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starseungs · 5 days

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take a shot. ksm. (teaser)

kim seungmin x fem!reader — it really shouldn't take a genius to figure out that you and your co-star didn't get along. you knew kim seungmin. you knew how life functioned despite the cameras. and you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

genre/s — drama, angst, fluff, a sprinkle of comedy, actors au, rivals to lovers • teaser: 1.2k words (actual fic: around 10k or more)

warning/s — profanity, main characters aren't on the best terms, implied death taken lightly, more warnings will be added on actual release if necessary.

note — enjoy the product of me and @starlostseungmin's active imagination over chanel seungmin.... how does one look THAT good? 😖💘 : taglist is open!

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The car remained silent despite your words of confusion. You felt as though your world had come to an extreme halt, giving you a whiplash as the buzz of the road outside continued to pierce through your ears. There was nothing else to keep your mind away from the absolute bomb of news that was just given to you; your manager had turned it down before uttering the horrid sentence that brought your untimely demise.

The car may have kept on with its task of moving forward—but you were stuck frozen in place.

“You’re joking.”

Your world fell on seemingly deaf ears. The man up front, steering the wheel, rendered himself mute to your growing distress, finding the busy traffic of city life interesting enough to keep his eyes glued. But the urban chaos didn’t distract you one bit from brewing a storm of gunpowder inside your throat.

And just like that, a ghost of a click was heard.

“No—please tell me you’re joking,” you voiced out, tone betraying your attempts at keeping things respectful. It soon came to your attention that the effort was of no use, as your manager still chose to keep his peace. “Changbin!”

The car swiveled a bit off-lane for a second before returning to its correct course. Normally, such an abrupt action by a vehicle would concern you, as you would argue that you were still much too young to suffer at the hands of a road accident, but no such thoughts even made their way into your brain. Just like how time had stopped for you, there was no time for debating over survival either. One life or death situation was already enough for you.

You wanted answers, and you were going to get them.

Changbin exhaled audibly from the scare he just put both of you through. His hands shook with a slight tremor, and that was all it took for him to decide that pulling over to the nearest parking area was for the best.

“Don’t yell in the car like that!” You scoffed at his scolding, finding the whole situation ironic.

“Oh, so you can do it all the time, but I can’t?” You shot back. Changbin sighed tiredly, finally registering the extent of your agitation. "Plus, I have a perfectly good reason why I’m yelling!”

“Listen, Y/N, it’s really not that bad—”

“Yes, it is that bad!” The words spill out of your mouth in utter disbelief at his attempts at assurance. “I’m working with Kim Seungmin, of all people!”

“And that’s why it’d be fine!” Changbin argued, running a hand through his already tousled hair. You blinked at his reply, baffled by the sheer implication.

“—How?”

Changbin clicked his tongue at the question, finding it hard to digest just why you were so against working with the mentioned actor. With the mere sound of that actor’s name spat out of your mouth, one would think that he had somehow managed to offend your entire bloodline. But that kind of bitterness could only be achieved through a sour history, so you really couldn’t empathize with your manager’s mindset either.

Even you knew that this movie would be enormously successful from the director alone. Director Han Jisung’s influence and presence in the industry were not a laughing matter—in fact, you should already be trembling in anxiety just knowing that you snagged probably the biggest role you’d ever get in your whole career. He was only around the same age as you, but the winding list of his achievements was already one for the records. And yet, here you were rethinking your contract with him even before the project started.

Just because of who you were going to be acting alongside with.

“Seungmin is a nice person,” Changbin explained gently, like he was coaxing a child, intentionally ignoring the way your face scrunched up at what he said. “I did my research, ok? Everyone only has high praises for him, both on and off set. Isn’t that enough to be trusted?”

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from digging a deeper hole to lie in. The answer was no—it wasn’t enough to be trusted. Now, at this point, someone would’ve had half the mind to ask why you were so sure about your vendetta against the man. If a person was so well loved in a world where cameras were pointed at them in every waking minute, then shouldn’t all the dirt be found by now, if there was any?

To that, your answer would be yet another no.

Because you knew Kim Seungmin. You knew how life functioned despite the cameras. And you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

“Turn the car around.”

Changbin’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets at your demand. Surely, he had heard you now. You crossed your arms and leaned back to rest comfortably on the carseat, turning your head to face the window and glare at the world outside, continuing on with their lives like a well-followed routine.

“Y/N, this is a big opportunity—”

“I said, turn the car around. I’m not attending this cursed table reading,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to keep the incoming migraine at bay.

“You really think I’ll willingly step into a room with the devil’s incarnate? I’d rather get shot—”

“—sensing a great shot!”

Director Han Jisung nodded positively at your performance, satisfied with your initial portrayal of the female lead.

“If we keep going like this, then I’m expecting this project to be a big hit. The casting team really did their pay’s worth on this one,” the young director hummed. “Especially you, Actor Kim Seungmin. I don’t know how they managed to get through your company's walls, but I’m glad they did. You’re perfect for the role!”

You felt your eye twitch as the figure bearing the name appeared within your vision. His mouth curled up into an arrogant smirk, hastily covered up by a bashful smile. You cringed at his actions that only you seemed to see. Why was this prick acting all humble?

“Ah, I always wanted to act in one of your films, Director Han. This is more of an amazing opportunity for me than you, honestly.”

That smoothed honey voice wrapped itself around the room’s premise, charming everyone around like it was coming from an alluring siren. All except you.

Your mouth filled with a coating of spite as his next sentence echoed through your ears. His eyes locked you in as a target, a wordless challenge shooting straight at your own.

“Plus, seeing who my co-star is, I’m quite thrilled to see the end product,” Seungmin grinned with a manic glint.

