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morallyinept · 4 months

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YIPPEE KI-YAY! - A Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller Christmas One Shot

Summary: You, Sarah and Joel settle in to watch a Christmas film together, bickering gently over if Die Hard is classed as a Christmas movie or not. When Sarah goes to bed, you try and sway Joel to your opinion.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.3K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Oral M receiving - lucky Joel!

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas film. Come at me. 😎

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Got the marshmallows?” You query, as Sarah steps forward holding a mug out for you.

“Please.” She throws you a coy look and you smirk.

You regard her with a smile, standing in the kitchen that’s still so new to you.

Joel’s kitchen, despite the occasional chaos of a single dad and his teenage daughter navigating the same space, emanates a sense of warmth and homeliness and the scents of burnt toast. And is surprisingly clean and well organised. Although, you suspect Sarah is probably responsible for that.

A handwritten 'to-do' list is on the fridge in writing that looks like Sarah’s, with items like 'take out the trash' and 'unload the dishwasher,' reflecting a gentle reminder for both father and daughter to share the responsibilities of maintaining their space.

During the very short time that you’ve gotten to know Sarah, it's evident she takes care of her dad, more than he’d like to admit, but Joel would agree that she’s wiser and mature for her tender years.

Something that you know he wrestles with, pertaining to some slight regret that he has to work so much and leave her to bring herself up on occasion.

She gathers the bag of marshmallows into her mouth, the plastic creaking between her teeth as it dangles and picks up two mugs.

“Gimme that,” you chuckle, pulling it from her lips as she giggles, and you follow her through into the lounge, elbowing the kitchen light off.

Joel is on his knees in the lounge, pushing the disc into the DVD player, and sits back on his heels as you both come through.

A black t-shirt runs tight over his broad shoulders, and his hair is still a little unkempt from you running your fingers through it whilst he was between your legs, only hours before.

He takes the mug from Sarah with big hands, with a crooked smile and a thank ya, baby.

The Christmas tree is up, although a little askew, and with lots of colourful string lights knotted around the branches. A handmade, paper angel sits atop the tree; a six year-old Sarah’s creation, that Joel has taken care of and insisted would adorn the tree for the rest of its delicate existence, despite one of the sequined eyes missing now.

You settle onto the couch with Sarah, a gap left in the middle for Joel, whilst he brings out a bottle of the stronger stuff and proceeds to pour some into yours and his mug.

“Can I have some of that?” Sarah asks.

“Absolutely not.” Joel gruffs and doesn’t even look up.

“Come on, man. It’s Christmas.” She says.

Joel glances up at you bemused, and you shrug. “I’m not being the bad guy.” You say, smirking.

“Please?” Sarah continues.

He sighs, caving. “If ya get sick, ya cleaning it up yourself.” He warns and proceeds to pour a little glug of the whiskey into Sarah’s mug.

She smiles accomplished, settling back into the couch, sniffing the infusion of dark, heady notes mixing with the cocoa.

You plop a couple of marshmallows into your mug from the bag, and Joel finally sits in between you both and clicks the menu button on the remote.

“Die hard?” You ask, scoffing as the opening credits roll across the screen. “You had one task, Joel.”

“Ultimate Christmas movie, darlin’.” Joel announces proudly. He waggles his eyebrows at you, but you’re not buying it.

“Just be grateful it isn’t Curtis and The Viper, that’s Dad’s favourite.” Sarah says. “I’ve seen it far too much.”

“I got that for after,” Joel chuckles, evilly.

“This is not a Christmas film.” You pout.

“Is too.” Joel says.

“Home Alone? Christmas movie. It's a Wonderful Life? Christmas movie. Die Hard? It's an action classic with a festive backdrop at best.” You say.

Sarah, with a mock serious expression, points at the TV. "You know, the only thing missing from this Christmas masterpiece is a cameo from Santa himself."

Joel smirks. "Ya mean the gritty, action-hero version of Santa who delivers presents via rooftop jumps n’ takes out Hans Gruber?"

Sarah laughs. "Exactly! Badass Santa."

Joel leans into her shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "Santa in a red camo suit, armed with candy cane nun-chucks, fightin' off the Grinch n’ his gang of holiday heisters."

Sarah shakes her head, trying not to let a smile break through. "You're turning Christmas into a comic book. Die Hard is not the graphic novel we need for the holiday season."

“Please don’t encourage him.” You whine.

"It’s the one we deserve," Joel declares with a theatrical flair.

You sigh dramatically. "You're impossible. I bet you think fruitcake is a gourmet holiday treat too."

Joel and Sarah both gasp in mock horror. "Fruitcake slander!” Sarah says.

“Now that's a crime worse than anything in Die Hard. Ya've crossed a line, darlin’."

Sarah can’t help but giggle. “Dad loves fruitcake.”

“Your dad is a fruitcake.” You clarify with a grin.

“Ya hearin’ this?” Joel says incredulously to Sarah, shaking his head as he sups from his mug.

"I'm just saying, there are certain standards for Christmas entertainment. Die Hard doesn't quite fit the mustard." You say, slurping from your own mug too.

Joel leans back, a mischievous glint in his chocolate eyes. "Standards? S’all about breakin’ traditions. Die Hard is the rebel of Christmas movies n’ shit."

“Nope. Not a Christmas film.” You declare.

“S’a good job ya pretty.” Joel says, leaning in to place a kiss on you, then pecks you ferociously.

“Gross.” Sarah winces, as you push Joel off of you, mindful of spilling your hot chocolate.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, baby!” Joel teases her.

“Gross? Sounds like jealousy to me!” Joel leans across her and pelts her face with kisses as she wails, almost spilling her own mug over the carpet too.

"Dad!”

You grin. "You're turning into a Die Hard evangelist. If I had known this before, I might not have given you my number that night in the bar.”

Joel turns to you. “Too late now. Ya stuck with me.”

You smile at him, feeling warm as he looks at you, smiling back with dilating pupils. Perhaps it’s the whiskey or perhaps it's something else.

Perhaps it’s the continued insatiable appetite you have for him, and have had since you both met.

Joel and your serendipitous meeting at a dimly lit bar a few weeks back set the stage for a blossoming, hot romance that neither of you saw coming. It was a Friday night, and the air was filled with the lively hum of laughter and the clinking of glasses in a festive atmosphere.

Joel, nursing a whiskey at the bar after a long, tiring day on the site, couldn't help but notice you sitting alone at a corner table, engrossed in a book, but slowly peeping at him over the top of the pages and smiling.

Joel decided to take a chance, spurred on by past conversations with Sarah about how he should date and put himself out there more. With a bewitching smile, he approached your table and struck up a conversation about the book you were immersed in.

As it turned out, Joel wasn’t much of a reader, but you could forgive him with his soft, brown eyes and broad shoulders that hunched up when he laughed genuinely at your jokes.

What started as a casual, flirty chat quickly evolved into a deeper connection as you discovered attractions and common interests, when you came up for air from under the sheets.

Although, not about Christmas movies, evidently.

“I'm waiting for you to start handing out pamphlets door to door that say, 'have you accepted our Lord and Saviour, John McClane into your life?'" You titter.

Joel laughs. "If John McClane knocked on my door, I'd invite him in for Christmas dinner n’ put you two out.”

Sarah points at the screen. "See, explosions and chaos.”

“That's not exactly what I call a festive holiday atmosphere." You say.

“Ya two are crazy. Come on, it's action-packed holiday fun! What more could ya want?"

Sarah leans back, crossing her arms. "I don't know, maybe a heartwarming message about the true meaning of Christmas? Where's the cheese factor?"

Joel smirks. "Who needs cheese when ya have 'Yippee-ki-yay?' Classic Christmas catchphrase right there."

“I like cheese.” You pout.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Classic action movie catchphrase, maybe. I don't see Hallmark putting that on a Christmas card."

Joel raises an eyebrow. "Hallmark wishes they had a fuckin’ hero like John McClane in their lineup. Now, that's a Christmas card I’d buy."

“You’ve never brought a Christmas card in your life, dad.” Sarah smirks.

“Damn waste of money. Ya gonna throw it in the bin anyhow.” He shrugs.

You smile, reaching for the whiskey and Joel holds his mug out towards you for a top up. "You're missing the point. Christmas movies are about love, family, and maybe a little bit of magic. Die Hard has, what, explosions and a bald guy in a dirty tank top?"

Joel puts his finger on the neck of the bottle so you pour more into his mug. At this point it’s neat whiskey flavoured with cocoa.

“He’s kind of hot though. Bruce Willis.” You say.

“See, ya do like it.” Joel grins. “I win.”

“He is hot.” Sarah agrees.

“Ya too young to notice that he’s hot.” Joel retorts.

“I’m fourteen, dad. I have periods now.”

“Mhm. Less I know ‘bout that the better, thank ya.”

“Yikes.” You chime in, grinning.

"Don't forget the Santa hat. That's festive." Joel says, pointing at the screen a little while later.

Sarah scoffs. "A Santa hat doesn't magically transform a movie into a Christmas classic. It's like putting tinsel on a cactus and calling it a Christmas tree."

Joel laughs. "Hey, a cactus with tinsel sounds pretty festive to me.”

“Why can I imagine you doing this?” You query to Joel.

“He did. Last year.” Sarah confirms and you snort.

“I might've forgotten to get a Christmas tree.” Joel holds his hands up, grunting.

“How do you forget to get a Christmas tree?”

“I was working.” “He was working.” Joel and Sarah both say at the same time.

“Die Hard is the cactus of Christmas movies - prickly on the outside, but there's a nice holiday surprise waitin'." Joel says.

“You have an answer for everything.” You snicker.

“Well, that's why ya like me…” Joel says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“Maybe,” you smile back at him, meeting his lips. He kisses you a little deeper, tasting the warmth of the whiskey on his tongue.

“Stop it.” Sarah says, and you both chuckle.

You feel Joel’s fingers interlock with yours and give them a gentle squeeze.

Later, you turn to see Sarah with her head back, eyes closed and mouth open.

You nudge Joel, rousing him from the film, and he smirks, shaking his head.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arm out, and you nestle inside it, head pressed against his chest as you watch the movie.

“Lightweight.” He snorts and you smile.

He takes Sarah’s mug from her lap and places it on the coffee table. As he sits back, he turns to you.

You feel him kiss the top of your head, and your fingers skim the hem of his t-shirt and stroke softly at the skin under there. You can feel the galaxy of soft hairs around his belly button and he hums out contentedly and you scritch softly there.

"Y’know, watching Die Hard with ya… maybe we should make it a yearly tradition?" He murmurs.

“Oh really?” You tease looking up at him.

Joel leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "Who needs mistletoe when ya have John McClane savin’ Christmas? Though, I wouldn't mind a little mistletoe action right now..."

“Mm,” you crane up, pressing your lips to his as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

"Smooth, McClane. Very smooth." Sarah chuckles, a grin spreading across her cheeks.

Joel stops kissing you and smirks. “Get ya drunk ass to bed.”

“I’m not drunk, but I'd rather be throwing up in the toilet than watching you two suck face.”

Sarah stands as you giggle.

“Hey, gimme some sugar.” Joel calls back to her.

She turns and leans down to give Joel a kiss as he pats her on the back. “Night, baby.”

She then comes over to you and gives you a cuddle and a peck on the side of the cheek.

“Night, sweetie.” You say with a bright smile.

As Sarah hugs you goodnight, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling your nose, you can't help but be taken aback by the authenticity of the gesture.

It’s as if that bridge of trepidation and angst of Sarah accepting you has been cemented with shared laughter, keen interest, and now, a simple, yet genuine hug.

Joel catches you smiling as Sarah leaves the room, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.

“Ya wanna stay again tonight?” Joel asks.

“If you’re sure?” You ask.

He nods. “She likes ya. S’fine.”

“I really like her too.” You say. “She’s a good kid. You’ve done great with her.”

“She’s a smartass.” He retorts.

“Just like her dad, then.” You cluck.

“Easy,” Joel holds his arm out and you nestle back into it, putting your feet up.

A little while later and the film comes to an end. And you can’t help but smile when Joel asks you your thoughts.

"Fine, maybe Die Hard has its own twisted Christmas charm. But don't expect me to wrap it up and put it under the tree." You titter.

Joel chuckles. "Who needs gift wrap when ya've got a Nakatomi Plaza-sized bow on top?”

“Mm, it's the gift that keeps on giving." You mirth.

Joel shakes his head, as he leans in for a kiss. “No. You are.”

“Mr Miller, are you getting soft on me?” You giggle as he smooches at you.

“Quite the opposite, darlin’…” He takes your hand resting on his chest and slides it down to the hardening bulge in his jeans.

“Mmm,” you remark, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Now, how has this occurred? You got a thing for me or John McClane?”

“Both.” Joel smirks and you chuckle.

“You and John want the room?”

“I’ve had too much whiskey. I can’t be held responsible for what I say or do right now.”

He leans in and kisses you again. His lips are full and plumpy and they devour you greedily as his tongue searches his way around your mouth; caressing and creating sparks down your spine.

“I think I know what I wanna do right now,” you whisper to him.

You can taste the tang of the whiskey, the sweetness of the cocoa; feel the warmth emanating from him into your bloodstream.

Hear the small clicking sounds as you both osculate intensely. Savouring the taste of him, the smell of him this close and the sheer bliss of his tongue working up that dark voodoo magic.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Joel asks, with hooded eyes.

You wiggle out of his giant hands and drop to your knees in between his. You tug his jeans down, clumsily, but fast as he pops open the button, eager for what’s to come.

“Well, alright then!” He gasps.

He cups his cock on the outside of his boxers adjusting it, and you run your hands up his legs towards the goods.

Slipping your fingers inside the waistband, you pull them down too as he lifts his ass off the couch for a second so you can fully yank them down those long legs smattered with dark hairs.

Joel’s presented to you again in all his hard, thick glory. Glistening in the light as you watch him thumb over the head, collecting the glossy precum, before he holds it out to you.

He bites his lip as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting him.

Eyeing him, you insert him slowly inside of your mouth; him watching with widening and drooping lips as you go further and further to the base; swallowing him whole, the tip of his rounded head on the back of your gag reflex, but not heaving at all.

You sit up on your knees and take the base of him inside your hand, excitable and hard.

You pull him back out and do it again, over and over, taking him deep and slow.

“Fuck…” Joel groans delightfully, his hand stroking through your hair gently. “Ya so fuckin’ good at that. Oh, Jesus..."

You let his cock slide out of you one last time before you lower your head and take one of his balls inside your mouth. Pushing his legs wider open so you can shove your face right up in there.

You look up as he reacts instantly; almost pulling away with the mildly discomforting, yet pleasurable feeling that overtakes, as you suck gently on those puffy, pink sacks.

“Aww, shit, that’s good,” Joel whines, throwing his head back.

Whilst you suck, you massage his cock up and down with your hand; still sticky and wet from your saliva. Running your palm over the bulbous head making his hips judder and buck.

Joel sits up a little, watching you suck; the graze of his voice doing a punch out with his larynx as he struggles to speak.

“Suck it again. Show me what that pretty mouth can do, hmm?” Joel prompts.

He watches you tease the tip with your tongue before sucking him back in between your lips.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He drones, his head lolling back and closing his eyes as you suck hard on the head of him, stripping him of his breath.

You take him down deeper, something that surprises you both at the depth; sucking him like a pro and it pleases him immensely. He presses down on the back of your head testing your gag reflex and he feels you heave which makes his balls spasm.

“Tap out if ya wanna stop, okay?” He says, and you stroke his thigh in agreement.

You swallow him deeper, sliding all the way down his wet, sticky length and pushing your nose into the soft paunch of his tummy.

“Yeah, choke on my cock.” Joel encourages as you drool over it.

You heave momentarily, but still as you swallow around him. You do it again, and another heave makes you lurch a little.

You relax the back of your throat, letting him slide in all the way again. He’s impressed, not many can take him so deep down their throats, his girth is intimidating to say the least.

The husk of his grunts, like whispers pelted in wet gravel, echo inside your ears. Joel has no words; instead, the noises that are puffing out of him make you tingle all over.

