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gracieheartspedro · 9 months

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Cool About It

joel miller x fem! reader

Description: after your first encounter, joel turns into an asshole every time you're around. when tommy makes you two go out on patrol together, it turns into a muddled mess. turns out, he didn't hate you at all, he just sucks at emotions.

Part 2/3

FIND PART 1 HERE

PART 2 HERE

Word count: 6.3k

Warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, post!outbreak joel, killing of infected (including a child), blood, some LIGHT gore, age gap (more specified in this part), very smutty, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, pet names, joel is still a menace to society and a jerk

Author's Note: Thank you thank you thank you!! you all are so fabulous and sweet. I'm gonna make a masterlist soon, so be on the lookout. I'm also starting a tag list so, if you want to be included, please let me know! All feedback is welcomed. I love you all sm.

I came prepared for absolution if you'd only ask

So I take some offense when you say, "No regrets"

I remember it's impossible to pass your test

But I'm trying to forget about it

Feelin' like I'm breaking a sweat about it

Wishin' you would kindly get out of my head about it

Tellin' myself one day I'll forget about it

Knowin' that it probably isn't true

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want Joel on more of your patrols.

The patrols after your night together ended up being filled with unspoken sexual tension. You’d go home sexually frustrated and hungry for more, but you were never bold enough to make a move. And to be real, you weren’t sure if you should. He’d say something about keeping your shoulders straight when you shot, you’d say something stupid like “make me” and he’d spit back with, “I may just do that, girl.”

But it never went anywhere.

Even if you tried to make a pass, he’d make an excuse or remind you that you two were strictly working at the moment.

You once invited him over after a particularly long shift, wanting some relief from the ache between your thighs.

“Got things to get done at home,” He said, “Maybe another time.”

So after that week of patrols, you were suddenly never on his patrols again. You were put on the exact opposite shifts, actually. You had some sneaking suspicions that he asked Tommy to switch it up. He stopped looking at you during morning meetings and eventually you decided to drop the whole idea of him.

It still crossed your mind every time you saw him, though. How he felt on your lips. How his body felt connected with yours.

Your breathing would change every time you reminisced on your time together. He would consume your mind for brief periods and you couldn’t get away. You kept telling yourself that time would lessen the blow, but it never did.

So you tried your best to forget.

On one particularly chilly morning, you head to your scheduled time at the stables. You’d be going out with Jesse this time around. He was a newcomer, a real sweetie. Tommy wanted you to teach him all you knew about patrolling and securing certain areas.

But when you arrive, you notice Tommy, Joel, and Jesse all standing around waiting. You hadn’t said much to Joel the last couple weeks, only a wave or a quiet mumbled hello. His back was turned to you, but you knew those shoulders and back all too well.

“Are we all going out this morning?” You question, adjusting your braid on your shoulder. Joel turns to you, not expecting your voice to come up behind him. His eyebrows furrow at your presence.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy smiles, “You and Joel are gonna be going up to the ski lodge. Heard there’s a hoard or two out there, they need to be cleared.”

“I thought you said I was going with Jesse?” Joel speaks up a bit too quickly. Tommy’s words caught you off guard, so you just stand there waiting for him to respond to Joel, but it never comes.

You swallow, clearing your throat.

“No, I was supposed to go out with Jesse, actually.”

Jesse looks at everyone confused.

He was a cute kid. 20 years young, fresh faced, ready to take on anything. He had all this energy, something you wish you still had. Now you had a bad back, fucked knees, and a terrible sleeping schedule. You were only about 10 years older than him and you’re falling apart.

“We can all just go together?” Jesse offers, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. You knew that’d be shot down quick, especially when it came to a newbie. If there’s infected, we never throw the new guys into the pits of hell. They’d never want to patrol again.

Tommy shakes his head, “No, I want her and Joel to clear that area before I take you that route. They know it well. We are going to head towards the power plant. We have to bring back some supplies I have stored there.”

Joel’s eyes could laser Tommy in half at that moment. He was pissed and completely blindsided.

You surrendered to the idea, too tired to argue and fight about something so stupid. You also didn’t question their orders, simply because they knew better than you. You wanted to make sure Jackson was safe, just like everyone else.