Fuck. You should’ve turned that damned car around yourself.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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AITA for calling my mother and MIL selfish, insecure, pieces of shit over a friend's necklace?

Some background: I, 25F, just married the love of my life, who we'll call J.

I was introduced to J in our junior year of high school by our mutual friend, who we'll call G. G has always been a super important person to us. She is one of our best friends, and the three of us are very close. She was actually the first person we told when we started dating. We are both pretty protective over G, as she is autistic and has crippling anxiety and struggles a lot day to day. She was actually living with us when this story occurred because she had been spiraling on her own, and her parents lived too far for her to commute to her work from their house. She's been in therapy for years and has been doing a lot better than when we first met her, but we still tend to be pretty protective over her, as she has very few friends besides us. We often joke that she's our practice kid because she goes everywhere with us and has a complete lack of common sense despite being one of the smartest people I know.

In the last week of our junior year, J gave me, G, and another friend of his, necklaces that he made. They were nothing fancy, just pieces of rocks that he carved (?) and tied a string around, but G loved it. It acted as a reminder that she had people who cared about her when her anxiety spiked, and she's worn it almost every day for the last 9 years, to the point where J replaced the string with a thin chain because it broke from use. It's a comfort item, and wearing it is part of her routine.

Another important thing to note is that J and I both have pretty bad relationships with all of our parents. Both of our parents are messily divorced, and the only ones we visit regularly are my dad and stepmom. We still decided to invite all of them to the wedding and involve our mom's in the wedding party to avoid drama, and because some small part of me still wanted my mom to be involved in my wedding like a real parent.

Shortly before our wedding, I was talking to my mom and J's mom in our kitchen about some details for the wedding party and the bridesmaid and groomsmen accessories. I made a joke that no matter what we picked, G would be wearing her necklace. They wanted to know what I meant, and while I was explaining, G came into the kitchen to grab a snack. (Side note: neither of them like G, and my mom in particular has made several abelist comments in the past about her stimming or lack of social awareness) When I was done, my mom turned to G and asked if she was going to wear it at our wedding. Confused, G said yes, and my mom lost it. She called her disrespectful and accused her of trying to break up me and J because J gave her that necklace, and it was bad manners to wear a present from the groom or something. J's mom backed her up and said a lot of awful things I won't repeat, but were really abelist, arophobic (G is open about being aromantic), and included several slurs.

I was completely blindsided. I knew they had those awful opinions, but I had never heard them do anything even remotely close, and I sat there stunned at first until G started to cry and hyperventilate (she has trauma around situations similar to this, and she was already on edge because of a recent death in her family). When that happened, it was like a switch flipped. I got between G and my mom, who at this point had gotten out of her seat and was getting close to G. I told them both to get out, and when they refused I told them they were selfish, insecure, pieces of shit, that they had no right to say any of that to G, and that just because they couldn't keep their husband's didn't mean they had any right to interfere and try to create problems where there weren't any.

At this point, J came home and saw G panicking and immediately reacted. He told our moms to leave, and this time, they left. After they left, it took us almost 2 hours to calm G down from her panic attack, and the whole time, I was boiling with rage over the interaction. After she fell asleep, I told J what had happened. He was completely on my side, and we even discussed banning them from the wedding unless they apologized. G has been far more supportive of us than they have been, and if I had to choose, I would rather have her by my side on my wedding day. Ultimately, we let G decide since she was the one they went after, and she said she would be okay, so they came to the wedding and thankfully didn't mention the necklace at all. However, they told our respective families what happened, and I've been getting texts from family members telling me I went too far in bringing up their divorces, and that I should apologize, especially since the fight was over something as small as a necklace.

I don't think I was wrong to defend G, but I know I tend to overreact in situations where she is involved, and J is as bad as I am. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

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Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter Seven)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 4.4k

Warnings / as usual, not much to warn here apart from soft!Joel being incredible soft and sweet, some very brief allusions to smut but nothing explicit as well as mentions of alcohol and food, mentions of loss/death as well.

Authors Note / I won't lie to you but this chapter was a struggle. I have THE PERFECT idea on what I want to happen for the next two/three chapters, so this really is just a filler, working to set up the drama that is about to come your way, so I'm sorry if this is boring after such a long wait for it to arrive with you. It's crunch time for me with university deadlines too, so I'm just trying my best to get through everything - so it might be a bit of a wait between updates for the next month or so. As always, if you liked this, please consider dropping comments, reblogging or popping over to my ask box with some love and as always, thank you for your continued support of my work. Love y'all.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s late and Joel is stretched out in his living room, feet up on the coffee table with his guitar on his lap. He chuckles to himself that he’s got his feet on the table when he knows if Ellie tried to do this, he’d be swatting her legs and telling her off, but she’s not here, so he thinks he can get away being rebellious tonight.

He’s thoughtlessly strumming at the strings when he hears a tentative knock at his door. He thinks for a second that he might have misheard, he’s fairly deaf in that ear after all, but a few seconds later there’s a louder knock at the door, so he sets the guitar back on its stand near the wall and heads to open it.

Of all the people he expected to see at his front door at this time of night, it hadn’t been you. He can tell almost immediately that you’ve been crying. Your eyes a bloodshot and he can see redness of tear tracks down your face.

“Is everything alright, sweet pea?” He asks, he can’t help but soften immediately into your company.

“Can I come in?” You murmur.

“Of course you can.” He smiles, that warm smile that he always has on his face when you’re around.

He moves from the door, stepping aside to let you in. When he’s closed the door, he finds you looking around his living room. It’s not quite as bare as it had been weeks ago when they first moved in. Ellie’s been drawing all sorts of pictures that they’ve stuck to the walls, and he’s been trading here and there for things to make it feel more homely, like the lamp on the side table, which is bathing the room in a warm, orange glow.