His huge hands massage inside of your hair and soon you feel him fucking up into your face, pushing you deeper onto him as he thrusts his hips, forcing himself further down your throat.

"Tap out if ya want me to stop... Oh, fuck," he reminds you gently.

More heaves roll up from your stomach, inhaling deeper through your nose that it whistles somewhat, and he pants, bucking into your face as he fucks harder now.

Gug-gug-gug... an unrelenting rhythm of sticky, suction, and satisfied grunts flow from his mouth around the lounge.

“Fuck, yeah!” He growls as you open wider as he hits the back of your throat, punching the wet flesh there as you dig into his thigh skin with your nails.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He hisses. “Shit, I’m gonna come!” Joel hisses, filling your throat momentarily, some of it spilling out of your mouth and down your chin.

You scoop it up and suck it back into your mouth, swallowing it all down.

“Now, where did ya learn to suck cock like that, hmm?” Joel pants, beside himself.

“We’re all full of surprises,” you remark, smirking.

He chuckles, a wheeze in the back of his throat that's now dry and raw.

“C’mere,” he pulls you up gently to him, with a soft chuckle.

You nestle into his lap as he grips you tightly and close to him, kissing you.

“Fuck, I’m still shakin’,” he groans as you smirk at him. “Ya kill me, darlin’. What’d I do to deserve that?”

“Early Christmas present.” You shrug with a wink.

“M’a lucky son of a bitch.” He groans.

“Yes, you are,” you giggle as you kiss him.

“Gimme a few minutes n’ I’ll give ya yours.” Joel says, with twinkly eyes, his hands grabbing your ass as he pulls you closer still.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker,” you say, as Joel grins wildly at you.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

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josephquinnswhore · 1 year

Note

Hello

I’ve had this idea for a while :}

What if reader and Pedro had a la la land moment when they break up and then reunir two years later at an awards show and realize they still have feelings for each other

Like right person wrong time :>

Finding Our Way Back

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Summary: you and Pedro rekindle your relationship after seeing him at an award show, it’s been two years since you’ve separated and he looks better than ever.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content Warning: allusions to reader that worked in a shit workplace, fluff.

Note: thanks so much for requesting. Thought I’d do the MTV awards since he’s nominated and I’ve already written about Pedro at the Oscars! I hope you love it 🫶🏼

As an interviewer for Vanity Fair, you knew it was highly likely that you’d run into your ex boyfriend, Pedro Pascal at the MTV awards as he was nominated with Bella Ramsay in the category “best duo,” after his latest role as Joel Miller. Although things had ended amicably on both ends, it had been two years ago since you split; your maturity, respect and the love you still had for him played a part in that clean break. You wanted to beg for him to stay with you, to try and make things work; but he was having a big breakthrough in his career and you couldn’t be selfish with him, after decades of his hard work to get to where he is now, so you let go. After years of smaller roles, despite you reassuring him he was incredible in all roles he played, he knew this one would change his life, working on a project with his idol Nick Cage.

Funnily enough, being in this situation was how you met. You standing at an event in a dress that was too tight and itchy on your skin, waiting to interview the nominees for this award show. Although all those years ago you didn’t work for such a well known, respected company as VF.

You worked for a small company called For You Entertainment, they were working their way up the ladder attending small events with D-List celebrities when your producer thankfully got you a breakthrough, an interview with the cast of Narcos at the end of season 2 premiere. You were nervous and fidgeting with your lilac sequin dress that was so tight you were cursing your stylist internally for making you wear clothing that was a size too small for your waist. Your lungs felt heavy as they couldn’t inhale fully, the feeling of being claustrophobic in your own skin was dizzying, along with the sweatiness of your hands and the bright light from your film crew, it was all too much. A staff member from the event, led Pedro to you and you knew you were screwed, the knowing look in those chocolate brown eyes, he knew how anxious you were feeling, he read you instantly. Your co-workers were ready to begin filming when Pedro held his hand up, signalling for the men to stop momentarily, and they did.

“Hey, I’m Pedro. It’s so nice to meet you…”

His hand meets your own as you introduce yourself, he catches the wobble in your voice as your confidence plummets to the ground beneath your heels. He offers a kind smile and you’re enamoured by how kind he’s being, how gentle and attentive he is; he was doing whatever he could to make you comfortable.

“Are you okay?”

You let out a shaky breath and huff out a small laugh,

“this is my first ever interview with like, a real celebrity and you’re my celebrity crush. Plus this dress is a size too small which they picked on purpose, something about making my boobs perkier.”

The speed at which your mouth rambles leaves your brain unable to comprehend the words that leave them for a few seconds, the moment you register what you say your eyes are wide and Pedro is laughing sweetly.

“It’s a pleasure to be here with you, don’t be nervous, I think you look stunning. You can do this, I’m here to help you make things go smoothly! Shall we?”

How wrong he was, he wasn’t just like any other guy, that’s what drew you in, he sucked you into his orbit, the gravity holding you down to him. Alas, you agree to start the interview. Your nerves somewhat shaken and cheeks a deep shade of red, along with a tingle of heat on your face you’d never experienced prior to Pedro’s flattery.

“Let’s do this.”

You bare a shy grin and give the camera man a thumbs up as they prepare to start the interview.

There was nothing wrong with your relationship with Pedro. It had just seemed like the relationship had run it’s course through the years. You were studying and working full time, 60 hours a week you were in a chokehold of being underpaid and overworked, being younger, new to the industry and vulnerable, you let your boss expose you to the cruelty of the profession when you had several employees that treated you like a doormat. Pedro had always insisted he hated how much you worked for them; how terribly they treated you and crushed your potential within months, that you could achieve more.

Pedro has just gotten a main role in “the unbearable weight of massive talent” when things fell apart, he was incredibly hard working and committed to his work life, the man that was practically married to his career left you in a position of what felt like roommates more than actual lovers. The conversation was hard and you almost didn’t go through with it; you knew you’d regret it but it was necessary, you couldn’t live like this anymore. You missed the intimacy and the connection, feeling like you were in a loveless relationship even though you loved him endlessly.

He had gotten home from a long day of filming, body slumped as he walked through the door, hours and hours on end of filming had him exhausted, he was surprised to see you sitting on the couch with the light and tv on when he walked through the front door.

“Hey, you’re up?”

The confusion in his voice was evident and you inhaled a shaky breath, turning to face him, you nearly backed out of your plan like a coward. Instead you invite him to sit next to you.

“Yeah, we need to talk, will you come sit?”

Pedro’s thick eyebrows are pinched in a frown, looking his age when the wrinkles in his face become evident. The lounge dips as he sits next to you, his large hand on your knee as his brown eyes watch you.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice is cautious and you just exhale, not questioning your own judgment.

“I think it would be in both our favours if we part ways, I’d prefer if we could do this amicably and still be friends afterwards. There’s no connection or intimacy anymore, we’re both too busy. Maybe if,” you sigh loudly unable to find the courage to finish the sentence. Luckily, Pedro knows what you’re thinking.

“If we were at a different stage in life, right?”

He finishes the thought in your head and you nod, fat tears falling down your face, his arms are quick to pull you into a hug, your head rests on his shoulder and he kisses the back of your head.

“I still love you, maybe things will work out for us one day, hm?”

You chuckle, the noise wet as you choke back your tears, “that would be a dream wouldn’t it?”

Having worked for Vanity Fair for the past 12 months, you had met some well known A-list celebrities, some in which would be here tonight at the mtv awards, some people attending not as well known but still nonetheless attending and perfectly deserving of your attention. Your black cocktail dress hugged your figure perfectly, hair pulled upward and styled neatly. Your faces natural beauty was accentuated by the light make up that had been carefully applied by the companies make up artist. The shades of pink and gold on your eyelids were glistening in the lights that shone a bright white overhead as you stood in the middle of the walkway right before the entry to the building where the awards were being held.

Your manager had warned you sympathetically that Pedro was one person you’d be interviewing, it didn’t take much reassuring on your behalf to assure her that although and and Pedro hadn’t really spoken since you broke up; besides the yearly birthday messages and him liking your Instagram posts, that things were okay between you and you were happy to interview him.

When you see him, he’s looking as handsome as ever. His brown hair had a few greying strands on the side of his head near his temples. The purple suit he wears clings to his body and he wears it with finesse, the grapefruit colour makes his skin look its glowing in a golden light, the suit hangs off his broad shoulders with no room to spare. A small heart-shaped patch in his black and grey beard was still failing to fill with hair on the left side of his face. He smiles so widely when he sees you, quickening his casual pace to a speed walk to bump his body into yours, wrapping his strong arms around you to pull you into a hug, his big muscles bulging against your dress-clad skin. You accept the hug and pull him into you, squeezing him as your arms wrap around the back of his neck, the cologne he wears compliments the natural musk of him that you recognise and miss so dearly.

You fight the urge to look at his plump lips a second time, the shade of pink whispered sweet words to draw you into him like a hypnotist, threatening you to kiss him against your will. He pulls back and stands tall next to you, he towers over you, even in your 3 inch heels.

“Pedro Pascal, what a warm welcome. Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” You greet warmly, holding the microphone between the small gap between your bodies, he misses the redness on your cheeks as he grins so widely his dimple exposes itself.

“Thank you for having me, it’s so great to be here, and it’s so great to see you, look at you, you’re looking stunning this evening.” He stands a little too close to you than he does anyone else that’s trying to get an interview from him, his fondness of you showing through the camera that records you.

“You always were a charmer weren’t you. This suit is incredible, you’re looking dapper tonight.” Your free hand that isn’t holding the mic gently runs a hand down his suit, keeping your hand on his chest, getting a feel for the material. You grin at the redness of his cheeks before getting to what the fans really want.

“Now, there is something your fans are begging me to address. As the self proclaimed biggest daddy on the internet, are your fans all your children?” Pedro laughs, the sound is ringing in your ears like the most delightful song you’ve ever heard. He takes the microphone from you and turns to the camera, “yes, you are all my children. I will warn you, grogu may get a little jealous.”

“That’s so sweet, why do you think you chose these roles that have you as basically a father figure?” You muse, eyes batting unintentionally as you’re drawn into his charming character. “I mean, truthfully I would love to have kids someday. Since that’s not an option right now I’m opting for the role of playing dad.” Your heart starts racing, both in awe and disappointment, knowing you would never be the one to bare his children, as his girlfriend or wife, you had missed your opportunity years ago.

“Now we do have a question that a lot of people are begging us to ask you and who are we to deny them?Does Joel Miller in the tv series meet the same fate as the game?” Pedro bares his teeth in a grimace and looks directly into the camera. “It’s going to be almost exactly the same, sorry kids.” He shrugs casually before turning back to you.

“Well Pedro it’s been such a delight to talk with you this evening, we’re wishing you and Bella the best to win an award, have a wonderful evening!” Pedros hands cross in front of his torso, fumbling with the silver ring that sits on his pinky. “Of course it’s amazing to see you. Thank you, have a great night.” He waves to you sweetly as he walks off with a staff member that’s leading him into the building. You stop filming and let out a big sigh.

“How are you feeling?” Your cameraman Andrew asks, “I’m okay, just feels like an open wound still, I guess.” He offers a sympathetic smile, “you did great. That was an awesome interview, everyone’s going to love it. Your chemistry is off the charts.”

You silently agree. The chemistry was still there, maybe you should just, text him later as a “it was so good to see you” curtesy text. Regardless of how terrible he was at texting, it would show you made an effort.

It’s been hours since you saw and spoke to Pedro, his image ingrained in your brain every time you close your eyes, where you’re normally met with blackness this night you’re met with his smile, the smell of his natural musk, the scent of his cologne lingered on your own skin as if he lie next to you. The heaviness of his hands as he hugged you felt as if he was still touching you, it made you restless. You were struggling to sleep even when the streets below your apartment began turning off their lights, one by one you seemed to be the only one wide awake in the neighbourhood.

11:28pm. After changing your mind about half a dozen times on what to write, you settle on something kind and friendly, and you send the text: “it was so good to see you tonight, you look great.”

To your surprise it’s barely a minute before he replies: “it was such a pleasure to see you, can I ask you something?”

Your heart is racing as you can barely think about what he could possibly ask, you assure him: “of course, anything.”

The bubble comes up as if he’s typing, then disappears. You grown as you watch him type and delete this message before it finally comes through after a few minutes: “going to bed anytime soon?”

You raise an eyebrow to yourself and whisper, “seriously that’s what took you so long?” And reply to him: “nope, wide awake.”

“Want some company? I can bring coffee.” You rub your eyes in disbelief, wondering if this is real or an illusion.

“Please do. You know how I like it.” You send through your address as you’ve moved to a newer and slightly bigger apartment in the last year. “Be there soon.” He replies without a moments notice.

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you rush to the bathroom, attempting to make yourself look presentable, brushing your hair down neatly before braiding it, smoothing out your pyjamas and turning on some lights in the living room as you turn on the tv to Disney Plus turning on Moana as you attempt to sit comfortably.

There’s a soft knock at the door and you get an alert on your phone that someone’s outside, you check your phone, seeing Pedro standing in black pants, a white shirt and a large black trench-coat, a cardboard cup holder in hand with two Starbucks coffees occupying the space. You smooth out your pyjamas once again and unlock the two locks to your front door, feeling winded as you see your ex boyfriend standing there looking as beautiful as ever with a shy smile on his face.

You open the door and step to the side, “please, come in.” He shudders slightly from the breeze that drafts in from outside, your house abnormally warm and the feeling is welcome on his cold skin. “You have a nice place here. How long ago did you move in?” You take the coffees and sit them down in the cup holders in your lounge as he takes off his trench-coat, the atmosphere too warm for the accessory. “Coming up 12 months now. Right after I started working for Vanity Fair.”

You gesture for Pedro to sit on the lounge after he hands his coat on the coat hanger by the door, he keeps a respectable space between you, unlike earlier in the evening where he stood entirely too close. “Moana always was your favourite.” Pedro muses to himself. “Somethings never change.” You reply with a shrug, the statement having a double meaning behind it.

“Yeah, I guess. What’s new in your life anyway. Other than work and all the formalities?” He questions, the hopeful look in his eye beams as you sink comfortably into the grey couch, “nothing really, I’m quite boring these days. The same girl you know.” You sip your coffee and hum in contentment, missing the way Pedro whispered “and love.” After your statement, “thanks so much for the coffee, it’s perfect. It’s any wonder you still remember,” you admit.

“How could I forget my girls coffee order?” Pedro freezes, realisation of what he said sinks in. “I mean, I meant- I didn’t..” he stutters and you rest your hand on his, trying to diffuse his panicked state. “It’s okay, I’ve missed you you know. Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I never got over you.” The admission has both of your skin burning with desire and slight embarrassment. “You feel that way?” His voice is sweet, you wish he would just talk to you all night, you’d simply sit and listen.

“Of course I do. I’ve always loved you Pedro.” Just like that the bomb has dropped, the elephant in the room is too large and suffocating to ignore, you still love him, years later you still love him.

“I’ve been needing to hear that for such a long time. I love you, I was a fool to let you go,” you lean into the warmth of Pedro’s hand as he caresses your face, your heart rate spiking at his touch and confession. “We can always just.. pick up where we left off,” you offer sweetly. Pedro’s eyes raise at your offer, the ball was in his court and he was going to take it. Without another word he pulls you into him, your lips smashing into his, moulding together like two unique puzzle pieces that were made for each other.

You part your lips and grant him access to deepen the kiss, years of unspoken love and missing each other all came to surface with this kiss. When you pull apart you’re both heaving, foreheads pressed together you stare into his chocolate orbs. “Please be mine. I don’t think I could go another day knowing you’re not mine.” You exhale a shaky breath, the taste of him still on your lips, “I was always yours Pedro. We just had to find out way back.” Pedro’s thumb strokes your cheek and let’s put a small laugh, almost in relief. “I’m grateful we did. Everything feels right again.”