You gesture Jesse to give the brothers some time alone, motioning towards the horses. You’d at least make sure the horses were ready for his trip out with Tommy. He grabs the reins of two horses, walking them outside towards the front gate. You grab the other two horses, doing the same thing.

He took notice to your tired eyes, “You okay going out today? You look tired.”

“Wow, Jesse,” You laugh, “I thought I looked great this morning when I woke up.”

He instantly starts to backpedal, not picking up your joke. You shake your head, trying to talk over all his apologies.

“I’m just messin’ Jesse. I am tired, but I’ll be okay, don’t you worry.”

He smiles, nudging your shoulder a bit.

“You just gave me a heart attack,” He chuckles, “You sure though? Even with Joel?”

You glance over at the Millers, watching them argue about whatever Joel was truly mad about. You knew in your head it was because he didn’t want to be around you. The feeling was becoming mutual. You never wanted to make anything awkward or difficult, but you guess that’s exactly what you did.

You just shrug. Jesse takes that as your response, grabbing the reins of your horse and handing them over to you.

“You stay safe out there,” He says, “Don’t let him get under your skin.”

You couldn’t help but snicker, “No need to worry about that, dude.”

–

Oh, but was he getting under your skin.

You initially just nod at every direction he makes at you, remembering that it was like this before anyway. But then he starts to undermine every suggestion you made.

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“We will be back before sundown, you know that. Don’t be dumb about it.”

“Stoppin’ would be dumb as hell. You can wait.”

You had been begging for 30 minutes to stop and pee. He was not giving in to anything you’d say. After awhile, you could not hold it anymore. You pull your horse to the side of the trail, not even saying anything to him. You dismount the horse, holding the reins for a moment before you hang them on a branch nearby.

“What are you doin’?” He spits, noticing you off your horse. You come around the horse, giving him a deadly glare. You grab your pack, finding some cloths you bring on your patrols so you can wipe and throw away.

“I have to fuckin’ pee, Joel. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Get back on your horse,” He demands, his posture getting more stiff.

You shake your head, unbuttoning your jeans and turning back to a private area behind a tree. You remember the moments before kissing Joel for the first time. Him telling you how great your ass looked in your jeans. You grimace.

You tug down your pants and squat.

You relieve yourself, quickly using your cloth to wipe when you finish. You toss it behind you, standing up in your spot and turning around to head back to your horse.

You realize Joel is off his horse, bounding towards you. He grabs your arm, pulling you to face him.

“Why don’t you fuckin’ listen?” He says through gritted teeth.

It took everything in you not to fucking snap. You wanted to pull away and scream and yell and throw something at him. But instead your heart just started racing at the contact his hand made with your skin and you physically couldn’t do anything.

He realizes you’re caught off guard. He didn’t grab you hard, just enough shake you a bit to get your attention on him and only him. His facial expression changes as he drops your arm, stepping back a couple of paces. It’s like he realized he was being a bit too aggressive. Maybe it was your expression that brought him back down from whatever pedestal he thought he was on.

“Don’t touch me,” Is all you could think to say. He wasn’t even touching you anymore but you still felt him all over you.

He just nods.

You look down at yourself, realizing your pants are still unbuttoned. You look back up at Joel who’s staring at your panties peaking through your unzipped jeans. His eyes travel back up to yours. You decide to slowly button them back up.

You don’t hear what he says when he peels his eyes away and walks back to his horse. Probably some asshole comment that was better said under his breath.

You both get back on your horses and continue to the ski lodge in silence. Before you scale the one side of the mountain, you hear something.

You keep your eyes peeled for infected. You are almost positive that’s what you’re hearing so you whistle to catch Joel’s attention. You nod to your left, which is the direction you hear the familiar clicking. You grab your rifle from your side saddle, gesturing to Joel to do the same.

You always get this rush when you have to kill infected. It’s not a good rush at all, it’s pure adrenaline.

You dismount again, making sure your horse is tied to a nearby tree. Joel is close behind you as you creep forward towards the noise. The woods are dense with trees but there is also a ton of rock formations that were usually excellent cover.

The clicking gets louder and so does the sound of your heartbeat.

