what and... and you don't know how much that means to me, mi amor. Your presence, your support, your laughter. You have this way of grounding me, of making everything feel right. And right now, I could really use that."

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart. "These past few days have felt empty without you. I know this job is taking a lot of my time right now, but maybe we could have video call. I heard some new terrible jokes that I know you're going to love." A gentle chuckle escaped his lips as he imagined the scene. "I promise, they're so bad that you won't be able to resist laughing. Actually, I have to tell you one joke" Pedro said with a playful tone.

"Why did the scarecrow win an award?" He paused for a moment, relishing in the cheesiness of the joke. "Because he was outstanding in his field!" Pedro couldn't help but chuckle at his own joke, hoping that it would bring a little laughter to your day. "I know, it's terrible," he added with a laugh. "But sometimes the worst jokes are the ones that can make us smile, even if it's just to roll our eyes. So, I hope it brought a little joy to your day."

With a warm smile on his face, Pedro concluded the voice message. "Alright, I'll stop torturing you with my jokes now. Just remember, I'm here for you, and I can't wait to hear from you. And let me know if you can add the video call on your busy schedule. Take care, and remember to keep smiling, even if it's because of a silly joke. Bye for now!"

As he set his phone aside, Pedro couldn't help but imagine the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears. He hoped that soon, you would have the opportunity to share moments like this in person again, where your laughter would mingle, and the connection would grow stronger.

***

It took only 5 minutes for you to answer to him. As Pedro opened the message, he was greeted with a picture of you snuggling the blanket with a smile. He could sworn his hard skipped a beat, as he saw your gorgeous smile that reached your shining eyes.

Sorry, my nap ended up being 4-HOUR LONG, HOLY WATER WHY DID I SLEEP THAT LONG?! I guess no sleep for me tonight... So how about that video call tonight, I'd love that. You could tell me what happened with today's shooting. And I just want you to know that I believe in you. No matter what challenges you face on set, I have faith in your talent and your ability to bring your character to life.

Ps. That joke was so bad and I don't know why it made me laugh, seriously Pedro, why? :D

Pedro's heart swelled with joy as he read your response. A smile spread across his face, lighting up the entire room. He couldn't help but chuckle at your comment about the joke. It was a relief to know that even his terrible jokes could bring a smile to your face. Quickly typing a reply, Pedro expressed his excitement for the upcoming video call. The anticipation and excitement filled his every thought, and he knew that no matter how tough the day had been, knowing that he would be able to connect with you made everything worthwhile.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal edit #pedrito #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal is my comfort character #pedro pascal oneshot #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fandom

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thatredheadwriter · 2 years

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Phthalo Blue

frankie morales x neurodivergent!reader

Frankie comes home to find you overstimulated and he knows just how to help.

This was supposed to be a drabble, but it’s just over 2.3k words. I’m in my feels and very overstimulated and would like it very much if a big strong sexy man wanted to come and take care of me for just a little bit. A lot of this is written around my own experience as a neurodivergent person, so obviously everyone won’t relate, and I also express a lot of the reader’s frustration at getting overstimulated, as that’s something I personally deal with. I’m also marking this as female!reader because of the singular gendered spanish noun and the fact that I wrote this with female!reader in mind, but it’s fairly gender neutral overall.

This is a SFW oneshot for neurodivergent!female!reader with Frankie Morales of Triple Frontier. This work does not contain smut, however, it may contain mature language or themes, and as a rule, my blog is only for those over the age of 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

Neurodivergent reader

Female reader

Domestic Frankie

Mentions of Frankie's daughter from another relationship (but she's not in this one)

They have a meet-cute, I might write more about these two

Swearing

Vivid descriptions of feeling overstimulated

Reader has hair, no specific description

Possible allusion to Frankie’s own mental health issues (very mild)

Reader feels guilty for needing to make accommodations

I want to insert a little disclaimer here: not all neurodivergent people experience overstimulation the same way. Also, Frankie is super helpful and supportive in this fic, because this is the kind of fic I need to read right now. A lot of neurodivergent folk prefer to be alone when overstimulated and (most importantly) we do no need anyone to fix us. If you are neurodivergent, you should not feel bad or shameful or guilty about stimming/using fidgets/making accommodations for yourself. I’m bringing up some of those feelings here, and while I feel it’s addressed in the fic, I want to explicitly reinforce that these are not bad things.

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

Frankie could read you like a book. It’d always been that way, as much as you used to despise it. After years of hiding irritation and overstimulation, masking your frustration with a too bright, too loud, too coarse world, it was unsettling. For once in your life, you were seen, and it made you feel like a bug under a microscope.

But as you got to know Frankie, you realized he wasn’t looking at you like some science experiment or a stressed-out shelter animal. He cared, and noticing was his way of showing that he cared. At first, it was little things at the shop, always making sure you had earplugs or headphones available, being careful to never sneak up on you. You absolutely adored the way he would lean up against the front desk and talk to you, facing the front door so there was no obligation of eye contact.

Frankie Morales wasn’t doing all those things just so he could ask you out, but when he did there was no way you'd turn him down. Especially when he'd asked you to meet him at your favorite café on Sunday morning.