You nod as you silently agree with him, the hole left empty now felt overfilled, you knew your cup would never be empty again with Pedro by your side again, “stay the night.” Your nose grazes his cheek as you whisper. He pulls you into his lap, strong arms holding you in place as he kisses your shoulder. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”

“I’ll teach you how to stop being such a people pleaser one day you know.” You jest lightly. “As long as I have you, none of that even matters, baby.” You turn to kiss him, the intoxicating sweetness of his lips is almost impossible to pull away from. “You’ll always have me. Promise.” A few moments of silence pass before you ask, “did you win the award?” Pedro hums before he realises what you’ve said, pulling his eyes away from the tv, “yeah we did, Bella was stoked, it was such a big moment for them.” You lean into his chest, smiling in content with how perfectly things were falling into place.

#Pedro pascal #mtv awards #Pedro pascal as Joel miller #Pedro pascal x you #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal x fem reader #Pedro pascal rpf #Pedro pascal x ex girlfriend #right person wrong time #Pedro pascal x interviewer reader

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month

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See The Road You're On

Elks Chapter 1

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's father... and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: Outbreak mention, timeline editing, reader has anxiety, reader trips and falls, Joel bandages her knees, SO MUCH softness. Words: 5,300 A/N: Whoa! Hi! Welcome to the first chapter of Elks, my first multi-chapter fan fic. I'm excited for you to meet my reader, and come along on the adventure of her falling in love with Joel Miller. This reader and Joel are in my previous work, Golden Walkway, so you know that later down the line things get REAL good between them. I'm selfish and need super comfort reads about Joel, so except this to be quite soft with very little angst. 🫡

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Playlist

***

“Caring Is Creepy” - The Shins

The world ended the day after you bought your homecoming dress, a long deep forest green sequined sweetheart a-line gown. Chosen by you because the neckline perfectly showed off your prized gold daisy pendant. The biggest issue of September 26, 2003 was turning in your biography of Renoir for AP English and remembering to grab your guitar out of your locker after art club. Little did you know that as you walked home after school with your headphones on and your guitar in hand, you were hearing the last lyrics that you’d ever hear before everything changed.

“Hold your glass up, hold it in

Never betray the way you’ve always known it is

One day, I’ll be wondering how

I got so old, just wondering how”

Twenty years later, hardened by life in the Denver Quarantine Zone and gently softened by your now comfortable life in Jackson, you’re still waiting for your first dance.

Life has always revolved around art and music for you, never allowing anything to take away your creativity. You create for yourself using art as a way to soothe your thoughts and anxieties, you create for the Settlement of Jackson to give back to the town that has given you a good life for the past five years, and most importantly you create for your students at the school you’ve taught at since your arrival.

Teaching was never your idea for a career, much preferring the company of animals to kids. You always planned to escape your small Colorado mountain town and move to Denver to attend veterinary school… then the cordyceps came for everything. You did find your escape in Denver, though it wasn’t to grow up and find new friends and learn new things, it was to survive… everything and everyone else gone besides your protective neighbor Helen, your school backpack, and art club messenger bag.

The fifteen years spent in the Denver QZ tried to steal your colors and mute your songs, joy becoming more difficult to find as each year behind those giant iron gates passed. The only happiness being supplied by your small group of friends and your students in the desolate school you spent ten years teaching at, only working there because you were young and still remembered most of your high school education.

You arrived in Jackson five years ago. Taking the opportunity to leave Denver happening when Helen’s sister made contact, the two of you escaping through the wasteland of the world for a better life up north.

Now, your life has color, supplied by the paint you make or what the patrollers bring you back. Your life has music from the CD player in your house and your guitar you strum. Jackson has filled your life with so much purpose, your weekdays spent teaching your impressionable students, your Satrudays spent working at the library you run by yourself out of your classroom. Yes, it's comfortable here, you spend your evenings with your mismatched art supplies and song book, but once the moon sits high atop the mountains, your nights are spent alone with only your cats Ripley and Penny in your small cottage. Laying in bed every night you try to silence the thought that there’s nobody in your life who creates beautiful things for you. Too many nights you find yourself thinking about the man that lives down the street from you… Joel Miller.

He’s so intimidating, beautiful and caged off, like an art piece you’d pay admission to be able to stand near. The most handsome face you’ve seen, soft and full lips always hidden under a frowning mustache resting below his large hooked nose, his brown eyes always focused forward in thought underneath his furrowed brows. Dark brown wavy hair matching his eye hue with gray streaks painted throughout. A strong and broad body hidden underneath his tan flannel lined jacket, tall and big, so big, somebody you’d imagine was born a protector. His hands, also large to match the rest of his features, capable hands that you can tell are efficient of any task you ask of them, thick yet dexterous and handy. His skin golden toned, born that way and bronzed by years spent outdoors. You sketch him in your notebook, your precious pages being depleted by trying to master the lines on his face. Maybe you could get the minute details if only you could stop being so afraid of the feelings he stirs inside of you.

You’ve been enamored with Joel since he first showed up to Jackson, your life, and everything you’ve tried to avoid for years, being upended by the presence of one handsome stranger. Walking into the Tipsy Bison to drop off some extra shoelaces and push pins for the community swap basket, your eyes dart over to the long communal table where Maria and Tommy are seated with two strangers. Your first spot a small teenage girl with a tight pony tail and a tattered sweatshirt talking animatedly with her mouth full. Sat next to her bent over a plate of stew untamely clutching a fork is a man with a curly mess of graying hair and a permanent scowl plastered on his handsome face. You note his strong jaw as he chews his food, his eyes stare straight forward void of kindness, you wonder when was the last time somebody created something beautiful for him. You know then he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, so intimidatingly sized and looming even in his seated and hunched stature. You quickly flit over to the corner where the basket is and deposit your items. You turn around to head back to your home when you notice the handsome stranger looking at you. His eyes dart away and you make your hasty retreat out of the tense room. You go home that night and write a song about a once warm and inviting cabin sitting in the woods now cold and desolate with tattered floor boards and a cracked window.

That girl you see at the Bison with him, Ellie, shows up in your class the next week. She quickly becomes your favorite student thanks to her love of art and her smart mouth. She’s always eager to learn in the mornings before heading out with the other older kids for patrol and community training. She doesn’t shut up about your handsome stranger, Joel, he’s from Texas, he’s grumpy, he hates scrambled eggs. He’s not her father, but he’s her protector, everything she tells you makes you think about him more.

Sometimes you’ll pass him on the street, always tucking your head down and continuing to your destination eyes planted on the ground. One night you see him with Tommy at the Tipsy Bison in the corner drinking whiskey, your eyes staring unblinking before you realize how anyone could look over and see the way you’re ogling, quickly making up a reason to your friends why you need to head home. Seeing him stirs up so many foreign emotions inside of you, but you like the rush. You like having your little crush, as long you can keep your distance from him.

“Jeez, what were they thinking when they named those bands? The Shins? The Strokes? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Did every band just pick a random word and put The in front of it?” Ellie questions as she peruses your CD collection while you grade papers. With training for the older students cancelled due to the Winter snow outside, Ellie decides that you needed company.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you answer. “I’ll have to play them for you one day, those were some of my favorite bands when I was your age.”

“Really? Wicked! I’d love that!” She excitedly says smiling at you. You return her smile, happy for the bond that the two of you share.

You look back down to continue grading papers as Ellie returns back to your CD book. “Joel loves music too, wonder if he’d like any of these,” Ellie mentions not noticing how your pen pauses at the mention of his name.

“I’m sure there’s something in there for everyone,” you tell her as you stand. “I think we should get going El, before the sun sets. You go head home while I close up the school.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me hang with you, this was really fun,” she says as she grabs her backpack.

“Of course El, see you tomorrow morning.”

“Bye, teach.”

As you watch her happily stroll out of the room, the thought plants in your head that she’s only a couple years younger than the age you were when the outbreak happened. You know she’s in good hands with Joel, but you also want to hold her closer and nurture her.

Winter turns to Spring and the sun stays up longer, allowing patrollers a better chance to scavenge and bring their finds back. There's a wish list posted in the Bison above the communal basket. Residents ask for a broom, a TV input cable, a glue gun, crayons, other utilitarian items to help make life easier. You think about writing down the one thing you wish for the most, a new CD player. Your prized possession finally spinning its last song a couple of days ago making your home much quieter without your constant companion of music. The irony not lost on you that your just as old guitar lays silent against the wall, the crack on the neck finally breaking from overuse and rendering it useless. You don’t write down your main wish, instead writing down that the school needs chalk and you need a new oven mitt.

“Thought I told you not to touch my stereo kid,” you hear the deep timbre of a Texas accented voice behind you. It causes your heart rate to rise and goosebumps to spread along your body. You freeze in your seat on the floor as you try not to let your internal panic show. Joel is home. Of course he’s home, this is HIS home and you’re in it breaking HIS rules listening to your favorite mixed CD on HIS stereo system that’s much grander than your pitiful broken CD player. Why did you think this was a good idea?

“I know! Relax! I’m being active in the community like you asked me to,” Ellie responds as you both turn your heads to look up at him. His deep brown eyes bore right into yours, he gives you a half smile as you stare back at him mouth slightly agape. Joel Miller is in Joel Miller’s house with you.

“This is the teacher I told you about, her stereo broke and I know how important music is to her… kinda like how it is to you… I invited her over so she could play me some of her stuff,” Ellie reasons as you start to pack your backpack up and stand.

“Mm,” Joel grunts out before turning to you and reaching his hand down. “Nice to meet you, I‘m Joel.”

His big hand envelopes yours as you softly grab it to say hello. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries. I really appreciate her offering to help me. My stereo broke a couple days ago and she knew it upset me.” You nervously stammer feeling like a 13 year old in trouble again as you begin to fiddle with the gold daisy chain around your neck.

“Don’t worry, about it, please,” he urges looking over at Ellie, “I can of course look past it kid if it means you’re getting out of that damn garage.”

“She has way better music taste than you have old man. None of that twangy sad music you like.”

You start to feel antsy as Joel crowds the small space around you.

“Thank you for this, Ellie, I really appreciate it, I do need to head out though, I promised Helen I’d help her at the Tipsy Bison.” You’re not due for another hour but you can’t fathom the idea of being in Joel’s house with him inside.

“Oh, okay. Well, you’re welcome back whenever you want, right Joel?”

“Uh— of course. S’pose any friend of Ellie’s is welcome here,” Joel hesitates with a smile, his deep brown eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Thank you again Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow, make sure you bring your notebook,” you say as you turn to walk out the door.

You smell the distinct woodsy smell of Joel’s house on your clothes and you hope it’ll linger for awhile. You almost trip when you realize you’ve left your favorite mixed CD in Joel’s stereo.

Weeks pass, and the weather gets warmer. Your mixed CD is now a victim of your inability to be anywhere near Joel. Either Ellie decided to keep it for herself, or Joel's decided you don't want it back. It's actually kind of a nice feeling, like old times when you'd forget a CD in your friend's car or in your locker over Winter break. It's not like you have anything to play it on still, your house is still silent, save for the purring of your cats or whatever song you can hum to yourself.

It's a day hotter than usual in the Spring and all you can think about is getting home and taking a long bath after helping out at the community garden. Your hurried footsteps pitter patter against the warm asphalt in front of Joel’s house. Your heart always begins to race as it comes into view, once in awhile you'll get to steal a glance of him leaving for patrol at the same time you're heading to school, you like those mornings. Today you’ve certainly lucked out. There he is, in his yard working on repairing a broken fence post. Your steps begin to slow as you see him set the hammer down, wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, and stretch his back. You panic at the sight. The thought of him seeing you in the state you’re currently in, skin all sweaty and covered in dirt with your hair a mess. You pick up your pace not seeing the divit in the road. A trip and a fall ends with you landing hard on your stomach and knocking the wind out of you. You can just make out the sound of heavy boot steps over the noise of you gasping for air.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you okay darlin’?” Joel asks as he bends over, his broad body looming above you. “S’alright, s’alright, breathe.”

You look up at him, and notice how the sheen of sweat against his skin makes it glow almost golden, the freckles on his neck underneath his gray t-shirt more prominent in the sunlight. You’ve never seen him without a jacket or flannel, and now you get to see how his biceps strain the fabric of his short sleeves when he reaches out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You can’t tell if you’re still panicking from your fall or the stress of Joel seeing you as pathetic as you think you look. He called you darling and you feel like a fool.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m okay.” You gasp out as you try and stand up before it hurts too much and you let out a whimper from the pain.

“Hold on, hold on, there’s no need to rush, you took a mighty fall. Ya’ got a big cut on your knee, let me help you.”

“No, no, I’m okay really, I… I’m really okay.” You try to calm yourself, losing terribly against your raising embarrassment.

“S’alright now, I have some peroxide and bandages in my house, Ellie’d kill me if she knew I left you injured.” Joel implores as he reaches his hand out. "I want to help you, come here."

“I— okay,” you grab his hand, “I— don’t want to bother you.”

“Now, I’ll have none ‘a that, come on.” Joel helps you stand and steadies you with an arm around your waist, the adrenaline of being as close to Joel as you are now making the pain fade.

You slowly make your way up his walkway, Joel's hand splayed against your stomach, your head close enough to feel the dampness of his sweaty shirt against your cheek. The realization not lost on you that now you're headed back into his house for the second time.

“Here you go,” Joel says as he helps you over to his couch. "Just relax for a second, I’ll go grab everything."

You take a look down at your bare legs, marred by dirt and gravel bits mixed with your blood. Nice job, one knee doesn't look good at all.

The last time you were here you were far too anxious to focus on anything besides Ellie and the music coming out of Joel's stereo. Your solitude now allows you a chance to look closely at Joel’s living room.

For somebody with so many stories swirling around town about his gruffness and irritability, his home sure is warm and inviting. Wood carvings on shelves, a couple of old sports magazines stacked on the coffee table, a chipped owl mug sitting atop a book on the side table next to a chair. Very domestic and comfortable for a single man and his adopted daughter, you like it.

Your eyes roam along his walls, pausing where you spot a painting of yours hung up near the front window. How did he get it? You’re sure you traded it to Tommy for a small flask of whiskey a few months ago.

“Don’t have any large bandages but I got a gauze roll,” Joel startles you as he takes a seat on top of the coffee table across from you.

“That’s my painting?” You question aloud surprising yourself.

Joel turns and follows your eyes to the small piece of paper on his wall. “S’good. Had a painting like it above my bed before… everything. Saw it on my brother’s wall and asked him if I could have it. Reminds me of my old home and my life before… everything.” The last word coming out as a huff, like he still doesn't know what word to use for the last twenty years.

“They remind me of home. I was always drawn to painting the wildlife I grew up around,” you say as your eyes remain on your painting. “Herds of elk used to live near my Dad’s home in the mountains, I used to hear their calls during the mating season.”

“S’nice to remember those small moments, and I guess your painting helps me.” Joel admits as he delicately lifts one of your legs up into his lap, your attention returning back to the reason why you’re here. You feel the soft strength of his thighs cradle your leg, your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, you rapidly breathe in and out hoping he blames your panic on the threat of the peroxide.

“S’gonna sting,” Joel says as he tips the bottle and pours the clear liquid onto your knee. Your breath catches in your throat as it hits your sensitive kneecap. Joel bends forward and gently blows on your wound, you suppress a whimper feeling slightly dizzy when he glances up at your face. “Doin’ alright?"

You nervously chew on your bottom lip and nod. “Yes, sure, yes,” you mumble, “I-I’m okay it just hurts a lot to move them.”

"That asphalt is a sucker," he gently reassures as he picks up your other leg and places it on top of his lap.

“S’bouta sting again,” Joel warns.

The peroxide lands on your knee as you still try to control your breathing. You focus your thoughts on the burn and not on Joel’s fingertips resting against the depression on the back of your knee. You’re sure your lightheadedness is only from his touch. He blows on the peroxide as it bubbles again, your heart skipping a beat when his deep brown eyes meet your eyes. You sense that he knows exactly why you’re responding the way you are. His brows furrow as he picks up the bandage, focusing on the task at hand, lifting your knee higher to begin wrapping it.

“Place a finger here so I can wrap your knee,” Joel instructs you, his direction just as gentle as his touch. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you.” His hand tightens around your knee as he uses his other hand to slowly unravel the gauze around your leg. “How’s that?” He asks as he places your wrapped leg back on the floor and lifts your other leg higher to start on it.