He comes up behind you and places his hand on the small of your back, just like he had done when you’d gone to the bar together. It startles you a little, and he’s muttering a quick sorry for frightening you, “Why don’t you sit down?” He asks quietly, “I can get you a drink if you’d like?”

You sit yourself on the edge of the sofa whilst he’s looking through his kitchen cabinets, “I can do coffee, whiskey or water?” He calls out from behind a cabinet door.

“Coffee,” You say, but for some reason your voice breaks and it comes out of your mouth in little more than a whisper, you clear your throat and try again, “Sorry, coffee please, if that’s okay.”

“Course it is sweet pea.” He’s speaking over his shoulder as he’s making up a pot.

In no time he’s sat on the opposite end of the sofa, his own mug of coffee in hand. You look down into yours and you can see he’s splashed some milk into it and your heart swells in your chest. You’d never told him you like milk in your coffee, in fact, you’re pretty sure you’ve only drunk it that way in front of him once. Why is this man so observant that he remembers all the tiny details of you? His own mug is what catches your attention next, even in his hands it’s large, white with what looks to be a hand-painted owl on it, with a big ring of reddish-brown paint along the rim.

“You really interested in owls or are you tryin’ to avoid somethin’, sweet pea?”

“Just never pegged you as a patterned mug kinda guy, is all.”

“I’m nothing if not full of surprises,” He chuckles, “Truth be told I’m not really, it was just the biggest mug in the house.”

A comfortable silence sits between the two of you as you sip at your coffee, “I’m sorry, Joel, about the other night.”

“That’s okay, sweet pea, it’s me who should be sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep a mark or anythin’.”

You shake your head, “You didn’t overstep anything Joel,” You sigh, “In that moment I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to be perfectly honest it’s all I’ve wanted to do since, but I need to be honest with you.”

“Okay, shoot, I’m listening.” He’s turned his body on the sofa a little bit, he’s looking directly at you now.

“You’re a good man Joel, and I don’t say that lightly, and you kiss like your life depends on it, but when I closed my eyes all I could see Mark, and that’s not what you deserve, you deserve a woman who only ever see’s you.”

“But sweet pea,” He sighs, “You’re the only woman I want.”

You sip your coffee, “Can I ask why?” You murmur, “I just don’t know what it is you could possibly want from sad, little old me.”

“I want to make you happy,” He shrugs, looking at you, “There have been these glimpses I’ve had of you, when you smile, or when you talk to Ellie about your life before, or when you reminisce about Mark and you become this beacon of light, you glow sweet pea, and I would do anythin’ in this world to be the person that does that to you every day.”

You can feel a single tear slip from your eye, what on earth had you done in this world to deserve this man at your feet?

“Listen to me,” He’s put his coffee on the table and moved closer to you, his big, warm hand is on your knee, “I’m not going to pretend that I can be him, no-one is ever going to be him for you again, but I want to try and be somethin’ different for you, I’m not going to try and replace him, just add to him,” He pauses before he adds, “If you’ll let me.”

Your hand slips over his own on your knee and you squeeze it, “I want it Joel, Lord knows I want it, but I don’t know how long it’s going to take, before it’s you I see when I close my eyes and not him, will you be patient with me?”

“Of course I will, sweet pea,” He breathes, “I’ll give you all the time in the world,” He’s turned his palm up so you’re holding hands now, “And it’s not a bad thing, y’know?” You make a sound for him to carry on talking, “Still seeing him – sometimes Ellie’ll do somethin’ and it’ll be exactly like Sarah, and I’ll go right back to standing in my house in Austin with her, keeps her memory alive, right?”

“I get you,” You smile at him, “I’m so grateful for you, Joel, I hope you know that.”

You reach out a hand and he reaches his own out to gather your hand in his. He’s scooting along the seats of the couch, coming to rest just far enough away that your legs aren’t touching, but close enough for you to feel the heat emanating from his body, “I know, sweet pea, I’m grateful for you too.”

You turn to properly look at him for the first time that night. In the dim glow of his living room lamp he’s just as devastating as he always is. The dreamy chocolate of his eyes, the slope of his nose, that full bottom lip that you want to kiss. He’s reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, before his impossibly large hand is running through the hair to rest on the back of your head, “Can I maybe try again?” He asks quietly.

You don’t need to ask what he means, not with the way his eyes dart from yours to your lips and then back up again, “I’d really like that.”

He uses the hand resting at the back of your head to pull you gently towards him, you watch closely as his eyes flutter close as his lips press to yours. You’re almost frightened to close your own after what happened before, but his other arm is snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him and you can’t help but follow his movements, letting your own close as you tentatively open your mouth to him.

There is something undeniably different about this kiss compared to the last. This time when you close your eyes, you try and focus on what you can feel. You can feel Joel’s palm resting on the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair. You can feel your hand, placed on his knee to steady you and the rough denim of his jeans beneath your palm. You can feel his lips pull back from yours just a touch before he puts them back on yours, capturing your bottom lip between his own before he sucks your bottom lip, just a little.

Then you focus on what you can hear. The deep breathing of Joel through his nose as he kisses you, the slight breeze that rustles the trees outside his home. The sound of a whimper from your lips when he pulls all the way back. You open your eyes and he’s still close enough that if you moved forward, you could capture his lips back, but he’s searching your face for signs you’re okay, so you don’t.

“I’m fine,” You reassure him, “You know, you’re really good at that.”

“I am?” He asks, and you can see how he flushes a little, “Gotta admit I’m a little out of practice.”

“You’d never know,” You smile, “I should probably get going.”

“Alright, sweet pea,” He’s pulling away from you and standing, pulling your arm to help you stand, leading you to the door, “You gonna be alright walking back?”