Since that first date, the two of you have learned a lot about each other. Frankie learned that you love his little touches, so long as his presence is announced and he doesn’t come up on you from behind. You learned that Frankie has a tendency to shut doors with a little too much force, despite his best efforts. He hates fireworks and being on any plane that he’s not flying. You despise fluorescent lights and would rather die than touch dirty dishes that have been soaking in the sink.

When the door from the garage slams, announcing Frankie’s arrival home, you sigh. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Santi and the Millers out at some restaurant and even though you love the boys, you’d rather die. It’s been a lousy day, first waking up with a headache, then being stuck in a zoom call all morning with a guy who could not figure out how to mute himself, then spending nearly six hours hunched over one project that you were due to present tomorrow and it just wasn’t quite right.

“There you are,” Frankie finds you halfway contorted in your desk chair, face mere inches from the screen as you try to figure out why that one element of the logo doesn’t look like it should. He can tell from the eight different cups on your desk and the noise machine playing ocean sounds in the corner that you were in a mood. Rain was for work, thunderstorms for relaxing and reading, and ocean sounds for when you were really worked up.

“Hey,” you mumbled halfheartedly, eyes tracing the cursor across the screen, It wasn’t untl Frankie moved into your line of sight, patiently taking a seat in the armchair by your desk, that you really acknowledged him. “Sorry, I’ll be finished in just a minute.” You shot him an apologetic glance, knowing he’d had a long day too.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, knowing you feel guilty anytime you feel like you're distracted from him. “I’ll be right here when you’re finished.”

He’s patient. Thirty minutes later you finally double check that the project saved and close the tab, leaning back in your char with a groan.

“That bad?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you know I’ve had a bad day?”

He laughs, “Your knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since I got here, you have four different fidgets out on your desk, there are eight cups in here, your hair looks like you’ve stuck your finger in a socket, and you’re playing the ocean sounds. I can tell.” The last words he follows with a soft smile.

You just stare at him, in awe of the way this man knows you. The feeling slightly eases the hot prickle at the back of your mind and for the first time all day, it’s like you can take a deep breath again.

“What time do we need to leave?” you ask, stretching your arms above your head in a way that makes you feel like an overgrown housecat. You’re still not looking forward to going out, but it no longer seems like an unbearable task. As long as Frankie’s with you.

“I already texted the guys and told them we’re a rain check for tonight,” he held up his phone like you're going to ask for the evidence.

“When’d you do that?”

“While you were finishing your thing. I know you’re wound up and the last thing you need is to go to the grand opening of yet another business Pope has invested in.”

At a loss for words, you find yourself scrambling into his lap, his musky scent grounding you further as you try o show him how much you appreciate his understanding. But your eyes snap up to his when the chair creaks under the two of you.

“Let’s get some dinner, okay?”

You leave Frankie upstairs to get changed. In the kitchen, you find he’s already loaded the dishwasher, a chore you’d been hoping to do at lunch but didn’t, and took out the trash. At a loss for what to fix, you pad into the living room and turn on the TV, wincing when the volume is slightly too loud.

Nothing seems to scratch the itch in your brain. You want to watch something, but you’re not sure what. Everything just feels wrong. Just like dinner, you can’t decide and you can feel that prickly sensation growing again now that you’re away from Frankie and his overwhelming amount of common sense. He was great at pointing out things that should be obvious, and yet he never made you feel like an idiot for missing them.

Just as you’re beginning to sink into despair over trying to pick a fucking tv show, Frankie appears, and he can see the frustration written all over your face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he pulls you into a hug, and you let him, nuzzling into his old t-shirt and breathing him in.

“It’s just a lot right now,” you mumble.

“I know. Come help me fix dinner and then we can find something.”

“ ‘kay”

You’re not so much helping in the kitchen as you are observing, but neither of you minds much. Frankie is a whiz in the kitchen, and it soothes you a little to watch him in his element. As he works, gathering ingredients and chopping things, he tells you about his day. Joseph took left the garage for four different phone calls from his girlfriend, the new receptionist has terrible breath, but at least she knows how to answer the phone unlike the guy Grant hired after you left. Something about a new timeclock system makes you giggle, Frankie’s an old soul and he’s never been a big fan of computers or anything considered remotely new technology.

Eventually he has you in stitches, halfway laid across the kitchen island as you try to catch your breath as your chest heaves with laughter.

“I’m not fucking kidding, the new parts system is evil,” he points the wooden spoon in his hand at you and even though his words are serious there’s a grin tugging the corners of his mouth.

It’s not long before he’s plating up a dish, something with rice and vegetables and chicken that smells so damn good and tastes even better, a fact you make known to him.

“Always happy to cook for you, querida.”

Once you’ve had your fill, he sets your plate in the sink “for tomorrow” he mumbles into the top of your head as he steers you into the living room.

“Do you have anything in mind?” he asks, nodding to the TV, but you’ve already picked up your tablet and opened it to a magazine article you’d been reading.