“Feels good, thanks,” you say as you bend it back and forth.

“'Course.”

You place your finger on top of the other bandage without Joel asking, he smirks at your help as he begins to wrap the gauze around your other leg.

“I’d try to take it easy the next few days, give you a chance to heal,” Joel utters as he tucks the gauze in and smooths it down.

“I know, I will,” you say as you move your leg out of Joel’s hold and put it on the floor. “Thank you, again for all of your help. You really didn’t have to.”

“Please, you don’t have to thank me. Like I said, Ellie’d kill me if she found out I left you hurt in front of my home,” you both share a smile at the mention of her name. “She sure talks about you a lot. Should be thanking you for giving her a reason to love goin’ to school. I’m thankful for you being there for her.”

“She’s one of the best parts of my day," your cheeks heat as he secondhand compliments you. "I love having her around, she’s always so eager to learn."

“M’glad to hear you like her as much as she likes you. She's always showing me some new art way she learned from you or talking about a band she wants to hear that you told her about.”

Your smile grows as you hear how much you matter to Ellie, especially spoken out of Joel’s lips. “I didn’t know I meant that much to her. She’s a special kid.”

“She is.”

You both nod and smile at each other, the moment turning more awkward as you both maintain eye contact. It feels like he’s looking at you under a microscope, as you softly clear your throat.

“Well, I should get going, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I really appreciate everything,” you cut the tension as you start to stand from the couch.

“S’no problem at all.” Joel quickly gets up and places a hand on your back to help you steady yourself while you move towards the door.

He opens it and helps you down his walkway, still keeping a hand on your back. You glance over at his abandoned tools strewn across the lawn. “I hope I didn’t keep you from finishing your fence.”

“I’ll manage. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks Joel, you too.”

You try to walk as confidently as you can towards your home as you feel his eyes follow you. You’ve never been so thankful to see your little cottage, escaping behind the protection of your front door.

That night you paint another photo of an elk, this time with golden toned fur and deep brown eyes.

Saturday mornings are always busy for you, never allowing you the luxury to eat pancakes at the mess hall like everyone else on the weekends. Usually you're always turning to the left while everyone takes a right heading to breakfast as you're rushing towards the schoolhouse to start setting out books for the library. This Saturday you’re moving slower thanks to your injured knees and the large box of books that patrol have brought you from their runs.

“Mornin’," Joel says as he quickly heads towards you from the mess hall exit. “Lemme take those for you.”

“Oh, Joel, hi,” you pause in your tracks as he stops in front of you and grabs the box out of your hands. “You really don’t have to take—"

“None ‘a that,” he shushes as he effortlessly lifts the books higher. "Where are we going with these?"

"Oh, just over to the school house for the library."

Joel nods as you both head towards the school, Joel slowing his gait to walk alongside you.

“How are the knees doing?”

“A lot better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear.”

You fish the key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and let Joel follow you down the hallway to your classroom.

“Just right in here. You can put the box on my desk,” you say as you turn on the lights on.

He walks in and places the box on your desk. You notice the way his eyes roam around the bright mural on the wall you’re currently standing in front of. “Wow,” he says moving his eyes to yours. “I haven’t seen something like this in a long time.”

You smile at him then turn and face the mural. “Goodness, thank you. I just finished it a couple of weeks ago. I really wanted to make sure the kids had something fun and colorful to focus on while in my class. It was hard working in this plain room.”

Joel slowly walks over and places his hand on the cold cinder block wall. “Bluebells. Texas’ flower,” he faintly whispers.

You watch him as his large finger traces the outline of your painted indigo petals. You feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to see such gentle tenderness coming out of such hard and strong hands. You remember how delicately he touched you as he bandaged your knees. You realize that there once was softness surrounding all of Joel, the permanent grimace and rough reputation for him brought on by the harshness of the world he now lives in.

He feels your eyes on him and turns to you. “Where you from?” he asks, curiously gazing into your eyes.

“Colorado… I was in the Denver QZ.”

“No, where were you from before everything?”

“Sorry, still Colorado, just more in the mountains,” you say focused on the columbine next to the bluebell. “Florissant to be exact. It’s a little town famous for dinosaurs. My students love to hear all about dinosaurs. I was very lucky to be where I was when everything… happened.” You grab your daisy chain and hold it between your fingers as you look over to meet his eyes focusing on you.

“S’a nice state. Went skiing there once as a teen, had plans to go again before… everything.” Joel turns to focus in on the bluebells again.

“Big of a Texan to compliment Colorado,” you joke as you grab your library supplies from your desk.

He smiles a genuine smile, forehead wrinkling as he chuckles and shakes his head. “Good one. Did y’know you forgot your CD at my house?”

“Sorry about that. I figured Ellie just decided to keep it for herself. I don't mind, not like I have anything to play it on right now”

"I ended up listening to it. S’different music than I listen to but it's good. Had your name written all over it in Sharpie, forgot all about mixed CD’s.”

“I know I’m really fortunate to still have my CD’s, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost them,” you say as you begin to place down your hand painted placards on different desks.

“Can I help you?” Joel asks as he watches you work.

“If you’d like, just pick up a pile of books and put them on their respective tables. Children’s, Mystery, Romance, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Miscellaneous.”

“You do this by yourself?”

“Usually, I sometimes have help but I think everyone here works so hard during the week they like their slow Saturdays, I can’t ask them to give up sleeping in.”

“Hm. Sleeping in. Must be nice. Can’t do such a thing. Ellie would sleep all day if I allowed her.”

“You’re right,” you say grabbing more books. “Must be nice. I’m wide awake at 5 almost every morning.”

A soft chuckle from Joel's mouth makes you hide a smile, you like when you make him laugh.

“I take it with a title like ‘Burning Tenderness’ it goes in romance?” Joel jokes. You like it.

“Well, I’d fire you on the spot if you placed it in non-fiction.”

The two of you expeditiously work around each other setting up the library finishing a half hour before its opening.

“I’ve never gotten done this early before. This is the third time you’ve helped me this week,” you say as you sit on the edge of your desk giving your aching knees a break. “I feel like I owe you something. Is there a way I could repay you for your generosity?”

“Those bluebells you painted,” he pauses and breathes out, “do you think you could paint some ‘a those for me on a wall in my house?” This is a new look for him, shyness, as he focuses back in on the mural behind you.

“Oh wow. I’d love to. I can start it anytime. Just let me know when you’d like me to come over.”

“D’you want to come over Monday after you’re done at the school? I told Ellie I’d spend the day with her tomorrow.”

“That sounds good,” you reply not believing your luck that Joel Miller is inviting you over to his house.

The two of you are stuck again in a silent agreement. Both of you not knowing what to say, yet also okay in the shared quiet.

“Should probably head out and start my day. Taking this as payment for my work today,” Joel says holding up a book.

“‘As I Lay Dying?’ Didn’t pin you as a Faulkner fan,” you say as you open your logbook to note the title down.

“Liked the horse on the cover.”

“It’s a good book. Enjoy it Joel.”

“See you Monday. Good luck today.”

“Yes, Monday,” you respond as you try not to smile too hard. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“'Course,” he says as he stands in the doorway, his large form taking up most of it.

Back home after a busy day you sit in your favorite chair and your cats on your lap and sketch bluebells until you fall asleep pencil in hand.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week. Obviously I’ve edited the timeline a bit. In my head, Joel and Ellie never went to Colorado. I know, I know, but like I said, I’m being selfish and want Joel to have his happy ending. If you’re looking for angst and/or conflict, this is not the fic for you. This is the story of Joel Miller’s ideal life after the past 20 years tortured him. Also, for all you smut nuts (!!!) chapter 5 or 6 will be explicit. I want them to take their time because once they sleep together, all bets are off.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #elks #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic

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burntheedges · 1 month

Text

March Fic Madness - Fic Recs 💕 pt 1

I'm following @the-blind-assassin-12 Alyssa's lead and doing March Fic Madness! Here's Alyssa's masterlist. The goal is 63 reblogs/reads in 31 days and I think I've lost track of where I'm at (I have a lot of tabs open), so I wanted to share and rec everything I've read so far in one place.

I decided to sort it by P boy but I'm counting chapters/posts as separate reads. I'm also not counting fic I've read in other fandoms this month.

I recommend every fic in this post but please heed the tags/warnings!

Current total count: 83 reads Date updated: 3/30

recs continue in part 2

...

Joel Miller

Centrifugation (ch 1-6) by @theclairvoyage, x f!reader As long as you want by @auteurdelabre, x f!reader Sequins by @trulybetty, x f!reader (reread) DECLINED (pts 1, 2, 3, 4) by @alltheirdamn, x f!reader TikTok Trend by @justagalwhowrites, x f!reader Stranger in a Bar (pt 1) by @justagalwhowrites, x f!reader Mr. Right Next Door by @jobean12-blog, x reader Buttons and Voicemail by @fuckyeahdindjarin, x f!reader Date Night by @ghotifishreads, x reader Snowbound by @joeloverture, x f!reader Wet Nights by @shellshocklove, x f!reader Take Care of You (ch 10) by @theidiotwhowritesthings, x f!reader Amateur by @ezrasbirdie, x f!reader Gimme what I want (series) by @atticrissfinch, x f!reader (reread) new perspective by @thetriumphantpanda, x f!reader The girl in IT (ch 8, 9) by @chiriwritesstuff, x f!reader Third Date by miera (ao3), x f!reader Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (ch 1-3) by @syd-djarin, @katiexpunk, x f!reader Seasons of You (yr 1, spring) by @kedsandtubesocks, x f!reader Asking for Trouble by @jobean12-blog, x f!reader

Javier Peña

Scathed (ch 7, 8) by @dancingtotuyo, x OFC Call me Javi by @wildemaven, x reader Reconnaissance by @ghostofaboy, x OMCs Sweet Summer by @bluestar22x, x f!reader

Frankie Morales

sweet treat by @mrsmando, x f!plus-size!reader Do Me Yourself (ch 4, 5, 6, 7) by @undercoverpena, x f!reader Adrift With You (ch 9, 10, 11) by @morallyinept, x OFC Bonfire Night drabble by @softanon, x reader the book of love by @undercoverpena, x f!reader (reread) The Sweepstakes: Frankie Epilogue by @katareyoudrilling, x f!reader Nice and Easy by miera (ao3), x f!reader You're My World by girlwithaplan (ao3), x f!reader Right on Cue by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, x f!reader what comes after by @mrsmando, x f!reader

Marcus Pike

Confetti by @secretelephanttattoo, x f!reader Hummingbird Has Landed by @wardenparker, @absurdthirst, x f!reader

Dave York

The Sweepstakes: Dave York & Epilogue by @katareyoudrilling, x f!reader (reread) Love at First... Sight by @goodwithcheese, x f!reader I can see the end as it begins (pt 2) by @janaispunk, @joelscurls, x f!reader no one has to know what we do (pt 2) by @janaispunk, @joelscurls Out of Sight by @goodwithcheese, x f!reader

Dieter Bravo

stay gold, baby boy by @chronically-ghosted, x f!reader (reread) Go Play Your Video Games by @kedsandtubesocks, x f!reader dieter x poppy one shot by @wildemaven, x OFC Cruel Summer by @fhatbhabie, x plus-size!reader

Din Djarin

Dark by @frannyzooey, x f!reader Be-All and Endor by @djarins-cyare, x f!reader (reread) Enchanted to Meet You by @beskarandblasters, x f!reader

Marcus Moreno

Second Chances series by @bluestar22x, x OFC

Jack Daniels

Vulture Culture (ch 1) by @beelzebeth87, x OFC

#marchficmadness24 #fic rec #joel miller x reader #javier peña x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #dieter bravo x reader #din djarin x reader #x reader #ppcu

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kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Whiskey Sour

chapter six: dark 'n' stormy

Reuniting with your estranged father while you finish college in Austin has unintended consequences. His best friend, for one.

series masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: dbf!joel being extremely criminally attractive, big ol' age gap (40s/early 20s), unprotected piv (do not follow the leader), creampie, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), dry humping, spitting, biting, joel miller is a MUNCH, very appropriate use of a showerhead, consensual somnophilia, yoga, heavy emphasis on payphones, daddy issues, family reunions, angst, dead mom, grief and mourning, father/daughter relationship, bartending, reader is a woman in STEM (author is not), being a student in university deserves a warning probably, attempted drugging (roofies), college boys suck, possessive sex, possessive joel, protective joel, obligatory warning for joel's salt-and-pepper hair, masturbation, wet dreams, no outbreak AU, hurt/comfort, healing, no sarah or ellie, stargazing, face-sitting, pining/yearning, happy ending

word count: ~ 9.1k

a/n: please know that i hate writing angst and that you will always - always! - get a happy ending from me. never forget that an epilogue is to follow :') pls forgive me you know i love you xx

chapter 6: dark 'n' stormy

Learning.

The music pounds your ribs like chisels and your vision lags a little. You're only on your second drink, but you don't make a habit of imbibing—which is why you feel like your body is floating above everybody else, watching the night take hold.

The club is dark and humid with the crowd of bodies, and the air smells sickly sweet: something that clings to your collarbones and the back of your neck. The Tequila Sunrise in your hand is slick with condensation. Next to you, Sonya and Leigh alternate between grinding on one another and pulling you into a dance with the pair of them. As much as you're unqualified as a club dancer and the alcohol is making you spin, it’s fun. You’re having fun.

You take a shot of vodka at the bar with Steve, Sonya, and Liam, then a shot of Jager with Steve and Leigh. Your steps are wobbly by the time you need to use the bathroom for the first time, dragging Sonya inside with you. It's hot. It’s way too hot. You need another drink.

You burst into a fit of giggles when the door hits your ass as it swings shut. You're laughing so hard that tears stream down your face and you have to grab Sonya to steady yourself. “My dress is so tight!” you shout at her over the blaring music.

Sonya whoops, twirling you like you're both doing a ballroom dance. “But you look sooo sexy!”

You bring her into a hug. “You need to stop being so nice to me. I’ll cry!”

“You’re already crying!”

“I know,” you sniffle. “I just… I love you.”

“Are you kidding? I love you,” Sonya cries, swaying with you in the hug.

“Didn't we come in here to pee?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.”

You both get in line behind two other girls and compliment the girl in front of you on her silver sequinned dress. She beams at you, rosy-faced and unfocused, and brings you into a hug, too. “Oh, my God, you're so nice.”

You really love being hugged.

You and Sonya touch up your faces in the mirror when you're finished and make sure you don't look like you've been crying, heading back out into the club.

At the bar, you and Steve sit next to each other while waiting for your next round of shots. In contrast to you, he seems pretty alert, still sporting that boyish smile. His hair is only a little tousled. He's a handsome young guy.

He just can't compare to the handsome man who's waiting for you at the end of the night. Joel is so…

You can't tell Steve about Joel. You can't tell anyone about Joel. But you want to hop up onto the bar and proclaim to the world that you've got a strong, gentle, good man to go home to. That he's what you've wanted your whole life. That he's it for you.

“To passing chemistry,” you announce instead, “with flying colours!”

“Grounded colours,” amends Steve. “Cheers!”

You clink your shot glasses together, slam them down on the bar, then toss them back. There's perhaps a bit too much alcohol in your system now, but it feels good. It's good to let go.

“Where's your boyfriend?” asks Steve, shouting a bit so you can hear him over the music. “I would think he'd like to see you in a dress like this.”

You are wearing the blue dress you told Joel about: it's the colour of summer sky, short and tight, complete with a pair of strappy silver heels. “Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

Safe answer, you think, rewarding yourself with a mental pat on the back. Indirect. Steve scoffs. “Please. You're never home.”

“And how do you know that?” you ask challengingly. How does he know? “I thought I was”—you hiccup—“being discreet.”

“A girl like you's gotta have a boyfriend,” says Steve.

A girl like you? What does that mean? Didn't you just ask him how he knew how often you were home? “You're being confusing. And I’m supposed to be relaxing.”

Steve slides a Cosmo under your nose. “For putting up with me the whole term.”

You lift your brows at him. “You bought me a drink?”

“I bought you a drink.” His eyes glimmer with amusement. “Looks like you're not in dire straits, though.”