“I’ll be fine,” You speak, suddenly distracted by the sight of the guitar propped up against the wall, “Do you play?”

“I do indeed,” He smiles, “Got lucky findin’ this out on patrol a few weeks back.”

“Will you play for me sometime?” You ask, hope in your voice, “I miss hearing music that isn’t distorted by headphones.”

He steps closer to you, letting a hand run down the length of your hair until he’s cupping your cheek, “Course I will, sweet pea,” He presses another soft, careful kiss to your lips, “Now you get on home, be safe.”

“Goodnight Joel.”

The next morning, you’re sitting with Maria on your front porch, cups of coffee in hand, watching as the rest of Jackson start to come and go. It’s quiet between the two of you, something that you’ve always appreciated about Maria, that she can sit in silence and just let you enjoy the company. You’re almost to the bottom of your coffee cup when Tommy and Joel begin walking down the street, guns strapped to their backs on their way to patrol.

Tommy waves at Maria as they get closer to your porch, walking over to say good morning to you. You think you return his sentiment, but all you can really focus on is Joel, who is standing just behind his shoulder with a childish grin painted across his lips. You can feel your face returning a similar smile his way, looking down into the murky dregs of your coffee to try and stop being so bloody obvious.

“Well, you two have a nice day now.” Tommy’s voice brings you back round.

“Oh, you too Tommy,” You smile, before shooting another smile to Joel, “And you as well Joel.”

“I’ll do my best, sweet pea.”

Once they’ve started back on their walk to the gate, you turn your head to Maria who is staring right at you, with a knowing smirk on her face.

“And you as well Joel,” She teases in an imitation of your voice, “God, you are subtle as a brick sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tommy saw you, leaving his last night.”

“Am I not allowed to go and visit a friend?” You ask, downing the last of your coffee.

Maria gives you a knowing look, “Friends you kiss?”

“That was one time, and it doesn’t even count.” You argue.

“You must think I was born yesterday,” She laughs, “The way you two were smiling at each other just then, something definitely happened!”

You relent, “Fine, I went and spoke to Mark, like you suggested and I guess everything felt a little clearer to me afterwards,” You don’t mention that you’re putting all your trust in a tiny ray of sunshine as permission to kiss Joel Miller, “So I went to speak to Joel, told him it would take time but that I wanted to see what might happen.”

Maria reaches over, grasping your hand in her own, when you look at her, you almost cry, her own eyes brimming with tears, “I’m so proud of you, girl,” She whispers, “Lord knows that man is patient, the way he handles Ellie, but you let me know if I ever have to kick his ass, alright?”

You laugh at that, considering Joel has never once given you the idea that anyone would need to protect you from him, but you agree none-the-less, “You’ll be the first to know.”

Maria takes her leave a few moments later, leaving you to fill your day on your own. You decide to head to the library, picking out some new books and catching up with Kate for a few moments, before you head back home. You use the last of your rations to make a loaf of bread and spend some time weeding the garden and picking some of your sweet peas.

The sun is setting and you’re considering what to pull together for dinner when there’s a knock at your door. It’s Joel, back from patrol, although he’s not stopped to drop his rifle off yet, which is still slung over his shoulder.

“Evening, Joel.”

“Evenin’, sweet pea.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Good patrol?”

“Can’t complain when I go with Tommy,” He responds, “Always brings his hip flask which makes things seem better.”

“Did you need something?”

“Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks, “Only I was thinkin’ there was some place I’d like t’show ya, if not.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Joel Miller?” You smile, arms folding across your chest.

“Might be,” He shrugs, “Depends in you’re gonna say yes or not.”

“Well, lucky for you, I have no plans tomorrow, so you can take me wherever you’d like.”

“Well then, sweet pea,” He smirks, “You’ve got yourself a date, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

You lean up on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away, “Should I bring anything?”

“No, just yourself.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then.”

The sun is already warming the commune when Joel arrives to pick you up. He’s dressed simply – jeans, black t-shirt and his battered walking shoes – but still looks like the most handsome man you’d laid eyes on in years. He’s got his backpack on which looks to be fit to burst and his rifle slug on his shoulder.

“Where the hell are you taking me that requires that?” You ask, motioning to the gun whilst you lock the door.

“I’m taking you out.” Is all he offers, which makes you stand still, anxiety filling your stomach.

“Wait, as in out of Jackson?”

He looks at you and notices the worry on your face, “Sweet pea, I promise I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you,” He takes hold of your hand in his, “It’s an hour walk, Tommy and I scouted it yesterday, so I know it’s clear, and I’ll protect you.”

“I’ve not left since we arrived,” You speak quietly, sweat pricking at your skin in worry, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

He drops your hands, instead bringing those warm palms to cup your face, leaning down to press a barely-there kiss to your lips that has the anxiety butterflies in your tummy turning into the exact opposite, “We’ll take it one step at a time, okay?” You nod, “Anytime you wanna turn back, we will, but I think you’ll like what I’ve got to show you.”

He can obviously see your anxiety, worry etched onto your face like it always is these days. He drops his hands, intertwining your fingers with his own, “First step, we get to the gate, okay?”

“Okay.” You say softly, keeping a firm grip on his hand as he leads you down the street.

It’s early enough that there are few people on the main street down the gate, but those who are up and about don’t miss the fact that you’re hand-in-hand with Joel Miller. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind, keeping his head forward as he walks, but he does continuously squeeze your hand for comfort whenever he catches someone with a particularly intense stare.

Amanda, one of the women who often patrols the walls of the commune, greets you both when you arrive at the gate, “Morning Joel,” Then she turns to you, “So good to see you out and about,” And she’s genuine for it. You didn’t know her, at all really, but her soft face and kindness make you smile, “All looking quiet out there today, you two enjoy yourselves.”