“Your team is playing, Frankie,” you settle into his side and adjust the screen brightness. “Watch your game. I already made you stay home tonight.”

He’s quick to correct you, “You didn’t make me do anything. We stayed in tonight and I for one, am loving it.”

You just roll your eyes at him and pull your favorite blanket over your lap.

Your eyes flit to the TV for the second time in ten minutes. Eleven minutes left to go in the fourth quarter and the other team had just called a timeout.

In retrospect, you knew this would happen. Something about live sports was always a little too much, even if you weren’t really watching. Usually it was something you could bear, you’d distract yourself with work or a book or noise-canceling headphones. But after the day you’ve had, your ability to regulate is shot.

You got all the way to the first half before you moved to the other end of the couch. Everything was touching you, Frankie, his clothes, your clothes, the blanket, your hair; it was all too much. You needed some relief. Now you were cold, and alone, but slightly less irate.

By the end of the third quarter you’re hyperaware of the tightness in your jaw and the fact that you’ve had to reread the same page seven times and you still haven’t understood a single word of it. Everytime a commercial comes on it’s an internal battle not to flinch, the volume seeming so much louder than the game itself. The TV is too bright and so are the lamps and god your head hurts. But Frankie’s been so sweet and accommodating all evening. You feel like the least you can do is let him watch one damn game.

“You okay, pup?” Frankie squeezes your ankle and draws you out of your spiraling thoughts. His eyes are full of concern and you notice you’ve been rocking your knee for who knows how long.

“I’m fine,” you shake your head and smile unconvincingly, the prickly feeling taking over your whole body now, “I’m going to go get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Frankie isn’t convinced, you can tell by the way is brow stays tightly knit and you can practically hear the protest on his lips, but before he can say anything you’re up and pecking him on the lips before bounding up the stairs.

For a moment you debate just showering, before deciding that bombarding yourself with water is probably not the best idea. Instead you splash some water on your face, brush your teeth with your favorite toothpaste–designated as such for its mild flavor–and slip on a sleep shirt instead of your yoga pants and tank top.

As you walk back down the stairs you brace yourself for the sound of football, but it doesn’t come. Rather, as you round the corner, you hear a familiar voice and a faint tapping sound.

You nearly start crying when you realize Frankie has flipped it over to Bob Ross, a soft smirk on his face.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?” he almost whispered, eyebrow quirking.

“I was hoping you hadn’t,” you murmured honestly, stumbling towards the couch and collapsing into him. For as long as you could remember, Bob Ross was better than any sedative at calming your mind and bringing down the noise of life. You’d shared that fact with Frankie when he caught you watching it in your car one day during your lunch break after a particularly stressful interaction with an rude customer.

“Did you think I would get mad or something?” you can hear the hurt in his voice and it makes your chest ache.

“No, Fish,” you settle into his side, “I just feel like you accommodate me all the time. And you should be able to watch a football game in your own home.”

He rumbles in understanding, “But it’s your home too, pup. Hell, you're the one who painted Sofia's room. And our room. And you put together the furniture, and-”

“I know, I know," you cut him off before he can start a proper list.

"I don't want you to hide stuff from me."

He's right, but you're tired. “Let’s just watch some Bob Ross and we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow."

You nod into his belly and sigh into the darkness, noticing he’s turned off the lamps too. And that’s how you stay for a while, for at least two Bob Rosses, until the tension has melted from your body and you’re contentedly limp against Frankie.

As the credits roll for the second episode, you sit up with a yawn and find yourself stifling a laugh. Frankie has fallen asleep with his mouth open, and it’s a sight that melts your heart. A year and a half ago if someone told you that you’d be living with the cute, scruffy mechanic from work and forcing yourself to wake him up for the sake of his lower back, you would have called them crazy.

But you kiss him awake, something even a grumpy Frankie enjoys, and pull him off the couch and up the stairs. The day is over and now you get to spend the next eight hours with the person who knows you best, and you know that no matter what life throws at you, Frankie’ll be there at the end of the day to turn on Bob Ross and remind you that home is never far away.

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movietimegirl · 1 year

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The only way I'll accept Din dying is if he dies from old age. That's the only death I'll accept.

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lionlena · 26 days

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I Hold You (Oberyn Martellxf!reader) one shot

Summary: Oberyn has a nightmare about his sister's death, which makes him fear that he will lose you too.

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, canonical death of a character, tragic death, blood, mention of rape…

Title inspired by the song: CLANN - I Hold You

A/N: I am obsessed with thinking, how tragic and terrible was the fate of Elia Martell.

Also, watch this: Robert's Rebellion by Oberyn Martell

Hot air blew across their faces as they ran through the courtyard filled with the Dornish sun. From time to time, the shadow of the palm trees growing along the courtyard fell on them. Her dark hair bounced on her shoulders and her bare feet hit on the ground.

She held his hand tightly. With strength so contrasting to her petite body.

And she laughed. Oh… What a sweet sound that was. Like the nectar they drank for breakfast in the morning.

He didn't resist her as she pulled him towards the fountain. He never resisted her.