“No, no, my dad likes that band. I’m a Britney girl myself.”

As you lift the drink to your lips, there's a hand on your arm, steering you toward the dance floor. You nearly drop your Cosmo in the person’s haste, and you nearly topple over with dizziness when you whip your head around to see who's holding onto you.

“Liam?” You peer through the darkness at him. His lips are pressed into a grim line, and he looks a lot more sober than you. “What are you—”

“Don’t drink that,” he says, indicating the Cosmo in your hand. “He put something in it.”

What?

You blink hard and fast like it's going to clear your blurring vision. Liam’s still in front of you, not a hallucination, scraping a hand through his hair, his eyes a little frantic. He looks truly distressed.

“Who, Steve?” You eye the drink. Steve wouldn’t… He’s—he’s nice. He’s never tried anything. He wouldn't drug you. “Are you—”

“Yes.” And he seems so earnest that it frightens you. Your stomach drops into your heels. “Please,” he says. “Don’t drink it.”

The Cosmo slips from your hand and crashes onto the dance floor.

Glass shatters around people’s feet. A few club-goers shuffle away from the mess but largely continue to dance, while your vision rapidly sharpens. A cold sweat washes over you.

This isn't happening.

“Liam,” you gasp, grabbing onto his arm, “I need to get out of here.”

It's too hot. You're dizzy. Gasping for lungfuls of air, you feel the air in the room push down on your shoulders. Liam keeps his distance as he steadies you on the way to the door, but you can't feel his hands on your arms. You can't feel a thing.

“Hey!” It’s Steve, behind you, shouting your name. “Why are you leaving?”

You can’t turn. If you look at him, you'll break. You’ll cleave in two.

“You”—Liam pokes Steve square in his chest—“stay the fuck away.”

Steve slaps Liam’s hand away and gives him a hard shove. “Hey, listen, I don’t know what your fuckin’ problem is, but we were having fun.”

“Fun?” Liam shouts. “Does the fun come before or after whatever you were about to do with her?”

“Fuck you, man!”

“Is it true?” Your voice sounds like a separate entity. “Did you put something in my drink?”

Steve scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Please. You think I’d do that?”

“Did you?”

You try to sound strong, uncompromising. But you're drunk, wobbly, and miserable. And he was going to take advantage of you despite all of it.

“This is bullshit. Your little fuckin’ dog is setting you up.” Steve aims to shove Liam again, but the latter retaliates with a crack of his fist across Steve’s jaw.

“You’re fucking dead, Baker,” growls Steve.

“I wish you were fucking dead,” returns Liam. “Fucking rapist piece of shit.”

You can hear them both, but the sounds are muffled, like you're just below the water’s surface. You clutch your heart with your open hand and hear your father’s voice.

Can you imagine a nice, slow heartbeat?

You do. You try.

Just imagine you've got my heartbeat. Take it from me.

He's stronger than you. Everyone is stronger than you.

You're grateful. It's how you can steady your pulse slowly enough to throw yourself out of the club, onto the street, and stumble down the block until you can find a payphone. You’re already tugging at the straps of your heels before you climb into the booth and dig through your clutch for a coin.

Take it from me.

Imagine a nice, slow heartbeat.

Do not fall apart.

“Joel,” you say softly, your hand trembling around the receiver. “Joel, are you there?”

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice isn’t groggy or irritated; he likely hasn't slept at all.

Just hearing his voice forces a pathetic sob out of your mouth, covering it quickly with your hand. “I, um…” You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head on the glass wall of the payphone. Don't cry. Don’t fucking cry. “I’m sorry it's so late.”

“Hey, hey.” His soothing voice prickles the hairs on your arms. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“I…” You’re losing it: your ability to swallow your terror. It surges up your throat, racking tremors through your breath. “I’m at a club. It’s called The Rite Way. ‘Rite,’ like ‘of passage,’ not ‘right’ as in ‘right and wrong.’ It’s kind of stupid, but—”

“Sweetheart,” says Joel, patient in the midst of your rambling. “You gotta tell me what happened. Tell me what's wrong, okay? I’m right here. I’m listening.”

You can't bottle your cries in your throat anymore at his gentle coaxing. “Oh, God,” you sob into your palm. “Oh, God, Joel, he—he put something in my drink. I thought… I thought I could trust him, and he… Fuck, he was going to—”

His voice butts in, and it’s angry. “I’m comin’ to get you. Stay right there. Don’t move.”

You've never heard him use that tone. He speaks so gently to you. This is rage: it's potent as poison and you somehow know it was the right choice to call him, anyway.

“I won’t.”

In fact, when the line goes dead, you clutch the receiver to your chest and hoard the booth while you quietly sob, tucked into the corner as if someone’s trying to break in. The sound of a sputtering truck engine, ten minutes later, makes you lift your head. You forget that you’re supposed to hang up the receiver and drop it like it’s turned to ice in your clammy hands. He’s getting out, parked illegally on the street, slamming the door hard and scanning the street.

He finds you right away.

“Baby,” he whispers, watching you step gingerly out of the booth with your heels dangling from one hand. “Oh, Jesus, baby, c’mere.” He ushers you into his arms and you practically leap off the curb to wrap yourself up in him, squeezing out your tears onto his chest. Joel cradles the back of your head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“He…” You hiccup, reeling from the dizzying amalgamation of being rather tipsy and sobered by the knowledge that a friend had betrayed your trust. “He was…”

He dips his chin and kisses the top of your head. “Shh, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me yet, sweetheart. Let’s get you home, first, okay?”

He helps you up into the passenger’s side and buckles your seatbelt for you. He's trying to assess your body for injuries without making a big deal of it, purposefully avoiding the tear tracks on your cheeks. A muscle in his jaw feathers when he spots a thin trickle of crimson on your ankle.

You never even noticed the blood.

“I…” You swallow. “I dropped the glass. It’s nothing.”

“It ain't nothin’.” Joel grips the steering wheel so tight you hear creaking leather. He could go back. He could storm right inside that club and beat the shit out of the kid. He wants to. But you're crying. Jesus, you're so sad, and he wasn't there. He's never there.

You rest your head on his shoulder and wind your arm around his. “Just take me home, Joel. Please.”

He peels away from the curb and runs a couple yellow lights on the way.

You don't let go of his hand as you both walk toward the bathroom. Joel is so careful with how he handles you, letting you sit on a chair from the kitchen as he gets on one knee in front of you, your wounded ankle up on his thigh. He wipes the tear stains from your cheeks and tends to the blood next, the first-aid kit on the floor next to him.

“Your knees will hurt,” is the first thing you say. Your voice is raw and used. You’re still a little drunk, but he's perfectly clear. You can see every strand of hair on his head, every different shade of brown in his eyes.

“I’m all right,” he says softly, cleaning off the dried blood. The glass from your Cosmo only sliced you, and the cut is shallow, but he frowns down at it like it's down to the bone.

“Joel…”

“I wasn't there.” He says it through his teeth, his grip on your good leg tightening. “If I had been… I should be with you when you wanna go out and have fun. I should be dancin’ with you, and I should be the one who’s there when somethin’ goes wrong.”

“You couldn't have known,” you tell him, taking the washcloth from his hand. “I didn't… I didn't think he could… well, you know.”

Joel applies a bandage to your ankle and tucks himself a little closer to you, lifting up your chin with his thumb. “No, you couldn't have known. You handled everything so well, sweetheart.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you say with a mirthless laugh. “I just ran. Didn't even tell anyone. Left Liam there to deal with… with—”

Your breath shudders on the way in, and Joel clicks his tongue to get your attention. “I know, baby. And you did everything right. You called me. You got out.”

“I never used to run,” you tell him. “I used to deal with all my problems head-on. I probably could've punched his lights out. I could've done more. I just…” You shake your head, averting your gaze. “He was a friend.”

Joel’s trying to blink the red mist from his eyes. Some fucker took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you finally decided to let loose and trust someone. He ruined your night. He put that frown on your face. He was going to take you somewhere Joel couldn't find you, and violate your body. Your beautiful, sacred body. He would have done it without regret. And you would never remember a thing. You’re fucking drunk, and he was going to rape you.

Joel wants to kill him. No, he wants to lock him up in a fucking storage unit and torture him. He wants him to feel so much pain that skin becomes blood and blood turns to fire. He wants to do it all himself. No singular agony is sufficient.

He’s never felt such rage before. It's like twisting the apple from the tree. His organs are all twisted up, and only drawing blood from the bastard’s filthy fucking body will reorient them.

“I want you to look at me,” he rasps, shuffling forward so he's on his knees between your thighs. You watch him wearily as he caresses your cheek. “Good. Can I tell you somethin’?”

You nod.

“When I was your age,” he begins, “I wasn't in college. I held down a job at the farm. I was goin’ nowhere. One night, Tommy calls me, askin’ for me to come pick him up from jail. He was three sheets to the goddamn wind, and decided to pick a fight at the bar. I was so mad. I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but in the truck, he broke down. Told me the asshole started talkin’ shit about our mom, our dad, our whole family. It was a small town. Way before Austin.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to go back to the bar just to finish the fuckin’ thing, take out the guy for good. But I had to get my brother home. Nothin’ else mattered.

“You can't solve all the world’s problems, sweetheart,” says Joel. “Sometimes, you gotta run to what's comfortable. Let other people handle the shitty parts.” He swipes a rogue tear from your cheek. “Will you let me be what's comfortable for you?”

Your fingers curl around his wrists as you give him a soft, weak smile. “How many times has your brother been to jail?”

Joel huffs. “How many hands you got?”

You laugh. It's raw and unsteady, but it isn't pain. It isn't misery. “You’re already what’s comfortable, Joel Miller.”

Later that night, you're curled up on his bed with half of your body covering his, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you doze. Showered, dried, and dressed in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, you've taken to the warmth of his body to help you sleep. Joel doesn't mind. He plays absentmindedly with your hair, his other hand occupied with stroking your thigh, which you've hitched up onto his torso.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to the unanswering room. “I’m sorry I wasn't there, baby.”

You stir just enough that your nose brushes the heart-shaped patch on his beard, a soft sigh leaving your mouth. But you don't respond, your eyes still closed, your face still serene. Joel knows the morning will hit you harder than the night. He knows he has business to take care of.

And he knows that your body against him, seeking his comfort, is a heaven that Joel Miller could never hope to deserve.

You feel like shit, and everything hurts.

You're not new to hangovers, but it's been long enough that you forgot about the shakes. The nausea. The aches. You shield your eyes from the light in the hallway as you stumble into the bathroom and frantically splash water over your face. Gently smacking your cheeks a couple times to jolt yourself awake, you squint your way downstairs, looking for Joel.

You expect him to be gone. It’s close to ten, and he usually gets jobs on the weekends. But he's in the kitchen, fumbling his way through an omelette on the stove.

You slump into a chair at the table and throw your head into your arms. “My kingdom for an Advil,” you groan.

Joel abandons the stove for a moment to bend over you and press a kiss to the top of your head. Two little pills clatter onto the table next to you, along with a glass of orange juice. “You don't drink orange juice,” you croak, blinking up at him.

“You do,” he says simply. “Go on. I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”

“If I throw it back up,” you say, “it's nothing against you. I very much love that you cooked for me.”

“I know, baby.” He kisses you again. “Drink.”

You swallow the pills with a mouthful of orange juice and watch him while he cooks. His hair is gently tousled, he’s dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, and his back muscles ripple with the subtle movements of his arms as he works. He’s got a cup of coffee next to him on the counter. “I wish you could’ve been there, too,” you say suddenly, your voice still weary. “I wish we could have danced together.”

Joel’s heart squeezes. “I can’t dance,” he says.

“I can teach you how. We’ll go together someday.”

It’s the promise of something that can never happen that has Joel turning off the burner, flipping the omelette onto a plate, and approaching you with his hand outstretched. “All right, then,” he says, lifting a challenging brow, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

You make a sound of exasperation. “I didn’t mean now. I can barely see through the migraine.”

Joel reaches for the pair of aviators he left on the table and slips them gently onto your nose. “We’ll take it slow.”

You take his hand. “You keep your hand here,” you say, guiding it around to your lower back. You lace your fingers together on his other hand. “And if you feel fancy, you can twirl me.”

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling. “And if I wanna keep you right here?” he says, punctuating his words by spreading his hand over your back and pressing you closer to him.

“You lose points for style,” you tease, “but I like it, anyway.”

“Don’t think they dance like this in the club,” he chuckles.

“No, but this is better.” You rest your cheek on his chest. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Joel sways gently with you. “How’s it sound?”

You hum. “Strong.”

“You drive me crazy, that’s why.” His voice rumbles in his chest. It dulls the constant ache in your temples. “I like you too damn much.”

It crescendos. It swells in your ribcage, expanding your lungs, joy and serenity. So much affection that it sticks to your throat on its way out. “I really like you, too, Joel,” you whisper.

When he pulls away, his eyes are shiny with a thin sheen of water. With a slow, deliberate, near-trembling hand, he lifts the glasses to the top of your head and tilts up your chin. He nudges his nose against yours before he kisses you, aligning your palms and fingers together. His hand dwarfs yours, and it’s warm.

Your mouth is a little chapped and your head still pounds, but he feels so good. He guides you, as he always does, the hand on your back an anchor that brings you down through the earth to its very core. He holds you like you’re the precious centre of the world, of the very galaxy, a little orb of light that will shatter if dropped. Joel cannot, in fact, picture a world that does not have you in it. He doesn’t want to.

Neither of you register the sound of a key in the front door, nor the soft clicking of the lock as it closes. But you do hear the noise of a bag dropping to the floor, as if in shock.

It’s your father, standing in the doorway. “What the fuck?”

To his credit, Mike doesn’t walk right up to Joel and punch him in the jaw.

The two of you split apart like positive charges, smoothing down your hair as Joel rakes his fingers through his locks. Both of you are flushed and all three of you are, undoubtedly, mortified. Your father looks helplessly between you and Joel. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “What… I… When did—”

“Dad, please.” Your voice is so small, and you feel like a child again. “Please, just listen.”

“Listen? I—” He runs his hands over his face and then braces one in the doorway. He looks ashen. “I don’t… What the fuck?”

Neither you nor Joel say a word, and it seems to make him angrier. He storms right up to Joel and shoves him hard in the chest. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughter?” he demands. “Did you force yourself on her? Did you—”

“Hey!” You leap forward and pry him off Joel. “That is not fair.”

He rounds on you, his jaw clenched. You can see the vein in his neck protruding. “How long has this been going on?”

Joel’s slight movement toward you is minute, his hand twitching in your direction. “Mike, listen—”

“How. Long?” he says with a growl.

“Since the night my car broke down,” you say evenly. “You weren't home, so I went to Joel’s. We…” You swallow thickly and let him put together the rest.

Mike stumbles backward. “September?” His eyes slide murderously toward Joel. “My best friend has been fucking my daughter since September, and I didn't know about it?”

“Take it down, man,” warns Joel. “You're mad. I get it…”

“Mad. Mad is getting the wrong order of material for a job. Mad isn't this. This”—he points between you and Joel—“is the two people closest to me in the world going behind my back. This ain't mad, Joel.”

“We both made choices,” says Joel carefully, lifting his hands like he's trying to ward off an approaching bear. “Neither of us did this to hurt you, Mike. We just… just—”

“What? Like each other?” Mike scoffs. “There are a million other people in the world you could decide to like.”

He's right, of course. Both of you know it. You've even delighted a little in the illicit nature of it all, sneaking around so the pair of you could have a little peace in a pocket of the world that was all your own. “It's not just that,” you cut in. “Joel makes me happy, Dad.”

“Joel is old enough to be your father,” Mike shouts.

Joel winces. Nobody, not ever, should raise their voice at you. “Don’t—”

“But you're my father, aren't you?” Your voice is getting louder, your tone wobbling as you approach tears. You never used to cry this much . “And you were never there. You weren't then, and you certainly weren't when you could have noticed us and you never did. You have no right to a say in who I have feelings for. You didn't even care enough to be my dad until my mom was already dead.”

The air rings with the abrupt silence when you finally let it all go. Your father looks close to a stranger with the way he stares right through you, his face a cool mask, betraying any sympathy he may have beneath. You take it as a sign that this is over.