Joel gives your hand another squeeze, “So, what do you say? You wanna go?”

You look up at him, face warm and rugged in the early morning sun. His eyes are looking into yours, filled with hope that you’ll indulge him. You know he’s got you; you know this man right next to you isn’t going to let anything bad happen to you. So, you squeeze his hand and tell him to lead the way.

It’s actually a really pleasant walk. There are plenty of trees that offer shade from the sun that is continuing to heat up the air around you as it rises further. You can’t remember the last time you took a walk just for pleasure. Mark had insisted that once you’d made it to Jackson and its safety, that you stayed put, and you can’t say you’d complained. You’d seen too much shit out in the world to not revel in the relative normality of life in the commune. But this walk reminded you of the days before, when you and your flatmates would drive out of the city and walk for hours with no destination in mind. If it weren’t for Joel’s rifle in your periphery, you could almost convince yourself that nothing bad was lurking just out of sight.

“Not much further now, sweet pea,” Joel muses, stepping up onto some rocks at the top of the hill you’d been steadily climbing for a while, he turns back and offers you his hand, “Careful now.”

He hauls you up onto the rocks, helps you down and then gestures for you to look around. It’s absolutely beautiful. There’s a small lake, shimmering in the sun, with a shore made up of pebbles. The tree line offers you a wealth of shade to sit under, Joel already making his way to one particularly large tree, setting his rifle down before he’s opening his backpack to pull out a blanket.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as he sets it down on the ground before he’s reaching back into his bag. You walk over to meet him just as he pulls out a brown paper bag, filled to the brim with strawberries. Some of them had been squished on the walk, but you could see plenty of the sweet fruit still in one piece. He sets them down on the blanket, pulling out an insulated flask and two tin mugs before he’s turning to you.

“You got anything else in that bag of yours?” You tease, dropping to your knees, “You’re like Mary Poppins.”

He chuckles, “There might be a flask in there with somethin’ stronger than coffee,” He shrugs, “Couldn’t fit much else in.”

You put a hand on his shoulder as he settled his back against the tree, extending and widening his legs, motioning for you to sit between his thighs, which you do, leaning your back against his chest as he leans forward to grab the bag of strawberries, taking one before he offers it to you.

You take it, head falling back to rest in the crook of his neck as you bite into the fruit, “I’ll be sad when these are gone,” You comment, letting the sweet juice pour across your tongue, “Winter is miserable at the best of times, but I miss the fruit more than anything.”

Joel takes a strawberry for himself, you can hear him bite into it and he makes a sucking sound as he tries not to let the juice fall down his face, “They’ll come back though,” He speaks softly, letting one of his arms wrap around your waist to pull you deeper into his chest, “This okay, sweet pea?”

He makes your heart swell. He’d spend his own rations on your favourite fruit, scouted out a place for you to have some peace together, made sure you were comfortable the whole time and is still making sure he doesn’t push you too far. He’s trying to make this as normal as he possibly can. You don’t think you’d ever had this with Mark. Spent most of your time together scraping by in a QZ before trekking across the country trying to keep yourselves alive. Found comfort in each other in the dead of night, had a house and home in Jackson, but nothing that had ever felt this normal. You can feel tears welling in your eyes, you sniff, trying to brush them away.

“Hey, is it too much?” Joel is leaning down to speak quietly into your ear.

“No, not at all,” You choke out, “It’s fucking perfect Joel, I’m just overwhelmed.”

You bring your own arm to rest along his that’s gripping your waist, running your fingers over his skin, his voice is back in your ear, “We can go back if it’s too much, sweet pea.”

“That’s the problem,” You let out a tear-filled chuckle, “I don’t think I want to, I just want to stay here forever now, sitting by the lake with you, eating strawberries.”

His lips surprise you as they place the softest kiss to the skin behind your ear. There’s nothing overtly sexual about it, they don’t linger, he doesn’t jut his tongue out like Mark used to when he was trying to work you up, either alone or in public, but you’ll be damned if it doesn’t send a jolt down your spine, one you hadn’t felt in over a year. You want him. Body betraying mind and memory of your dead husband. You can feel the irrational part of your mind telling you to fuck it all, throw every ounce of caution to the fucking wind, turn around and demand Joel spread you out on this very blanket and take you to heaven and back until you can’t think anymore.

You can feel your heartbeat racing in your chest, can feel yourself struggling to pull in enough air to your lungs. It kills you, but you pull away from Joel’s chest, shuffling forward so you’re far enough away from him that you can turn and face him, sitting up on your knees.

“Don’t do that.” Is all you say.

You look into his eyes and there isn’t a single ounce of hurt there. He doesn’t look disappointed. Perhaps a little worried, but curious more than anything.

“You can’t kiss me there,” You say, bringing your hand up to rest where Joel’s lips were just moments ago, “He would always kiss me there.”

“Alright, sweet pea,” He looks at you with his beautiful brown eyes, holding his hands up, “I didn’t mean t’make you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, “You didn’t know,” Then you sigh, “Fuck, I didn’t even know, I never fucking know what’s going to set me off.”

Joel can see you’re overwhelmed. Can see the tears streaking down your cheeks, “Gimme your hand,” He asks, offering his own to you palm up, “I ain’t ever gonna get mad at you for somethin’ like this, you hear me?” You nod in agreement, letting your hand slip back into his, “It’s gonna take time, sweet pea, and we’re gonna figure it out together, like I said t’ya before, I don’t wanna replace him, I’m just gonna add t’him, so if there’s anythin’ I do that makes you worried or uncomfortable, you just tell me okay?”