Even though she was weaker and so delicate, she was able to capture anyone's heart, especially his. She walked gracefully among the vipers and knew that no one would dare to hurt her. And if someone like that was found, he would make sure that such a fool suffered unimaginable torment.

Oberyn loved her like no one else. His sweet sister. Elia Martell. His friend, confidant of secrets, and comforter. He spent so many long hours with his head on her lap as she ran her hand through his raven hair and explained to him that not everything could be solved by force. And that he can't be mad all the time. She taught him how to read poetry. For her, he began writing poems.

She wasn't just his sister. She was part of him. An integral part of his wild soul. It was like a cozy, cool hole in which an angry desert viper hid when the desert heat was deadly.

When she jumped into the fountain and started splashing water on him, he laughed happily and his dark eyes sparkled. She took a step back so that the water flowing from the marble snake's mouth soaked her head. She waved her hand at him, encouraging him to do the same. He wanted to do it and feel the pleasant coolness of the water. But when he took a step forward, the water flowing down his sister's head turned red. His heart stopped and she looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't realized that her face was turning red with blood.

She extended her hand towards him. With a heavy heart, the prince took a step closer but stopped when he noticed the bodies of two children floating in the red water. He heard his sister scream as she was now holding her dress covered in blood. She lifted the material up, revealing her thighs covered in slippery goo and blood.

He felt bile rising in his throat and struggled to find his voice.

"Elia," he croaked. "Do not leave me!"

His sister looked at him with eyes full of suffering, and suddenly her face turned into yours. The prince suddenly stretched his hand towards you, grabbed your dress, and shouted:

"NO!"

Oberyn woke up and sat on the bed, breathing heavily. His body was covered in sweat, his hair was stuck to his forehead, and he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He glanced sideways at you and his heart tightened. You looked so peaceful as you slept next to him, still with a blissful smile on your face after he took proper care of you and brought you to multiple orgasms.

He carefully leaned over you and brushed your hair away from your face. You lived, you breathed and you were fine. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that your life was as fragile as his sister's was. You reminded him so much of her. You were delicate and intelligent, sensitive and full of empathy. It was both a blessing and a curse for him. Sometimes he even thought that it was his sister's spirit that put you on his path. To remember again what it's like to have someone he will trust with all his heart and who will surround him with care and love.

Oberyn sighed heavily and moved away from your warm body. He sat on the edge of the bed and was lost in his thoughts. He was the best warrior in Dorne, and yet he failed to protect his sister. What if he fails you? Would you be safer without him? No... He shook his head. The thought of not knowing where you were or what was happening to you was even more terrifying to him.

While he was lost in his thoughts, you woke up and immediately realized what the problem was. This wasn't the first time he had nightmares. Your sweet prince was full of life every day, full of jokes... He was also arrogant, conceited, and proud, but when nightmares came, he was sad and needed support. His entire demeanor changed and you saw a side that few people saw.

You carefully stood up and sat down behind him. You hugged him from behind and placed your chin on his shoulder. You didn't say anything, you just waited for him to speak.

Oberyn sighed, feeling the comforting warmth of your body against his back. In moments like these, he was grateful for your love and understanding. You were a special woman to him. He had never opened up to any other lovers like he did to you. And maybe that's why, paradoxically, he had nightmares more often than before.

He placed his hand on top of yours, which was resting on his belly.

"I'm fine... You can go back to sleep... I'm sure you're still tired from what we did." He tried to make his voice sound convincing, but you could hear the note of sadness and desperation.

You nuzzled his neck as a signal that you weren't going anywhere and tightened your grip. For a moment, a small smile appeared on his face. Then he sighed and took a few deep breaths. And finally, he whispered:

"I saw her again... First it was a memory from our youth. Happy life at Sunspear. We ran to the fountain to cool off..." His voice suddenly became quieter and trembling. "When she entered the water... The water turned to blood, and then... Her face... Her..."

You noticed a tear rolling down his cheek and hugged him even tighter. You pressed your lips against his cheek, feeling the salty taste.

"Her face turned into yours…" Oberyn finished and you sighed softly.

Sometimes you would give anything to take this pain and these terrible memories away from him. Not only were you hurt by your loved one's suffering, but by poor Elia's suffering. When you first heard her story, you cried. You didn't know her, but it seemed so unfair what happened to her and her children. And even though House Lannister had done nothing wrong to you, you hated them as much as Oberyn did.

However, you knew that no one in the world had the power to undo what had already happened. Living in memories led nowhere. So instead of thinking about the past, you focused on the present and comforting your loved one.

"But I'm here... And I'm holding you. You feel my warmth and my breath."

Oberyn nodded.

"But what if one day I can't protect you from the horrors of this world?"

You thought for a moment. His question was one that had no easy answer. Neither of you could promise that nothing bad would happen. You finally answered slowly.

"If something bad happens to me, I will be sure that you did everything to protect me. And I will die with the feeling that I was loved... And that I will be mourned."

Oberyn took a shaky breath and gripped your hands tighter. Your answer was honest, painful and... somehow comforting. But... No, he didn't do everything to protect you. Suddenly he turned towards you and cupped your face in his hands.

"Be my wife."