All of it is over.

You dare to glance Joel’s way, but he's looking at the floor. Not even trying to reach you as you breeze past both of them and shut the front door behind you.

And he lets you go.

Joel regrets it the second you leave. The dread and the terror sit heavy in his chest. His oesophagus burns. It stings behind his nose, and he’s never wanted to cry the way he does now.

I’m in your corner.

For as long as you want me there.

Yeah. He’s no more than a fucking coward.

He will never shed the image of your sad, hopeless expression as you realised Joel would not fight for you when you needed it. To fight for both of you.

“She's wearing your clothes,” says Mike. There's no emotion left in his voice. Just resignation.

“Yeah.”

Last night, he told you he would be your comfort. He’s told you time and time again that you deserve someone who will be there when you don't want to be there for yourself. That you don't have to make sacrifices. That you deserve happiness.

How can a man like him be your happiness when he can't even lift his head up and beg you to stay? One look at real trouble and he froze. He shut down.

Mike shakes his head, not meeting his eye. “You're sick, Joel. This is fucking sick.”

“You're outta line, Mike,” says Joel, feeling the fire in his throat surge up suddenly. “You’ve known her for, what, a couple months? Do you know what she likes? Do you know how much she's been struggling? Why she can't sleep? Jesus, do you care about anything besides fixing your own guilty goddamn conscience?”

Mike’s brows draw together. The rage burns again in his eyes. “Now you're out of line, Joel,” he says. “You don't know her any better.”

Will you let me be what's comfortable for you?

“Yeah?” Joel steps forward. “You know why I was with her last night? This morning? Do you even know?”

I really like you, too, Joel.

“Of course I don't know.” Mike tries to stay angry, but Joel can see it give way to concern. The fatherly concern he knows is there.

“Some guy she thought was a friend put a roofie in her drink. She nearly drank it.” Joel lifts his brows in challenge. “You know who she called?”

I don't know what happiness is.

He does know. Now, he's certain of it.

“I’m gonna find the kid,” says Mike, slamming his palm down hard on the dining table. “I’m gonna fucking kill the kid. Who the fuck does he think he is, hurting my goddamn daughter?”

Joel understands. The memory of your tear-stained, distraught face makes the rage swell up again, the thick and honeyed promise of pain interlocking into a tedious tapestry.

“You hurt her, too,” says Joel plainly. “And I hurt her. And the whole world has only ever hurt her. Take a look at everything’s she's gone through and reconsider if pushing her away for a choice she made will be worth it down the line.”

Mike sinks down onto the chair you occupied just an hour ago.

“I just…” He rubs his hands down his face. “I just can't help but think about all the other times. All the times she was hurt and I wasn't there.”

He knows the feeling.

“She's been hurt plenty,” says Joel. “And she's strong.”

“She shouldn't have to be,” Mike returns. “She's young, Joel. She's got a whole life ahead of her.” He looks up, helplessly, the anger gone altogether. “You had to have thought about it.”

“Yeah. I thought about it.” And yet, the guilt is an ember that bursts into nothing. It's a passing thing. It is engulfed by the want, the need, the admiration for everything that you are. “Way I see it: she had to grow up too damn fast. She's spent her whole life making decisions for other people. I was a decision she made herself.” Joel shrugs. “I ain't sayin’ it's right. But she deserves to decide what she wants, with her life.”

Mike is quiet for awhile. His elbows on his knees, he bounces his leg restlessly, and Joel knows he’s fighting the urge to run out the door and follow you. Beg for you to return. Beg for your forgiveness. Joel wants to do the exact same thing.

“You would've been good at it,” Mike says with a small, sobering laugh. “The whole dad thing. Better than me.”

“You’ve got time,” says Joel. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

When you get off the bus and walk up to your front door, Liam is waiting for you. His knuckles are scabbed over with blood. You can’t help but laugh, if a little hysterically.

“What the fuck,” you say through your tears, covering your mouth with your palm as you begin to sob. Liam surges forward and squeezes your arms.

“What the fuck,” he repeats, his mouth set in a sombre line even as he matches your mirthless laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” you sniffle. “I just left you there. Sonya and Leigh…”

“Understand. They very much understand.” Liam guides you inside, offering you a tissue from the living room table as you both sink onto the worn couch. “And hey, I was happy to punch him in the face.”

You try to smile, but it just doesn’t work. You’re still vaguely hungover, cold from the journey home, and your whole body feels heavy. Cinder blocks strapped to your ankles. Mouth permanently tucked downward at the corners. Eyes tired and sick of shedding tears.

“What happened to him?” you dare to ask.

“Another guy at the bar saw him roofie your drink,” Liam explains. “He corroborated, and the bouncers chucked him out. Leigh called his parents, to make things worse. Sorry, better.”

You take a couple shallow breaths as the panic threatens to creep back up. “I have Chemistry on Monday.”

“Yeah,” says Liam. “So do I. So does Sonya and Leigh.” You frown at him, and he shrugs. “We have a free block. And if he has the balls to show up, we’d like to be there, too. Something tells me he won’t, just for the big-ass black eye I gave him.”

That just makes you cry a lot fucking harder. You drop your forehead onto Liam’s shoulder, your chest burning with the confusing pain of your misery and your affection for your friends. “I’m sorry I ever thought you were a creep,” you tell him.

“You thought I was a creep?” Liam says. “I didn’t think I made it obvious that I liked you.”

Your laugh is a bit more genuine this time around, but the tears are still flowing. “Liam, you followed me around the house like a puppy. You asked where I was going every day just to make conversation, even though you knew my schedule.”

Liam whistles lowly. “Jesus. That’s so fucking embarrassing,” he grumbles. “I hope Sam didn’t think I was a creep.”

��Sam?”

“My girlfriend.”

You jolt upright. “You have a girlfriend? How come you never told us?”

“It’s only been a month,” says Liam sheepishly, “and I sort of thought you hated me. You’ve pretty much been avoiding this house the last few months.”

You look down at your hands in your lap. “Yeah. I had someone, too. It was never you.”

“That someone got you somewhere safe last night?”

You’re touched by his concern as much as the memory of waking up in Joel Miller’s bed makes you ache. “Yeah. He did.”

“Good.” Liam stands up, offering his hand to you. “You look like shit. Let’s go get breakfast.”

You think of the omelette Joel cooked for you, how it’s lying cold and uneaten, probably in the garbage can. He’d never eat it himself. It was all for you.

Why couldn’t you stay? Why did you have to run away?

You take Liam’s hand after you wipe your tears away for the last time today. He doesn’t once ask about Joel. You have to thank him for that.

Steve does not show up on Monday, nor Thursday. He’s ceased all attempts at contact, it seems, and squirrelled away to lick his wounds. Probably try again with another poor girl. You can only hope she’ll have the attentive friends that you do.

You go to class. You go to work. You study. You sleep, sometimes. Most times, you’re trying to swallow your food even though it tastes like nothing. Liam announces one morning that Sam will be moving in by the end of the year. She’s an absolute sweetheart and Liam is smitten.

Something is missing in your life. The shape of his body lingers in your periphery. The colour of his eyes and hair are in the trees and the sky and the earth.

Two weeks pass and you don't see, hear from, or speak a word about Joel Miller.

You passed all your final exams with all the extra time you could pour into studying, no longer spending the night in his bed. Your landlord had guys set up a shiny new landline throughout the house, and your phone number changed with it. So, if he’s tried to reach out, you wouldn’t know about it. He doesn’t show up at your home. You don’t drive near his neighbourhood or try to find him in the bar when you work late nights. And you still see his face everywhere.

That, you can never change.

The Longhorns have miraculously turned the season around, and they’re looking strong for the national championship. They need two more victories to secure their place, so Sandy’s Bar is packed full tonight. It’s halfway through the second period, and they’re leading 21–0. Rob has hired another girl your age, Julie, to help out, and you took a quick liking to one another. The bartop was replaced last week with a sleek new cherry wood. The lighting is warmer inside. The season is changing, and it’s noticeably colder.

Rob notices—the way it takes more effort to smile nowadays, the way you stare off into space, the way you get dizzy sometimes because you’ve forgotten to eat—and he doubles down on his efforts to lift your spirits. He cracks more jokes, he gives you a two per cent raise for all the extra shifts you’ve taken on just to distract yourself, and he entertains you with stories on your breaks about his daughter’s hyperactive antics.

Tonight, Rob’s working the tables, and Julie’s helping you behind the bar. She’s good at her job. And you can throw yourself into it, polishing glasses until they look transparent and perfecting each pour. It helps not to think.

“Whiskey sour, please.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice.

While your mother was sick, you never cried in front of her. You simply were there for her, holding her hand at her bedside and sharing anecdotes and being a daughter. You were good at it. You’ve lost that. You’ve somehow, at some point, shed your talent for confronting the world with a stern look and a strong arm.

This isn’t fair.

You were trying to get better.

“What are you doing here?” It’s so embarrassing how terrible you sound: like wading through gravel.

“I came to beg,” says Joel.

You pour another pint for Joe, who’s got his eyes glued to the television screen down the bar. “That isn't funny, Joel,” you whisper, avoiding his eye.

Don’t let him see how much you’re hurting.

“I’m not jokin’.”

“You never order a whiskey sour.” Please just go. You’re only making it worse. “You don’t like sweet things.”

His eyes burn through your very soul the way they always have. They’re dark and warm and they make you feel like you’re the only person he’s ever truly looked at. “I’m tryin’ to change, I guess,” he says with a brief flash of a smile. “I tried to call, but I think I left a hundred messages on a dead line.”

Your throat is clogged. The corners of your eyes burn. “I’ll get that drink started for you.”

You turn your back to him once more, but he isn’t going to let you. Not this time.

“I should've fought,” he says to your retreating form. It makes you freeze all over again. “I should have clawed tooth and fuckin’ nail to get him to understand. But I didn’t. I let you go.” You turn to look at him, finally, and the look he’s giving you—an on-his-knees pleading look—makes your knees weak. “I said I’d be in your corner for as long as you wanted me there. I lied. I’m yours no matter whether you want me here or not. You’re it for me, baby.”

You swallow hard. It burns all the way down. You recall slow-dancing in his kitchen, kissing him in the bed of his truck, his hands in your hair as he attempted a braid that never worked out. Touching you, comforting you, defending you. Appreciating you. Telling you it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Telling you that you deserve to be fought for—that you don’t always have to be the one who fights.

“You're his best friend,” you say plainly, pouring the simple syrup into the shaker. “I told you once that I never wanted to jeopardise your friendship, and I meant that. I still do.” You add the bourbon, your vision sharpening to the task at hand. Mind sharpening to the cold truth. The right path. “So you should go.”

Don’t choose me.

Joel shakes his head, leaning in to get closer to you. You’re certain that some people are watching the intimate exchange, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. He’s only looking at you. “You’re the smartest, strongest fuckin’ woman I’ve ever seen. I have never known someone with so much life in her.” Every word is strong and rounded and so firm you almost start to believe it yourself. “Bein’ with you was like finally breathing, baby. I was stupid to ever think I could give you up.”

“Don’t.” It comes out as a croak. Your hands are shaking as you pour in the lemon juice. “I’m working. I can’t have this conversation with you.”

“Look at me. Please.” You blink hard to clear your vision and muster the courage to meet his dark eyes. “I need you. And I don’t give a fuck who sees or knows or looks at me the wrong way. I just need you. I need you here, with me, safe. Fuck, I want you happy.”

He can’t stand seeing you like this. You’re visibly weary, dark circles under your eyes, your cheeks a little sallow and your colour less bright. He wonders if you’ve slept as little as he has. If you’ve laid awake and stared at the ceiling, thinking about him, the way he has you. If you’ve noticed all the times he’s driven past your home just to see if he can catch a glimpse of a light turned on in your bedroom. If you’ve wondered if he’s been calling, trying to reach you. He has.

I’d hate to ever see you unhappy, Joel Miller.

“You once asked me if I was happy,” he says. “And I told you I didn’t know what happiness was. But it’s you. It’s being near you. It’s talkin’ to you on the phone, drivin’ out to the middle of nowhere with you, cookin’ with you even though I’m so fucking bad at it. You’re my happiness, baby. Only a fuckin’ coward like me would throw that all away—make you feel like you weren't worth it.

“Let me be with you. Let me make things right,” Joel pleads.

“He will never look at you the same,” you state, plain as day.

He needs you to understand. “He’ll never look at me the same no matter what. You've spent your entire life sacrificing the things you want for other people.” Joel watches your eyes flicker between his, choosing which one to look at. You’re so beautiful that it strikes him, hard and true as a lance. “Remember that day in the kitchen, when I told you about selfishness? It’s okay to want. It’s okay to put yourself first.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. You need him to understand. “When I called him the very first time, I was so scared. I was scared he would reject me, decide he didn't want a relationship after all. But he did, and that was even scarier. Because I thought of my mom, and the way she died without getting to say a proper good-bye. I can’t… lose him like that, Joel.”

“If your dad would rather see you like this than see you happy, he ain't your dad.” You’re so close, and he could touch you the way he wouldn’t even hesitate to mere weeks ago. But he doesn’t. “I’ll wait forever if that's what it takes, baby. But I want you to know, I—”

“Stop.” You shake the drink together to mix it until the outside is tearing up with condensation. “Just… stop. I’ll speak to him. But I—”

“—can’t just pick it back up again.” He watches you pour the mixture into a rocks glass to the perfect level. “I know that. Didn't I tell you I’d wait forever?”

And when he gets his first smile from you in weeks, it feels like loosening the shackles around his ankles and soaring up to the heaven he doesn’t deserve. “Here’s your drink,” you say softly, sliding it in front of him. No orange wheel. No sickly-sweet cherry. You know him, inside and out. “Have a good night, Joel.”

He indulges in the feel of your soft fingers brushing his knuckles when he takes the drink. Flashes of skin and lips and the honey-warm look in your eye when he used to make you happy. He’s going to earn that again. You turn your back and tend to another patron. The Longhorns make the field goal.

He knocks on your door first.

“I never should've let you leave,” he blurts out before you can open the door all the way. You can see his car parked on the street, but he still looks like he’s run all the way here, flushed and bounding with energy.

You blink. “I…”

“You’re my daughter. You're my family. I know I don't have the right to that title, not with the way I treated you, but I want to earn it. I want to do better.” He puts his hand to his heart, and you remember the first time he talked you down from an attack. “That starts with understanding. Knowing why it's you and him.”

When you let him inside and guide him toward the dining table in the kitchen, Sonya and Leigh, dozing together on the living room couch, jolt upright and scurry upstairs with a quick wave to your father. You’re grateful for the newfound quiet when you sit across from him. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” You can see that he’s nervous, lacing his fingers together then unlocking them and repeating the actions all over again. “I… I should have come earlier. I called, but—”

“New number,” you explain.

“Oh.” He studies you from across the table, lingering on your hair, your eyes. You remember having to explain the precise colour to him over the phone. “We took a break from doing jobs together, for a bit. Me and Joel. He’d take Tommy, or I’d take Tommy. I think the guy felt a little used.”

You laugh, even though he eyes you carefully when he says Joel’s name. “I’m sure Tommy’s flattered.”

“We’re okay,” he says tentatively. “We are.”

You break eye contact first, tracing a groove in the table. “I was afraid of ruining that.”

“I know. You’re a selfless person.”

“If I were really selfless, I never would have been with him in the first place.”

“Then, you’d be miserable.” Your head shoots up to meet his gaze, and he pins you with a pointed state. “Am I wrong?”

Slowly, you shake your head.

“I don't promise to get it, honey,” he says. “But if I let you leave my life now, after all the time I've spent outside yours, I can't call myself a father. Will you let me try again?”

“You must know he came to see me.”

“I know,” he confirms. “That isn’t why I’m here. I’m here because my girl has been drowning in her own grief, just like when her mom died, and I wasn’t there to pull her out. I’m not doing that this time. I want to be someone you can go to.” He grimaces slightly. “I don’t want to be M.I.A. when your car breaks down because I’m out on a date.”

You lift your brows. “You were?”