You use the hand he doesn’t currently have clasped in his own to wipe away your tears, what the fuck had you done in this life to deserve Joel Miller? Patient and kind Joel Miller? The side of Joel Miller that no-one else really got to see.

“Now, come and sit back down,” He’s dragging you back to sit where you had been moments ago, back against his chest, “I’ll keep my lips to myself.”

That’s how you stay for the rest of the day, settled against him, eating strawberries and drinking coffee together. At one point he coaxes you to take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water to cool off, never once letting go of your hand. You talk about everything, Joel offers you small glimpses into life growing up with Tommy, you talk a lot about your parents and what it was like to lose them before the outbreak. It was nice, you think on the walk back to town, hand still clasped in his as he walks you back to your house.

He waits for you to unlock the door and step through, before he dips his head to kiss you firmly on the lips. It’s chaste, he’s not pushing his luck, but the whiskey you shared on the walk back makes you bolder. You snake your hand up to the nape of his neck to keep him in place whilst you run your tongue over his velvety bottom lip. He opens his mouth for you, momentarily letting your tongues meet before you’re both pulling away. Neither of you say anything to each other. You just squeeze his hand as he walks away, but all you can think as you close the door behind you and rest your back on it is to thank the good Lord above for bringing Joel to you, bestowing him with the patience of a saint, because that same good Lord knows that he might just be the best thing to happen to you since Mark died.

Joel Miller Taglist: @winwin70@jessie8605@trulybetty@amanitacowboy@morning-star-joy@tieronecrush@leeeesahhh@babeincolor@beee-haw@kirsteng42@mirandablue1@sixxslut@impala1967dwinchester@flash2412@gimmebackmysoul@kelp-dreaming@gracie7209@voteforpedro09@brittmb115@karokaroxx@amb11@heartfairy @grumpy-the-tired @Lillilotus @doctorstatic@morallyinept@southernbe@elissaa@pop-sugar102@u-luciferssatanicdaughter@alyhull@purplerain44@harryleatherfit@lovely-ateez@emilianamason @bootyliciousposts @lorilane33@casa-boiardi@cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls @darkroastjoel @morning-star-joy

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lskisms · 1 year

Text

YOU, AT LEAST, WERE BUILT TO GO, J. MILLER

. . . which is why you are able to be loved

synopsis — joel is getting older, he is getting frail, and you, still in your youth, have to come to terms with it. you just have to do so much sooner than you thought when he’s hurt during your attempt to escape the university of eastern colorado.

genres &&. warnings — angst, hurt/comfort, (post) apocalypse &&. canon compliant, spoilers for ep. 6 “kin” and ep. 7 “left behind,” contemplation of death, canon-typical violence (wound, gore, blood, wound care), age-gap (reader is in their mid-late 20s).

word count — 3.2k

note from r — title comes from the poem “elegy for my innocence” by steven dunn. i suppose i need to introduce myself a little: i’m rhi, i’m 22, and i’m in my second to last semester of college where i’m majoring in english. obvi, a big fan of the last of us, but also resident evil (which is what i’ve based my account aesthetic on, courtesy of my beloved leon s. kennedy). my ask box is open for people who want to send in asks and things. i’m really looking forward to writing for my fellow joel miller lovers.

if your parents were still alive, if they were around to see the life you’ve carved for yourself over the last few months, you’re certain your dad would want to smack the shit out of you and your mother would disown you from the family faster than you could blink.

you can hear the chastising now: a man old enough to be your father? are you joking? what the fuck is wrong with you? this is not what we meant when we told you we wanted you to start a family.

and you can’t fault them really. you are almost twenty years his senior, having been just a young child when the cordyceps outbreak decimated the world. if the world had stayed normal, if none of this had ever happened, you’d probably have a dead end corporate job that has you wanting to drop off the face of the earth at the end of every grueling day, married and going home to a man complacent and yielding in every aspect, never too sure of himself to assert any kind of dominance, stuck in his own dead end job that keeps you comfortable just enough.

but the world isn’t normal and it hasn’t been since 2003. and there’s nothing you can do about it. you feel like a child again, wholly the depiction of the angsty teen in dramas and romcoms, as you tell the ghosts of your parents that the heart wants what it wants and i can’t help that i fell in love with a man going starlight gray at his temples. it is wholly melodramatic, something that you would have seen in any number of teen dramas written by out-of-touch, old white men.

joel miller came into your life like a lone crimson leaf during the fall, sometime during your first few months at the boston quarantine zone. it wasn’t like he’d meant to because everything that man did and does is deliberate; he’d simply waltzed across your line of vision as you’d walked back to your apartment after a long day of doing menial chores, the new world equivalent of that mental-health-issue inducing corporate job that the older people of the zone talked about.

you’d heard of him, of course: joel miller, flown in from somewhere down south, a menace to anyone who crossed his path prior to his arrival in boston, a brother somewhere out in the midwest who had taken off and joined the fireflies. he was decidedly unapproachable, gruff and mean and stubborn. most people were more scared of him than they were of fedra for the simple fact that he was more deadly with his two bare hands than any fedra idiot (sorry, “soldier”) with a gun.

he wasn’t a person who you intended to mess around with, no matter how handsome you’d thought he was when you saw him that first time. but then you’d started hanging around with tess, one of very few people who had any kind of stable-enough connection with him and that had led to you meeting and hanging around with him too. tess invited you to go on runs with them, sneaking out of the zone at night to stretch your legs and look for supplies that fedra definitely had and refused to give up. she’d preached your capabilities to joel and, stubborn as he was, he’d allowed you to keep coming with them after the first time because you proved to be spry enough for things that he and tess had grown a little too old for: you were useful to him and that filled you with a kind of thrilling gratification.