"What?"

His sudden reaction took you by surprise. The candlelight reflected in his brown eyes, and you could see the sincerity in them. It definitely wasn't one of his jokes or teasing.

"Be my wife." He repeated, his voice becoming more confident, almost demanding, even though you knew he would never force you to do anything.

"I thought that... That you didn't want this... That you were comfortable with our relationship."

Oberyn smiled softly at you and rubbed his thumb against your cheek.

"Because it suits me, but... As strange as it may sound, since I found you, I no longer need other women and I want to provide you with even greater security. And this will happen when you gain the title of princess. Hurting a prince's lover is not the same as hurting his wife. Everyone will think twice. Besides, if something happens to me, you will be left with my estate and under the full protection of the Martell family."

You frowned and looked away from him, and he didn't understand your reaction. He thought you would be happy.

"What happened, my love?" He asked tenderly and gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"You talk about marriage like a business. Something that will make you sleep soundly at night."

He finally realized what the problem was and immediately kissed your forehead.

"Oh, forgive me, my desert flower. It wasn't meant to sound like that. Your safety is important here, but... I want you to be my wife because I love you like no one else. Because you are part of my heart and the air that I breathe. Because I can't imagine a day without your kiss, without your look. I just want to make official what I have known for a long time... I am yours and only yours."

Even if you tried, you couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face. His words easily warmed your heart and all you could do was whisper:

"I agree."

Oberyn smiled and kissed you gently on the lips. However, you could see that he still hadn't fully recovered from the nightmare. So you stroked his jaw and pulled him towards the center of the bed. You knew that in the morning you would want to discuss your wedding and that you would have many questions, but you knew that you both needed to rest.

"Let's go back to sleep. You're tired."

You could tell he wanted to argue with you, but you had a trick up your sleeve. You laid on your back and patted your belly and you knew he would always take him up on that offer. It was his favorite way to fall asleep after a nightmare. He always wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head in your lap as you stroked his hair soothingly.

It was like that this time too.

He snuggled into your body and you started stroking his dark hair.

"Rest now, my love. It's all right. I'm here and I'm holding you."

Oberyn closed his eyes, listening to your calm voice. The fear of losing you was still there in him, and he squeezed you a little tighter as if hoping that the gods wouldn't be able to break you free from his grasp.

"I've got you." He whispered and slowly fell into sleep, hoping he wouldn't have another nightmare.

Rest now, my love It's all right The dark is gone I am here I hold you

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn nymeros martell #prince of dorne #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones #my fic #little angst #hurt/comfort #elia martell

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loslentesdepedrito · 9 months

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Que Vuelva (Hoy me muero yo)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (No Ellie in this)

Word count: 3.6k+

Summary: Joel doesn’t come home on his birthday; once he does, he tells you he’s been unfaithful.

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but the story starts after the Watches if you don't want to read them.

A/N: I wrote this before the show, so I used Joel from the game. Don’t worry, I made sure to change his eye color. I’m sorry in advance for this, but if it makes you feel better, I wrote it after I played TLOU2 and finished the part where Ellie walked through the house (don't look it up if you want to avoid spoilers). The poem 'Darkness', especially Line #6 gave me some inspiration for this, as did the song 'Que Vuelva' by Raulín Rodríguez. Unrelated, but I think line #7 fits perfectly with Joel and his studio (don't look it up if you want to avoid spoilers). Happy reading!

Warnings: ANGST, Post Outbreak, Infidelity, brief mention of Sarah’s death, hurt no comfort, vomiting.

September 27, 2023

Once again, as if caught in an unbreakable routine, your gaze becomes fixated on the alarm clock. The digits, their neon red hue, spell out the time: 6:41 A.M. Where is he? This question reverberates incessantly through your mind, an unrelenting echo that refuses to go away.

Gone is the mere worry that first clung to your heart; that emotion has long been overshadowed. What now courses through your veins is something far more primal, more gut-wrenching—it's fear. Its icy grip reaches out from the depths of your consciousness, its fingers coiling around your thoughts, squeezing out all traces of rationality. It's not just a mental grip, but a physical one as well, constricting your throat until each breath feels like a struggle. The haunting possibility of Joel's lifeless body hidden somewhere in the surrounding woods torments your every waking moment.

In a world where he is your anchor, the idea of his absence is enough to shatter you. This potential loss would be more than devastation; it would be death. The void left in his wake would engulf you, consume you. You had just learned to live without the people you love, losing Joel would be like dying all over again. You never intended for your entire universe to revolve around one man, but when the world you knew vanishes, what choice do you have?

As the minutes drip like molasses, you stand as a sentinel, peering out through one of the double-hung windows in the dining room.

You are transported back in time to when you were a child, peering out the window, awaiting your parents' return from work. Only now, the scenario has shifted, and you're in a different role, anxiously waiting for the man you love.

You look at the stainless steel kettle nestled in the corner of the room, and through its reflective surface, the weariness clinging to you becomes evident in the shadows beneath your eyes. Endless hours of wakefulness have exacted their toll, leaving behind a profound ache that envelops your body, but you force the sleep away.