“Her name’s Melissa.” He looks up at you and you can swear there’s a grin brewing behind those eyes. “She’s… a few years older.”

Your mouth drops open, the irony striking you like a slap across the face. “You hypocrite!”

He’s blushing so hard you can see it in the tips of his ears. “It’s my job to get angry when I find out my daughter’s dating!”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Fondly. “I’ve been making decisions for myself for a long time. I’ve been on my own a long time, too. And for the record, I’m happy for you. I’m sure Melissa is lovely.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “When you had the… incident at the bar, I didn’t even know it happened until Joel told me. I guess it hurt more than anything that you didn’t call me when it happened. You went to him. It just—it reminded me that I’m practically a stranger in your life.”

Guilt twists your stomach. You hadn’t even considered how it would feel for him to hear the news from a separate party altogether. “I’m so sorry,” you tell him, reaching for his hand. “You are not a stranger to me. It wasn’t fair of me to reach out to you and then never give you a chance to be let in on my life. I said things I’m not proud of that day, and I’m sorry.”

“What you said that day was right,” he says. “I never noticed. A dad should notice things.”

“We both fucked up,” you offer, “a lot.”

He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. “I wanna be better, honey. I want to be able to look at the two of you and see what’s good about it, not what’s wrong.”

You sit up straighter. “There isn’t… We aren’t the two of us anymore. I—”

“You are not going to throw away what makes you happy because some people can’t understand it.” He squeezes your hands tighter. “You have lived your life alone for so long. I will not be the one who keeps you from being happy. You don’t think I see how terrible you look right now?”

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” you say with a wry smile. “Do I really look like shit?”

“With all my love, honey,” he says, “yes, you do.”

You laugh with him, and the knot around your stomach loosens. “So,” you prompt, “can I meet the cougar you’re dating anytime soon?”

He gently ruffles your hair, and it feels like a bridge has been mended. “Smartass.”

It’s two days from Christmas when Joel sees the note.

He and Mike are about to head out to Sandy’s before it shuts down for the holidays, but the rainstorm is bound to deter other patrons from doing the same. Truthfully, he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Since you’ve picked up more shifts at the bar, it’s unpredictable when you’ll be there, and even the briefest of glances will thrill him, satiate him. His blood yearns for you. His bones ache for your touch. Every day he’s apart from you feels like cracking down a chisel onto his chest. He’s going to split open soon.

The small, pink Post-It note is stuck to the countertop. Joel sets down his keys next to the note—he’s agreed to drive tonight—and spots your handwriting.

Dad—

Boxes all packed up. Rental truck will be here to pick up at seven. Thanks for dinner.

Joel crumples the note in his hand. You were here, not long ago, where he was standing. No. No, no, no.

You're leaving?

He doesn't wait around for Mike to finish showering. He sprints out to his truck in the pouring rain and peels away from the curb, eyeing the clock on his dash. 6:54.

He’ll make it. He has to.

Your neighbourhood is a ten-minute drive at most, but Joel makes it at precisely seven o’clock. There isn’t a rental truck in the driveway; it either hasn’t come yet, or you’ve left with it.

Joel nearly forgets to take the keys out of the ignition in his haste. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it over the rain in his ears; it’s a cold and brutal wind that sends the rain hurtling down diagonally from the clouds. He races up to your front door and pounds on it.

You open the door, dressed so prettily in a pair of yoga pants and a cozy blue sweater, and you’re fucking beautiful. You’re the most radiant thing he’s ever seen. His heart surges forward, calling to you. There’s a permanent scar carved into it, and it’s in the shape of your name.

“Joel?” You frown at him, stepping onto the porch and peering up at the sky. The rain is lashing him in the face, making him blink hard to clear it from his vision and keep on looking at you. His hair is wet as a dog’s after a bath, and it drips from his drenched clothes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Don’t go,” he begs, shuddering hard from the cold, relentless rain. “Don’t leave, baby. Please.”

You hug yourself, taking another step down, still shielded from the rain. “Joel, I…”

He can’t stop talking. He won’t shut up—not if it means he can still get you to say yes. “If you go, I go. I don’t like travellin’, and I’ll probably get sick in one of those brown paper bags, but I’ll be okay once we land.”

“Joel—”

“I told you I’d wait for you forever, and I meant it. But if you get on a goddamn airplane, I am, too. You're not the kind of woman a man just lets go.”

You walk down so you’re only one step above him, shivering as the rain hits you.

“Joel, shut the fuck up,” you cut in. “I’m not leaving. I’m just moving.”

He blinks up at you. “What?”

“To my own apartment,” you explain. “Liam’s girlfriend’s lease is almost up, and the landlord is her uncle, so I’m taking her place on a discount while she moves into my old room.”

“You’re…” The joy and relief pierce him at the core, and his voice breaks when he says, “You’re staying?”

You’re looking at him softly, your sweet eyes giving him that look you used to. “Of course I’m staying. I still have school, and work.” The rain plasters your hair to your face, soaks through your sweater, and he wants to curl you up in a thousand blankets, lie with you beneath the cover of warmth, never let you go.

You look down at the ground for a moment, and when your eyes meet his again, he dares not hope at the glimmer of happiness in your eyes. “I’ll need help unpacking all my shit again.”

“Baby…” He chokes on the word. He’s suffocating on the knowledge that you still want him around. You’re staying. You’re here.

“You came all the way here because you thought I was leaving the state?”

“Yeah,” he says lamely.

“And you still want to be with me?”

He nods, frantic, ready to sink to his goddamn knees if you ask. “I’m never gonna want anything more in my life.”

You step down so you have to look up at him, raindrops clinging to your lashes. You’re a picture. He hasn’t been this close to you in so long. He can smell your heady perfume through the earthy scent of rain. He could—

“Then can you just kiss me now?” you say, like a sigh of exasperation, closing the distance between you and clutching the hem of his shirt in your hand.

It is heaven to obey. He knows this time, clear and ringing true in his ears, that the world isn’t all bad.

Joel cups your face in his hands and slants his mouth over yours.

Kissing you is like muting the sounds of the world and watching the colours hum with vibrancy. He keeps his eyes open for a moment because he can’t quite fool himself into believing this is real. But he sees your face, your eyes fluttering shut, and he feels your soft mouth, slick with rainwater, tasting of salt and your strawberry lip balm, and he lets his eyes close.

#kiwisbell's fics #whiskey sour #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction

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qveerthe0ry · 5 months

Text

With Peace on Earth

Summary: A brief tale of your first Christmas Eve in Jackson Word Count: 2,166 Pairing: Joel Miller x GN! Reader Rating: 18 + Explicit (but not super descriptive smut) Warnings: 18+ mdni, established relationship, fluff, post-outbreak/Jackson, oral (m and gn receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, fingering (gn receiving), finger sucking, spit as lube, Joel is handsy, soft!joel, no y/n, no physical description of reader, reader is gender neutral, description of reader having a mother when they were young, reader celebrates Christmas, reader has no age, a tiny bit of sadness, nostalgia, no beta, let me know if I missed anything! Note: I wrote this very quickly to try and alleviate the writer's block because I have about 15 Pedro character WIPs (mostly Joel) and have yet to complete a single one. I also wrote this to express my feelings about how the holidays haven't really felt very magical for me for a while, but adopting new traditions has helped me find the magic again.

The streetlights are reflecting off of the fresh layer of snow. Despite it being the dead of night, the white ground makes everything just a bit brighter. The air is dry, and it smells like pine and open fires and for a second, when you focus really hard, it’s Christmas Eve, pre-apocalypse.

You can remember it plain as day. You can feel the air like it was yesterday, that palpable excitement as you spread a mixture of oats and glitter and sequins across your childhood front yard.

“So the reindeer know where to land Santa’s sleigh,” your mom had told you.

You can feel the warmth of her hand enveloping your tiny, freezing fingers. The warmth of her voice, of her gaze on you.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, try to remember that happy memories can be just that— and not a cruel taunting of the way things used to be and how different they are now.

You don’t realize how cold you actually are until two warm arms wrap around you, and hot breath creeps down the collar of your long johns.

“Gonna catch your death,” Joel mumbles.

You lean back into him, close your eyes, and take a big, deep breath. You smell the snow and the chimney smoke but also homemade oat soap and lavender laundry wash and it isn’t like it used to be, but maybe that doesn’t have to mean it’s worse.

“Was hoping I’d see Santa fly over,” you say, distracted, watching the stars in the crisp winter sky.

“You think he made it through all these years?”

Joel chuckles as he says it, and wraps his arms a tad tighter around you.

“I like to think so,” you shrug.

His soft laughter turns into a hum, turns into lips pressed under your ear.

“I love the way you are.”

It’s sweet. It’s sticky, nauseating words coming from a man you never thought would be anything but cold and calculated, when you first met. It warms you all the way through, maybe even melts some of the snow that’s blown its way onto the porch you’re standing on.

You want to say it back, want to tell him how much you love the way he is, the way his guarded heart shines through the cracks so bright it blinds you, the way his smiles make you weak so that it’s a good thing he’s so stingy with them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask instead.

He takes a long moment to respond. You can feel his teeth grinding together where his jaw is hooked over your shoulder, and the way his breath is coming in less than slow and steady.

“Just— It’s 20 years into the end of the world and you still have hope.”

You sigh and turn your head, seeking out his stubbled cheek, and press a kiss to the wind burnt skin.

“I found you after all this time, didn’t I?”

He huffs, and it sounds amused. You turn a bit in his hold to look at his eyes and the way his eyebrows gather together in the middle.

“And this is a blessing, not a curse?”

You want to kiss the skeptical look off of his face, so you do, hooking your arms around his neck and capturing his bottom lip between your own.

You feel the warmth of his palms through your shirt as they splay out across your back, fingers digging, working the muscles there like he’s kneading bread. You hum into his mouth and let your fingers tangle in the soft curls at the nape of his neck just as his tongue finds yours.

You can feel him slowly filling out his worn jeans where his hips press into your own and you think, with a chuckle you can’t contain, that this is the only Christmas gift you want from now on.

He pulls away at your soft laughter, his own eyes twinkling with an edge of humor.

“Are you stallin’ or somethin’?”

You shake your head as a smile splits your face from ear to ear.

“Never. Always a blessing, babe,” you tell him.

Your hands drop from his neck quickly to grab two handfuls of his ass and squeeze, and he glares at you as you press him just that much closer to you.

“I’ll give you a blessing,” he grumbles.

His head ducks down so that his lips can find your pulse point, and then his teeth, a playful nip with a hint of something more desperate and charged.

“Better not give the whole neighborhood an eye full,” you warn, half-heartedly. You know most people are asleep, and you know neither you nor Joel would really mind it.

Still, on the off-chance Tommy and Maria are still awake across the street, you don’t need to give the town leader any fuel for retaliation.

His breath comes out in whisps of steam around your face, minty with notes of whiskey.

“Go on ‘n get, then. Warm up by the fire.”

And you know by now not to protest, not when your prize for obeying is so worth being bossed around by the grumpy old man.

You undress by the fire and look around the living room while Joel makes sure the house is locked up.

It’s not quite decorated like an old Christmas movie, but it’s still festive, still as warm and full of cheer as you remember from before.

There’s a Christmas branch, really, a small little bush that Ellie had brought home to you a few weeks before. You had spent the day looking around for scraps of anything red, some ribbon, the sleeve of an old t-shirt, some berries on a bush that you were certain weren’t edible. You both worked on decorating the Charlie Brown-esque tree as Joel watched, grumbling, but plucking away at a rendition of ‘Oh Christmas Tree’ on his guitar as he complained.

There are three big socks hung up on the mantle of the fireplace, Joel’s, who griped about having to give up the precious fabric while he decorated them with you and Ellie at the kitchen table. ‘Decorated’ used lightly, as you only had a few errant pipe cleaners and the guts of a few raspberries as a red/pink dye.

And then there’s the whittled reindeer Joel had presented to you just days ago with a shy look on his face you don’t see very often. The wood is smooth and the antlers are intricate, and even though you can’t see it, you know there’s a little heart carved into the bottom of its back left hoof. It’s your favorite decoration out of all of them, displayed lovingly and proudly on the coffee table.

You grab an old blanket from the back of the couch and lay it in front of the fire just as Joel finds you again. His footsteps are lighter without his heavy boots on, and his fingers don’t feel as warm now as they grab your hips.

“Gonna lay down for me?”

His voice is low and gruff and calm, and all you can do is obey, and lie down naked on the fleece.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him undress. The light of the fire makes all of his golden skin look even more so, dancing an orange glow across his scarred stomach and sparsely haired chest and the contrasting hardness and softness of his form that’s so familiar now.

You touch yourself gently as you watch him, light strokes, just to tease while you wait for him. With a grunt, he gets down to share the warm blanket with you, rolling you onto your side to face the flames.

“You remember that Mariah Carey Christmas song?” he asks as his rough hand curls around your hip.

You hide your smile in your own arm before answering.

“Not sure if I do. Sing a few bars for me.”

He groans and squeezes your flesh.

“You're pullin’ my leg."

“Yeah, I remember it.”

Remembering songs post-apocalypse is strange, the way you can not hear it for decades but still remember every note and word. Now, ringing through your head, is the high register of All I Want for Christmas is You, and you hum the chorus as Joel’s heavy prick presses against the small of your back.

“That’s how I feel,” he tells you.

His hand gets bolder, travels to the place where your thigh and hip meet, and then farther, between your legs, where it’s quite obvious what you want for Christmas, too.

“I feel the same, Joel.”

His breath puffs against your neck as he nuzzles that tender place behind your ear. He doesn’t often talk about his feelings for you, electing rather to show them through gestures. You like when he says it though, it makes it feel even more tangible, makes a nostalgic warmth tingle throughout your guts and your chest.

“Have you been good this year?” he asks you, a hint of mischief in his voice that makes you giggle.

“I think I have, yeah.”

“Debatable,” he grumbles, “but I guess you won’t get a lump of coal.”

He gets you on your back, and your breath hitches as he covers you with his big, solid body. His skin feels so incredible against yours, always, every time you’re together like this.

He starts to press open-mouthed kisses down your body, a searing hot trail across your most sensitive spots, until he’s mouthing around where you want him most.

“Please, baby, please.”

You know he likes to hear you beg for it. His sweet brown eyes find yours as he smiles, and the warmth of his gaze and the fire start to pull little pinpricks of sweat from your pores.

But he doesn’t tease you for long. You watch with wonder as his graying curls bounce between your legs, his attentive mouth working you tenderly but thoroughly. Your hand tangles in his hair for purchase as you lift your hips to urge him on.

He’s always so sloppy with it, and his saliva drips down onto the blanket, and you love it like this, so messy and haphazard, with no regard to anything but making you feel good, getting you off.

His fingers, three of them, tap at your parted lips. They’re so big as you take them in and swirl your tongue around them, getting them nice and wet, and your own spit seeps from the corners of your mouth. He groans, and you can feel it with his mouth on you.

His hips make small little moves to rut against the blanket between your open legs, and you want him inside, need to feel him inside you.

You tell him this much, though it’s muffled with his fingers in your mouth. He doesn’t let up until you’re teetering on the edge, moaning and whimpering around his flesh, gripping his hair so tight you don’t know how you haven’t pulled it out.

You whine when his mouth retreats.

“I know, I know. So greedy for it,” he coos, teasing.

You scowl at him, but it holds no heat, and he laughs at your impatience as he coaxes you back onto your side.

Behind you, Joel’s chest is solid and sweaty against your back. His fingers are solid too, sure but gentle, as he works them inside one by one to open you up with the help of your drool.

“So good for me. What a present,” he tells you.

It makes you impossibly hotter, and impossibly more in love with the man, and impossibly more impatient.

“I want my present now,” you sigh.

He tuts at you, against your shoulder blade, but you know he won’t deny you for longer because you can feel him leaking all over the skin of your back.

When he presses into you, slow as ever, you feel even more full than you usually do.

“Yes,” you pant, “like that. Just what I wanted.”

He fills you over and over, a leisurely but steady pace, and his hands roam across your slick, heated skin. As his body presses against yours, and as he reaches around to work you to your climax, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed at the realization that things are okay, things are great, and they’re allowed to be, despite the state of everything.