by the time marlene had tasked your little trio with getting ellie out of the city, you were a year deep into your entanglement with joel where you did all the recreational talking and he was the one who made the deals with the fireflies, the fedra goons he had in his pocket, the people who had things to trade. it was a balance that worked well for you: joel was well-versed in persuasion when he wanted to be and you were seemingly the only person who could draw out the rare ghost of a smile or a laugh from him.

it was supposed to be a quick job, one that joel had insisted you sit out but you’d refused. just a quick round trip tpe thing, that’s what you’d said to him. we’ll be out and back before anybody even realizes we’re gone.

that had gone belly-up, of course, because anything that involved the fireflies had at least a 99% chance of not turning out the way anyone planned. and when you’d left the museum, you were down a friend and up a whole ton of miles. joel had tried to convince you again to leave, but once more you’d refused. tess died for us, joel. i’m in this until the end because i’m making sure her sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.

and he’d let you stay. even months after that discussion, you think that he must feel at least a tiny bit grateful that you’d argued with him over it, that you’d fought to tag along. you’re an extra set of eyes, of hands, someone capable of taking over when he needs a break, which is hardly ever because he’s still as ornery as always, but knowing that there’s someone there who can must be nice enough.

and you’re glad he’d given in for once in his life because he’s dying beneath your hands and you’re not sure what to do. he’s going sallow and gray on the concrete floor of this ransacked house, breathing raspy and eyes slipping between you and some far-off point above him. joel is dying and for the first time ever since entering his life, you’re useless.

“joel, stay awake, please,” you beg, clutching at his hand as you kneel beside him. “ellie, you have to stop the bleeding.”

“i’m trying,” the young girl snaps. when she looks up, all you see is a girl who is reliving a loss, a deer caught in headlights, frenzied and terrified. her hands press the cloth harder over joel’s stomach in an attempt to staunch the blood flow and the man groans.

“leave,” he mumbles and your head snaps to look at him. he cannot possibly be saying this right now, not after everything you’ve been through. “leave. head north, go back to jackson. find tommy.”

“like hell we will,” you reply, trying to channel as much of his stubbornness as you can. you’d rather give up and drop dead right now than leave him to die alone in some fucking house in colorado. “we’re gonna fix this, joel. we’re not leaving, i’m not leaving.”

he’s slipping again, eyes glazing over. you can tell he wants to fight with you, but he’s losing the energy for it. for any of it. ellie stills and then tosses his jacket over him in a bid to keep him warm. she fixes you with a look, his look that says stay with him, so you nod solemnly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. you hear her footsteps on the stairs and only when the door shuts behind her do you finally let yourself break, weeping openly over joel’s chest, rising and falling so, so shallowly.

falling in love with this man has been something beautiful, some kind of phoenix rising from the ashes of a long-dead world. over the last few months, you have come to learn the feel of his knuckles brushing against yours, the warmth of his chest against your back when you share a sleeping bag, the sound of his soft breaths as you’ve trekked through miles upon miles of woods and abandoned highways. you have come to appreciate those things, facets of him that only you are privy to, the only person to know the weight of his arm over your waist and feel of his breath against your shoulder.

but in doing so, in reveling in the knowledge that you are the sole person to experience these hidden away pieces of joel miller, you’ve forgotten just how much older he is than you are. that misty gray at his temples and in his beard have been so permanent, you’ve started to believe that he’s always looked like this, that it’s not a marker of his age. you’ve forgotten that he is older and growing frailer by the day, conveniently forgotten how his heart stutters and how his knees act up after hours and miles of walking.

you had always known, of course, that joel would eventually leave you, but not this soon. and not like this.

maybe it’s your fault for putting him on a pedestal: the great, unstoppable joel miller. in your mind, he’s untouchable, some formidable opponent who people fear because he’s strong and knows his way around a fight. it shouldn’t be a chunk of a broken baseball bat that ends his life because it’s not fair, none of this is fair. you’ve been a fool for thinking that the three of you, your unlikely little family, would make it out of this unscathed, for believing that you could live a life like bill and frank’s after this all was over: fulfilling, safe, and the closest resemblance of before.

“god,” you whimper out, still brushing your fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “how could you even consider telling us to leave you here, joel?”

he gazes up at you, blinks slowly, the smallest signs of life that tell you he’s listening and wanting to fight you back about it.

“y’can’t leave me alone here, old man.” a short, wet laugh. “we’ve got so much left to do. i can’t get ellie back to jackson without you. i can’t do anything without you.”

he shakes his head in response and narrows those dark eyes of his just a bit. you read it for what it is: don’t you start talkin’ about yourself like that. he’s always been hard on you for not believing in yourself and your abilities, and it makes you laugh again.

“i mean really, joel. first man i’ve ever loved and you’re telling me to leave you here to die alone in fucking colorado.” you shake your head, looking away to try to blink back tears. “i can’t- i can’t just go. i need you alive.”

you can’t even stop yourself from babbling through the tears, brushing his hair back and wiping away his own tears. even though you should be desensitized to death and loss, you’ve always been particularly sensitive. but you’re young and this is your first love, your only shot at it, and he’s bleeding out on a cold floor because you were too focused on everything else that you hadn’t been able to stop him from getting hurt.