Your gaze drifts back to the window, offering a view of the front porch that holds memories of wooden chairs – the same chairs where you and your fiancé would spend evenings together, accompanied by a small table and a lantern that had seen many a conversation.

And beyond the porch, the mountains stand. The first light of day unfolds, painting the sky with a palette of rose and gold hues that blend into the lingering dark shades of the night. The early morning sun casts long shadows from the mountains, stretching across the town.

Seeking a break, you walk over to the dining table. You grab a chair from the table and position it in front of the window. Your feet have touched every inch of this room. With the possibility of needing to rush out in search of your fiancée on your mind, you decided to keep your shoes on. The room has seen it all—chairs moved, feet pacing, and your restless steps on the floral rug at the center of the room.

You should have searched for him earlier, you chastise yourself. When an hour had passed, and he hadn't come home, you had contemplated venturing out to find him. But, a lingering hesitation stopped you, his voice echoing in your mind—a memory of a past conversation with Joel.

Two months into your relationship, Joel wore a serious expression when he said he needed to talk. You couldn't shake off the fear that he might want to break up, and that thought made your heart clench. You were falling for him, and the idea of him ending your relationship left you with a deep ache. Later, he took you for a walk. But instead of ending things, he led you down Rancher Street, which left you confused. Eventually, you found yourselves in front of a house you had never seen before. A grayish house stood two stories tall, once likely a white or cream house before the world had gone to hell. You counted nine windows, the front door was painted red, and a white picket fence surrounded the perimeter of the house. To the right of the home, towering trees loomed, their height surpassing even that of the house. Uncertainty filled your mind about Joel's intentions for bringing you here. As your gaze lifted to meet his, you found him already looking at you.

"It's our house." He said, his gaze fixed on you in a trance-like state.

"Our house?" You echoed, your confusion gave way to a smile.

He blushed, clearly flustered by his own words. "Shit, that's not how I meant to ask." He admitted.

"Do— I really— Tommy and Maria are about to have their baby, and I heard you were thinkin' ‘bout finding a new place," he stumbled over his words, "I want you to move in with me. Into the same room, I mean. Or, if you prefer, you could have your own room," he added hastily, his blush deepening.

"You're giving up your bachelor pad for me?" You teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"If you'd call living in a tiny windowless space with Old Man Jimmy a 'bachelor pad,' then absolutely."

"I probably shoulda asked ya if you wanted to move in together," he admitted, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice, "Is this moving too fast?"

"No, it's perfect!" you exclaimed, "I want to live with you. Same bed and everything."

"Really?" He responded, his disbelief evident.

You extended your hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. You guided him toward the staircase, your free hand held onto the dark railing. You walked through a path of flat rocks before you reached the door. A tan mat adorned with pine trees and the word 'welcome' in elegant black cursive greeted your feet.

As Joel reached for the key, you found yourself stealing a moment to admire the intricate details of the door. The sight in front of you was nothing short of breathtaking. Your attention was drawn to the lovely features engraved into the entrance. The door had three windows in the center, and each side of the door frame was adorned with four panels of stained glass: —yellow, blue, white, and green tiles—each one delicately intertwined with lead lines forming pretty designs.

Your attention then drifted to the doorknob, which stood as a work of art in itself. It was beautifully designed, with little circles nestled within larger circles.

He turned the key in the lock, allowing the door to swing open as you stepped inside. With a graceful motion, he gently closed the door behind you and locked it once more. The view that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking, leaving you momentarily speechless.

As your gaze swept across the entryway, a painting caught your attention. The artwork depicted what you assumed were Wyoming's mountains. Their peaks crowned with pine trees. Underneath the mountains, a small herd of oxen meandered.

Joel noticed your gaze fixed on the artwork and explained, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "Uh, it's not fully decorated yet. It came with most paintings, but we can change them if you want."

You shook your head, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "No, they're perfect." You assured him, your appreciation for the existing decorations clear in your voice.

To the immediate left, the living room opened up. An expansive bookcase adorned one wall, semi-full with some books and trinkets. In the center of the room, there stood a sofa, a coffee table, and a small end table. A worn, light-colored rug sprawled across the wooden floor, taking up almost the entirety of the floor.

The wall beside the bookcase held a fireplace, flanked on either side by another pair of double-hung windows. Above the fireplace, a second painting caught your attention – an elk set against a backdrop of trees. To the right of the fireplace, against the second window, there was a console table with a flat-screen TV on top. The wall running parallel to the bookcase also had two windows with a bench underneath that stretched through the length of the wall. In addition to the other furniture, an armchair was set up so it faced the TV directly.

Joel fell even more in love as he observed the awe on your face while you took in your surroundings. You looked at the house as though it were a mansion in the Barton Creek neighborhood. Meanwhile, he would describe your newly shared home, for lack of a better word, as raggedy.

He had taken your hand and gently guided you to sit on the sofa. With a serious tone, he had said, "If I don't come back home, promise me you won't search for me, darlin'." He looked deep into your eyes before continuing, "If I don’t come back Tommy will come look for you. If I'm not here and anything goes wrong in Jackson, find a place to hide, or if you have to, just run. No matter what happens, don't ever look back."