When you come, he comes too, deep inside you. His teeth bare down on your shoulder, and he grunts your name into your skin, and he tells you you’re perfect, and that you’re so good to him.

Joel doesn’t move far, after. He grabs an article of discarded clothing to clean you up. You know his back must kill like this, on the floor, but his happy breaths across your cooling skin make you think that this must be worth a little pain in the morning.

And when he sleepily mumbles, “Merry Christmas, Darlin’,” it sounds a lot more like “I love you.”

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atinylittlepain · 6 months

Text

Only Lovers Left Alive

cowboy!vampire!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

warnings 18+ smut, blood, murder, studio 54, this bad boy has gawt it allllll honey

a/n | this one is from the VAULT lol. i wrote this back in june and never posted it, and now it's spooky season, so here you go, my beloved vamps. it's camp okay? we're going for camp here. ALSO, bonus points if you can guess what song vampaw (joel) is talking about hehehe

...........................................

“Wake up, baby.”

“Mmph.”

“The sun is almost down and I’m thirsty. Come on, Joel.” When he still doesn’t stir, only letting out another petulant huff, the kisses she had been leaving along his bare shoulder blades halt, teeth sinking into skin, her jaw closing just enough to make him grumble.

“Not very nice, darlin. Was having a good dream. We were back in California. You were wearing one of those sweet dresses you always had on.” He cranes his head over his shoulder, cheek still smushed into his silk pillowcase, one eye crinkling open, seeking out a kiss that she is happy to provide.

“Those sweet dresses are about sixty years out of style, my love. Are you saying you don’t like the way I dress now?” With another grumble, he finally twists around to sit up in bed, squinting in the dim light as his eyes roam over her body, sequined and slinking.

“I like you all the time. You know that, huh?” Even after all this time, his palm slipping along her cheek can still set her stomach flipping, the only one he softens his snarl for.

“I know. So get dressed for me. While the night is still young and the people haven’t flooded themselves with too much liquor yet.”

If ever there was a decade for her man, she’d think it’d be the seventies with how good he wears it. Cream-colored suit and a black silk shirt that could hardly be called a button-up with the way he wears it, dripping gold chains laid pretty and perfect over the tan plains of his chest. Faded orange aviators to dull the sting of all the Manhattan neon when they step out into the night, his arm slung heavy around her waist as they throng through the sweltering summer crowds.

That’s the other thing, as the years have passed by it seems that people have started showing more and more skin. Bare shoulders and sternums, shimmering with sweat in the close, hot night. It’s enough to make a girl’s mouth water. But they aren’t the kind to dine out, at least not these days, not when it’s so much more fun to do it like this.

She can feel the bass in her hips all the way down the block, eyes drooping in pure pleasure when she catches sight of the familiar flickering sign of Studio 54. A dance they have down by now, slinking right past the line of people waiting to get in, a quick bat of her lashes loosening that velvet rope for both of them to step inside the pulsing rhythm and light of the club.

Already a little bounce in her heels, bobbing her head side to side, her lips pulling back in a sharp grin, she presses her palm in the middle of Joel’s chest, though he’s unmoving, unimpressed in the close crowd, sunglasses sliding down his nose to look at her.

“Please, Joel.”

“You go on. Gonna get a drink first.” Whiskey neat. Beneath it all, still her cowboy.

“Oh fine, you’re no fun though. What’re you in the mood for tonight, baby?”

“Something lean. Swear I could taste the heart attack on that one last night.” Teeth, all teeth, technicolor in the flashing lights. A quick slip, his tongue licking into her mouth just once before he’s shouldering off toward the bar, leaving her to it.

She wastes no time, slipping through the crowd to the middle of the dancefloor, the pumping beat rolling her shoulders back, swaying her hips in an easy spin as she stretches out. She knows all the beats to hit by now. Arching her neck just so, one arm extending out before slipping her palm from her sternum down to her pelvis, her hips dipping back in time with the thrumming music. Side to side, eyes fluttered shut, she can already feel the pull of someone coming closer. Brunette, tall, all sharp lines and glittery eye makeup.

Early in their time here, they had to set some ground rules. Never anyone famous, not after she nearly drained Elton John before Joel stopped her when he realized who the man was. Low profile. The nobodies, the hanger-ons, the ones they could slip out with and not a soul would notice. And this girl sliding up behind her fits the bill perfectly.

Cherry red nails splay along her hips and she leans into it, tossing her head back on the girl’s shoulder, smiling big and bright. She doesn’t ask for her name because she doesn’t care, simply slipping her hand through the girl’s hair to guide her lips to hers. A quick flicker of her tongue, just a taste to see what she’s working with. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

No words, not over the rolling bass and dizzying lights, just her hips molding and moving with this girl’s, spinning around to slip her arms over her bare shoulders. She catches his eyes through the crowd over the rims of those damn sunglasses of his, shooting him a slanted grin and a small nod, an invitation that she knows he won’t take just yet. Joel likes to watch, something else she’s learned over the years. Nursing a glittering glass of something dark and strong as she continues to sway and dip against the girl. But the moment the dizzying synth of I Feel Love starts flooding through the club, she knows it’ll be time for dinner real soon. Because for as much as he rails against disco music and its sugary-sweetness, Joel Miller has to admit that Donna Summer makes a mean record.

She feels him before she sees him, a wide palm slinking around her waist to splay over her stomach, pressing up behind her even as she keeps her arms slung behind the girl’s neck.

“Is he with you?” Barely heard over the driving music, she just smiles and nods, leaning in to let her lips graze her ear.

“Do you wanna come have some more fun with us? Somewhere a little more private?” It’s almost too easy. She’d be bored with it if she wasn’t so thirsty, smacking her lips as they trail out of the club, her arm slung around the girl’s waist, her other hand held in Joel’s as they traipse through the swirling, blinking city streets.

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I promise he’s lots of fun, you’ll see.”

Their other ground rule. No alleys, no backs of bars or cars, never in public, always at home, wherever that might be. Easier, simpler, cleaner. The world has gotten more complicated, and they’ve had to change with it.

She lets Joel lead them up the two flights to their apartment, all the while stumbling in between stolen kisses and squeezes with the girl whose name she still doesn’t know, and probably won’t ever know. Another lesson learned, while fear tastes good, whatever this is, this want, this lust, goes down even sweeter.

Joel doesn’t like to touch though, instead sitting down in the leather armchair facing the bed, legs splayed wide and a palm rubbing at his scruff as she and the girl crawl onto the mattress, the slip of silk against skin, swallowing down her sighs. She kneels behind her, her hand skating up her front to curl around her throat, holding her spine in a perfect arch, on display for her lover.

“What do you think?” The tilt of his head, elbows coming to rest on his thighs, gold chains dangling and dazzling on his neck. And teeth, all teeth.

“This’ll do just fine, darlin.”

“Are you guys tripping out or something?” A little tug, just a touch unkind to the girl’s hair, lips to her ear, shushing her.

“Shh, baby. You wanna feel good, don’t you?” A kiss to her temple, just behind her ear, down over that dizzying pump just below her jaw, so much of it rushing all at once she feels herself get a little lightheaded when her tongue flickers out over that pulse. Her one hand still tangled up in her hair, holding her neck long and taut, her other palm gripping the swell of one of the girl’s breasts, feeling the rise and fall of her ribs between her fingers. That fluttering thing, that thing she can break and burst between her teeth.

Her eyes don’t leave his, steady and still as she mouths along the girl’s neck, finding that soft, trembling spot that makes her jaw ache. A broken gasp, the only sound the girl makes when her teeth finally sink in before that fluttering fizzles out.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Thank you, darlin. Always do so good for me.” Finally sliding his sunglasses off, he kneels down on the end of the bed, the body held between them as they both start to drink. Every last drop. Her mind swims in the sate, warmth rushing beneath her skin as she lets out a long sigh, already slumping back into the sheets while Joel hoists the body over his shoulder. She doesn’t know what he does with them, just that by the time he gets back with a soft click of their front door, a different need has settled in her bones.

“All good?” His hand slips along her ankle, kneading at the curve of her calf as he kneels at the end of the bed, eyes dragging along her body.

“Taken care of. Don’t worry yourself about it. You already handle the hard part.” The beaded material of her dress slips back, bunching around her hips as she spreads her legs for him to settle between her thighs, his slow crawl onto the bed ending with a kiss dropped to her lips.

“Hmm, I’m not worried. But I do need something else from you, baby.”

“Think I might know what you need.” He’s already slipping back down her body, tugging the straps of her dress off to let his teeth graze over her nipples. But before he can set her mind into a perfect haze, she reaches over to the nightstand to flick the needle of the record player into place. A chuckle thrums against her stomach where his mouth is resting when that familiar snare riff starts to crackle and pop.

“Don’t deny it. I know you like this song.” He hums low in his throat, his chin resting over her pelvis as his eyes glint up at her.

“Best invention in a while has to be the twelve inch. Can just let it play, don’t have to worry about catching the needle for a little while longer, and this song was made for it.” When she rolls her eyes at him, his teeth bite down over the jut of her hip, a quick pinch of pain that makes her huff.

“If you like it so much how come you never dance with me?”

“I like watching you too much. Watching everyone else watching you, knowing you’re all mine, even when you get all fresh with them.”

“Fresh, huh? Someone learned a new slang word it seems.” Another bite to the soft curve of her stomach, hard enough to make her yelp, though he’s quick to soothe the skin with his tongue.

“Just keeping up with the times, darlin. But if you really want a dance with me so bad, I suppose I could indulge you one of these nights.” That crooked grin of his makes her huff. He’s promised her a dance a few times now, and has yet to fulfill that wish. But before she can tell him off he’s already settling the heat of his mouth over her cunt, his tongue dragging a salacious stripe up before settling over her clit in a lazily circle.

He knows her body like his own at this point, coaxing pleasure out of her the way he knows she likes, a low hum in his throat as he dips his tongue down to fuck up into her, fingers digging into the swell of her ass to press her hips up closer to his mouth.

They don’t even have to speak, not anymore, just long mewling sighs rolling through her chest, her heel digging between his shoulder blades while he continues to lap at her cunt. But it never gets old, the way she furls up around him, that pleasure contracting and contracting until it all blows out and bursts, white hot and heaving. Only her fingers hooking in the chains around his neck finally drag his face away from her cunt, up and up until she can taste herself on his tongue.

“Always so sweet for me, huh? My angel gets sweeter every day.” She runs her fingers through his hair, taking a beat just to look at each other, the same man she fell for all those decades ago, that same sweetness in his eyes.

“You and me, Joel. Forever.”

“That’s right, darlin. Forever.” Another kiss, slower and more desperate as she shrugs his suit jacket off, fingers running quick through the few buttons of his shirt that are actually done up before she gets to work on his belt. But she doesn’t get far in her efforts when the catch of the needle startles both of them, Joel grabbing her wrist before she can reach to set it back to spin.

“We don’t need it, huh? Give that Summer woman a run for her money with the moans coming out of you.” He swallows up her laugh, his tongue twining with hers as he finally shrugs his pants down his legs. She’s only a little surprised to see he isn’t wearing underwear, a habit he picked up somewhere in Italy in the 30s.

“How does this damn dress come off?” He grumbles it out, hands grasping at her waist where the fabric has all bunched up and she has to laugh at the furrowed frustration in his face.

“There’s a zipper, here.” Joel huffs as she deftly undoes the zipper running up the side of her dress, pressing his face between her breasts and sighing.

“Fucking zippers. You know what I liked? Those corsets you used to wear with all the laces. That was easy to figure out.” She tugs at his hair, coaxing his face up so she can quirk her brow at him.

“Spoken like someone who never had to wear one.” He just grins, shimmying her dress down until she can toe it off and lay tangled up in each other’s bareness. His cock rests against her thigh, flushed and heavy, the weight of it sending a pang of want up her spine.

“Do you want me, darlin? You still all mine?” It startles her sometimes, how sweet he can be, those dark brown eyes of his looking up at her through his lashes, glinting in the dim lamplight. Her man, the beast that lays down at her feet. She brings her palm to his cheek, lightly scratching at his stubble, his eyes fluttering shut with the sensation.

“You know I am. I always want you.” That sweetness snaps into a snarl when she coaxes him down for a kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth and lapping up the last taste of their dinner, just a tinge left on his bottom lip.

Languid and smooth, he guides the tip of his cock through her aching cunt, both of them sighing when he starts to spread her open around him. Perfect pain simmering just beneath that shake of pleasure, his hips settling against hers, stuttering into stillness as they both settle into the stretch. His palm slides down the outside of her thigh, hooking behind her knee to draw her open for him, her calf resting in the crook of his elbow as he finally pulls back before rolling his hips forward in a languorous stroke that sends them rucking up the sheets. Push and pull, he moves them into a slow, strong rhythm, each thrust making her gasp as she drags her nails down his back.

“Always so perfect like this, ain’t you? Mine from the moment I met you.”

“Fuck yes. Make me feel so good. Yours, all yours.” It all slurs together, praise and pleas mingling with the slick sound of flesh meeting over and over again. Their mouths rest over each other’s, just close graze, open and receiving what the other provides, swallowing up sighs and moans and preening cries of each other’s names. Just like this, her favorite way to have him, blanketed by the broadness of his shoulders and those blown-out eyes of his, unwavering, a heady weight on her even when she scrunches her eyes shut. Though Joel doesn’t let that last long, a snarl with the sweet when his hand comes to her jaw, fingers pressing into her cheeks to get her to refocus.

“Eyes on me, darlin. That’s it. Fuck, you’re good, huh? So good for me.” His words come out a bit breathless, though his eyes stay steady on her, even as he sits back on his haunches, palms slipping under her ass to pull her hips up into his lap, fucking into her deeper, more desperate. It’s just over the edge of too much, her spine arching off the bed until only the wings of her shoulder blades are pressed into the mattress. Every muscle in her body snares taut and tight, her cunt spasming around him as she unravels, going sick with the pleasure as he settles his hips into a close grind. He’s never far behind, ready and willing to freefall alongside her, muscle curling until he’s hunched over her, his forehead pressed to her sternum as he snaps with a groan of her name.

He goes slack, slumping down against her, the solid weight of him making her sigh as she runs her nails up and down his back, both of them still coming down.

“You know, baby, we’ve still got a few hours before the sun comes up.”

“Mmph, not thirsty.”

“Not what I meant.” He lifts his head from where his cheek had been smushed against her sternum at that, brow furrowing at her.

“You owe me a dance. And I intend to get it before we have to leave this city.”

While she’s certainly all his, she knows that he’s all hers just the same, and that he couldn’t possibly say no to her, ever. And though it’s not without a few grumbles on his part, he’s back in his suit and sunglasses in no time, palms grabbing at the barely-there fabric of her dress as they slip back into the club. Except this time, she keeps her fingers circled around his wrist, tugging him out into the center of the pulsing dancefloor.

“Move pretty good for your age, baby.” He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile she can see twitching at the corners of his lips. But he’s quick to hide it, throwing her into a tight spin that makes her laugh, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back against his chest, his lips pressed to the curve of her ear.

“Guess I better remind you just how good I can move, huh?”

He does, until they absolutely have to leave before the sun starts to creep out from behind the skyscrapers, slinking home in the haze of dawn and collapsing in a heap of tired limbs on their mattress.

Meanwhile, across town, a young woman is taking the subway with a sinking, sickening feeling in her stomach. She’s on her way to the police station. Her roommate said she was going to Studio 54 last night, and never came home, even though she knows she had an early morning shift at Macy’s. Maybe she’s overreacting, she thinks to herself. But the string of disappearances tied back to the club are hard to ignore, and something cold snickers up her spine when she thinks about her roommate stepping behind that velvet rope.

The officer she talks to is kind, taking the time to listen to her story, though he regretfully informs her that they don’t have a single lead on the disappearances, taking the picture of her roommate from her hands and tacking it onto a cork board alongside at least a dozen other faces.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Though I’ll admit this one has us scratching our heads. But in the meantime, my advice to you is to stay far away from that club. Whoever, or whatever is doing this, it seems like pure evil to me.”

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