“ain’t your fault,” joel rasps out, eyes shining in the dull winter light. you realize you voiced that, a placing of responsibility that you’d meant for yourself and yourself only. “don’t do that.”

you stare at him and you know what’s going through that head of his. all kinds of thoughts that he wants to voice out loud: it’s not your fault and you were doing the best you could in the situation and this was going to happen sooner or later. damn pessimistic realist, always focusing on the worst possible outcomes than entertaining any kind of optimism.

and in a twisted turn of events, you start to think of your parents, long gone and relegated solely to memory, buried somewhere between atlanta and boston: an optimistic dad and an overwhelmingly realistic mother, so far on opposite ends of a spectrum that they complemented each other perfectly. your dad, ever the poet, had stolen poetry collections from every bookstore he’d came across during your treks from settlement to settlement. his favorite poem, by far, was about the death of a person’s innocence, something always meant to die eventually, perpetually blushing and always coming back a little less pristine each time.

you remember it now as you’re holding joel’s hand with your own, pressing his knuckles against the soft plush of your cheek. you, at least, were built to go, you hear your father’s voice say in your head, which is why you are able to be loved. you haven’t thought about this poem in years, not since you lost him to a runner somewhere in south carolina, but it feels sickening that you’re recalling it now as you’re watching your first and only love die under your hands.

and yet, somehow, it feels comforting, the idea that to be human is to know that one day, a loved one will die, but to know that is to cherish them better, to love them harder. you’re not at all okay with joel dying because you’ve had so little time to love him, but it helps you to cherish those few late nights more, to revel in the memory of his warmth enveloping you on particularly cold nights.

you can let me go. joel’s dark eyes are going glossy again and you smile knowingly at him, still crying. he’s not dead yet and there’s a possibility that he’ll make it out of this alive, the outcome that you’re praying to every god that has ever existed for. you can let me go; it won’t be easy, but you can do it.

ellie’s feet as loud on the old wood stairs as she comes barreling through the door and down the stairwell. she looks rabid as she all but throws herself onto the floor beside joel, ripping the tan coat back and pulling the soaked cloth away. joel’s wound is still gushing blood, a sure sign that he’s well on his way to death, but when ellie makes eye contact with you, you know for sure she’s found something to help. she holds up a needle and spool of thread; she must have torn the entire house apart looking for her hail mary and she found it, she fucking found it. she stares at you, eyes wide and face red, breathing hard, waiting for your go ahead.

when you finally nod at her, fresh tears in your eyes, you look down at joel. his fingers curl around your palm tighter and he’s staring back, his eyes wide. you laugh tearfully, totally and entirely stunned that ellie had actually found a way to help.

“you’re gonna be okay,” you weep, pressing his hand to your forehead, letting your tears drip into your lap. “you’re gonna be okay, joel. just hang on.”

the next few minutes crawl by cruelly, joel surely leaving bruises on your hand from gripping yours too hard, too tight, but you can’t even care because when his hand finally goes slack, ellie is done. her handiwork isn’t so bad and the bleeding has stopped for the most part. when you sigh, it feels like the weight of the world leaves your shoulders, a degree of relief you’ve never felt in your life.

joel, stubborn as always, is fighting unconsciousness as you turn to look back at him and you know it’s because he knows he’s not entirely out of the woods yet. there’s still bleeding to stop, a potential infection to fight, medicine you need to find to keep him safe and healthy, but this has to be good enough for now. it has to be because he’s joel miller and he’s mucked it through gunshot wounds and temporary deafness and all kinds of other shit the world has thrown at him.

ellie, clearly emotionally gone, stands, her dark eyes empty and her face void of everything save for exhaustion. without even looking at you, she turns towards the stairs and says to nobody, “going for a walk. i need a break.”

her footsteps echo in the stairwell and then creak overhead before she disappears out the front door, leaving you in an empty house with joel and the horse in the garage. you look back to joel, still holding his hand. his face, always so devoid of anything minus annoyance and anger, looks so relieved right now and it makes you want to cry again, but you’re shit out of saline. you lay his hand down beside him before you tuck his winter coat back over him, up to the chin.

there’s not much that you can say, no thoughts come to mind. nothing more than i love you, but you want to save those for when he’s safely out of the thick of this. as true as they are, it’s not the right time, but you’re sure he knows. he must when he scoots his hand out from under the coat and nudges it against your thigh, some gesture that you can’t decode, but that you understand as i’m still here, like he’s able to read your mind. you smile at him softly.

i’ll tell him when this is all over, you reason with yourself as you move to lay beside him, exhaustion finally overtaking you. wherever we end up after ellie is safe with the fireflies, i’ll tell him and he’ll say it back and we’ll be okay.

he can’t turn onto his side, but he turns his head to face you, looking every bit the age of fifty. his eyes are tired and the crinkles of his skin run deep, his cheeks and chin dusted gray. this close, you can see every pock mark, the dip of skin at his temple from some long-forgotten cut, the deep scar that mars the space between his eyebrows. his defenses are down and he looks his age, for the first time in a long time because it’s so easy to forget how old he is when he’s doing the things he does to protect you and ellie.

you scoot in as far as you’ll allow yourself, knees knocking against his legs and your head pillowed on the arm underneath you. you raise a hand and rest it on his cheek, a touch he immediately leans into, like your palm was made to caress his skin. as far as you care, it was. he tilts his head towards you and you find yourself doing the same, foreheads touching. this is one of the small gestures joel allows you on most days, but right now, it feels more monumental than that. like always, it’s a moment shared singularly between the two of you, but it carries so much more weight because he gazes at you with so much more softness and love than he’s ever let himself show before and it reminds you that underneath all that rough exterior, he is a man capable of gentle touches and adoration, no matter how many times the world and himself have tried to beat it out of him.

as his breathing slows, but deepens (a sure sign that ellie has mended the problem for now), you move your arm to rest on his torso, hand pressed into the sturdy spot just above his heart. the beat is steady, solid, a reminder that he’s okay. he was built to go, but now more than ever, you feel he was also built to be yours, to be loved by you. and you’ll make sure he makes it through this, no matter the cost.

(c) lskisms, 2023. do not repost, translate, or otherwise plagiarize my work. the only official versions of my work are available on tumblr and ao3 under the name lskisms.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fic #tlou x reader #.lskisms #.joel #.tlou

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