Two years had passed since he made you promise, but now the weight of worry had grown unbearable. What if he was hurt? That thought gnawed at your mind incessantly. Waiting was no longer an option; you had to search for him. You had kept your word, honoring the promise you made, but the time had come for you to look for him.

As you rise from your seat to grab your backpack, the sound of the door swinging open interrupts your movements. The wooden legs of the chair scrape against the floor, slicing through the momentary silence. Hurriedly, you make your way out of the dining room and are met with the sight of Joel stumbling at the entrance.

Without a second thought, you propel yourself forward, your feet carrying you swiftly across the room. The wooden floor absorbs the sound as you move closer to him. When you reach him, your arms instinctively wrap around him.

"Joel! Oh my god!" Your voice is a mixture of relief and concern. Your fingers find their place on his back, tracing patterns of comfort as if to erase whatever challenges he encountered throughout the night.

Your eyes lock onto his, searching for answers that his disheveled appearance can't provide. "Are you okay?"

As your senses sharpen, you become acutely aware of a mix of scents clinging to Joel's form. The most prominent among them is the unmistakable stench of alcohol – a strong, potent aroma that hangs around him. But layered beneath this heady cloud of alcohol is a scent you've never smelt on Joel. The subtle smell threads its way through the overpowering aroma of liquor.

His voice finally emerges from the heavy silence, "I need to tell you something," he admits. The vulnerability in his voice is a stark contrast to the Joel you thought you knew so well, and it draws you in even closer, your grip on him serving as both anchor and comfort.

His complexion takes on an unsettling pale color, and his eyes now glisten with a hint of moisture, as if teardrops linger just beneath the surface. "I slept with someone." His voice trembles, the weight of his confession causing it to break and quiver. As his confession settles upon you, you find yourself taking a step back, releasing your hold on him.

A strange sensation takes hold among your racing thoughts: the ringing in your ears. His confession has caused a vibration that fills you entirely, drowning out all other sounds. If he’s saying something, you don’t hear.

In the midst of his confession, a thought emerges, almost frantic: wake up, you think, this has got to be a nightmare. You plead with your subconscious to release you from this grip, to awaken you from a reality that feels too brutal, too surreal to be true.

But when you open your eyes, the room before you remains unchanged. Joel is still standing there.

Why isn't this working? Wake up, dammit! You tell yourself, desperation seeping into your thoughts. You open your eyes once more, and he's still there. Joel's presence is proof that this is, indeed, reality. The truth of his words looms over like a precipice you have been pushed toward, and there's no escaping it.

He moves closer to you, and you instinctively step back further.

His voice, heavy with guilt and remorse, breaks through, "I wish I could undo it."

Your throat is dry, and your thoughts are a tumultuous blend of anguish and confusion as you battle to find your own voice. "How," your voice cracks, reflecting the confusion that you're feeling inside, "How... How could you do this?" You can feel the gaping hole in your heart that threatens to engulf you.

Joel's eyes are cast downward, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own regret. Slowly, they lift to meet your gaze. His voice is filled with his own ache. "I never meant for any of this to happen. It was a mistake, and I can't even begin to explain how sorry I am."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you meet his brown eyes, a tumultuous blend of anger, heartache, and confusion swirling within you.

"A mistake?" Your voice trembles with a mixture of emotions, the words tinged with a bitter edge. "That's what you call this? A mistake is forgetting to set an alarm, not destroying a relationship!"

“I was drunk!” Joel's voice rises, desperation lacing his words. “Baby, please!” His voice breaks in a frantic attempt to explain. He reaches out towards you, his hand outstretched in an almost pleading gesture. "It didn't mean anything. She d-"

His words cut off as you raise your hand, the gesture both a plea for him to stop and a shield against the words that seem to cut deeper with every syllable.

“Don't,” you cut in sharply, your voice slicing through the room like a blade. “Shut up! I don’t want to know anything about what you did.” You interject, your voice laced with anger and frustration.

His expression is one of desperation, his features contorted with regret and a plea for some understanding. "I messed up, I know," he continues, his voice now a softer murmur, "But I love you. I've always loved you. This was a moment of weakness, a terrible lapse in judgment. Please, let me make it right," he implores, his voice cracking with sincerity.

You're silent.

His gaze doesn't waver, and his words carry an urgency, a promise of change. "I swear I'll be better. I'll only go out for patrol, and I- I'll make sure I get paired with a guy." The words tumble from his lips, his desperation palpable in every syllable. He's reaching out, trying to grasp any sliver of hope to mend the fracture that has torn through your relationship.

But his words hang heavy in the air. They're like a stone lodged in your throat, blocking your own voice, your own emotions, your own decision.

"I am so sorry," Joel's voice quivers with regret, his admission heavy with the weight of his actions. "It was the anniversary... The tenth year since... since Outbreak day," His explanation tumbles out, his voice a mix of remorse and self-loathing. "I needed to get away, to forget for just a moment. I had too much to drink-"

“And you think I didn’t want to forget too? But instead, I was in our home waiting for you so I could be there for you."

The words poured out of you like a flood of emotions and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface. The air in the room is tense, your voice like a crackling lightning bolt piercing the silence.

“I lost my little girl!” He roars, his voice a mixture of anguish and rage as if the dam holding back his own pain has finally broken. The rawness of his grief crashes against the walls, filling the house with an intensity that matches the storm of emotions raging within both of you.

"I lost people I love too!" You countered, your voice a desperate cry.

His response was sharp and unyielding, dismissing your pain. "It's ain't the same."

"But I lost everyone! Everyone!" The anguish in your voice reverberated, and your words shifted, now infused with a desperate need for him to comprehend your own loss. "I lost everyone."

"I FUCKING THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! AND YOU... YOU WERE..." Your voice cracked, tears streaming freely as your emotions overwhelm you.

A sickening wave surged within you, a physical response to the intensity of the moment. The sensation of nausea clawed at your insides. With a surge of urgency, you run to the downstairs restroom just down the corridor. As your hand reached the door, you swung it open and entered the restroom, eyes locking on the toilet bowl. Instinct guided your trembling fingers to the lock, a definitive click reverberating through the small space as you secured the door.

Clutching your hair with your left hand, you pulled it away, desperately seeking to clear your line of vision. Your body heaved with an overpowering force, and you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. The guttural sound of retching mixed with the acrid taste of vomit, further intensified the nausea. It was a cycle of discomfort, each bout of vomiting seemingly triggering another.

For a fleeting moment, you believed you had regained control. But one glance at your left hand, the engagement ring glinting, was all it took to trigger another surge of vomiting.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. The dampness on your skin carried an uncomfortable sensation. The tears themselves were leaving a trail of itchiness in their wake. The itchiness, an almost prickling sensation, added an extra layer of discomfort.

Joel's attempts to enter the restroom were met with the firm resistance of a locked door. The urgency in his movements was evident, and you thought he would kick the door open, so you managed to muster the strength to utter, "Don't come in." before throwing up some more.

Finally, the relentless waves of vomiting stop, leaving you drained and spent. Gasping for air, you found yourself on the restroom floor, your knees sinking into a soft blue U-shaped mat. With a slow, deliberate motion, you crawled toward the opposite wall. Your body leaned into the wall, knees drawn close to your chest.

Hugging your knees to your body, your body trembled with the sheer weight of emotions that surged through you. Your sobs became a haunting soundtrack for you and Joel who could hear everything.

You don’t know how long you stay there. You can feel the hot steam from the restroom's ventilation issue around you. You don’t know what’s more suffocating the hot air or the pain.

Why? Why did he do it? The question echoed within your mind, a relentless question that seemed to have no definitive answer.

Eres valiente. Siempre lo has sido, (You're brave. You've always been) a voice emerged from the depths of your thoughts, a reassuring whisper that ignited a spark of resilience within you. The words gave you a newfound strength, enough to coax your exhausted body to rise.

Standing before the bathroom sink, toothbrush in hand, you summoned the determination to get rid of the taste of vomit. As the water flowed and you scrubbed away, your gaze met your reflection in the mirror. Disheveled was an understatement. Your once-neat hair had become a mess, with small strands clinging to your forehead due to the sweat that coated your skin. Dark circles clung beneath your eyes, and bloodshot eyes stared back at you. The traces of dried tears ran from your eyes all the way to your neck. The fabric of your shirt bore faint damp spots thanks to your tears.

Cupping your hands, you collected a handful of water and brought it to your face, the cool liquid splashing against your skin is refreshing. Your fingers find the white towel that hung on the wall, and you gently wiped it away. Inhaling deeply, you focused on the rhythm of your breath, allowing it to steady your racing heart until you felt a semblance of composure return.

Turning the doorknob, you push the bathroom door open, revealing Joel's figure. His expression is a mix of concern and relief, his eyes trace the contours of your form as you emerge from the restroom.

As your eyes met him, a violent rush of emotions surged within you, the floodgates of the intensity you had repressed, suddenly open. Uncontrollable tremors shook your body, and Joel's instincts took over. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace.

Don’t touch me. You want to say, want to scream, but you can’t vocalize anything.

You feel Joel’s tears fall onto you, and their warm touch only seemed to amplify the storm that surged within. Your cry becomes heavier, your body convulsing with the force of your sobs.

“I love you.” Joel says.

Immediately, your throat knots, the pain excruciating. The weight of his words and the depth of your own emotions leave you speechless, so the only thing you can manage is a small nod.

He realizes you don't say it back and he says it again, his voice a soft echo of love and regret as he looks into your eyes. But you're beyond words at this point, your own pain and anguish welling up until you can only scream into his chest, mourning.

Extended note: Thank you for reading! I apologize for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language, but I promise I did try.

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them! I promise I'll try to engage more!

(edit: I accidentally copied and pasted the wrong file, so the graphic is different)

Taglist: @mishasminion360

#angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou 2 fanfiction #no y/n #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #tw:infidelity #pedro pascal character #hurt no comfort #tw: Infidelity #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

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