“There,” Joel whispers, gesturing towards a rock. You kneel, creeping up the formation and looking down. There you see not one, not two, but three clickers wondering around a dead deer. It was torn to shreds, blood everywhere. You weren’t bothered by blood at all, it was just the sick smell of decay that got you a bit queasy. You draw your gun up, aiming it towards the clicker closest to you.

“On three,” You murmur to Joel. You knew that you��d had to shoot two at the same time to give you enough time to kill the third with a quick reload.

Joel just nods, drawing his gun up.

“One,” Breath in, “Two,” Hold, “Three” Breath out.

The sounds of guns sent the clicking sounds to an all time high. Your ears are ringing, but you instinctively cock your gun, releasing one shell.

You aim, firing your weapon at the third and final clicker. You hear Joel yell something, but your ears are still ringing.

Then it hits you.

“Three more!”

Every time you’re in a fight or flight situation, you always fight. Old you would run.

You bring your weapon up, noticing Joel’s new position on the boulder. He’s aiming and firing at some infected down hill who are quickly running at you two.

You refocus in searching the area behind you. The last thing you needed was a sneak attack from a stalker. One enters your eye line and you fire. You keep count of how many bullets you have. Three down, four more left.

“Got two on your right!”

You hear Joel’s directions, drawing your weapon up and shooting another stalker between the eyes. The last one was a child, which was always the hardest. You knew that there was no choice, so you pull the trigger, which sent the child flying backwards. You wince a bit, seeing that this was probably just a family who got caught in the wrong situation. You killed all of them in less than a minute. Life wasted.

Silence fills the air, your ears still ringing from endless gunfire. You turn back to Joel who’s breathing heavily and holstering his gun.

You never had to question Joel’s abilities, which made him an excellent patrol partner. He knew exactly how to react in high risk situations.

He made you feel safe.

“Looks like we found one of the hoards Tommy was talking about,” He says, walking up to you, “Lets hope it’s just the one.”

“Glad it was you with me and not Jesse,” You say, relaxing your arm.

“That kid would be dead by now.”

When you’re less than a mile from your stop, you notice some storm clouds taking over the beautiful summer sky. The air starts to change. The wind begins to pick up, blowing your braid back and tickling your bare neck. The air smells like rainwater, sweet and pungent.

You use the silence to think about how simple life use to be. You reminisce about your childhood that was cut too short. You were a young adult when the infection started so you hadn’t been able to get married or settle down with a family. Everything was ripped away from you so prematurely and deep down, you crave that simplicity. Get married, have children, die of old age.

If only you could’ve lived in a world where you didn’t have to kill a child because some random ass fungus took over their humanity.

“We are almost there,” Joel says finally, pulling you out of your thoughts, “We may have to ride out the storm.”

You just nod even though he can’t see you.

The ski lodge was actually very beautiful. It was one of two that was used as a safe house for patrols, this one being your personal favorite. You had been there with Tommy once and he gave you the grand tour. It was reasonably clean for being so old, stocked full of canned items, and had very comfy beds.

You start to bring your horses to the covered back porch when it starts to rain. You grab all your gear, slinging it over your shoulder. Joel jingles a key out of his pocket, racing to the sliding glass doors. He unlocks the door, ripping it open as soon as the rain picks up. You both make it in the quiet lodge, setting your belongings on the kitchen counter.

“I’m going to get the lanterns up and running,” You mumble, heading towards the living room where all the lanterns were scattered about. Joel locks the sliding glass door, before he starts rummaging through his bag.

You turn on as many lanterns as you can, lighting up the room with warm glow.

You find your way onto one of the couches, kicking your boots off.

“Want me to start a fire? We may have to hang out the rest of the night if that storm don’t let up,” Joel questions, sliding his jacket off his shoulders.

You shrug, “Don’t matter.”

He starts to pile up some wood as you find an apple in your bag. You watch him slowly pace back and forth from the wood pile to the huge stone fireplace. You watch his back muscles flex when he picks up a piece of wood. You were using him as a distraction to get you away from those dark thoughts from earlier.

You bite into your apple.

“You bring anythin’ for me?”

Is he fucking with you?

“There’s canned peaches in the cabinets.”

He laughs, lighting the wood with a match. You watch the fire build and build as he messes with the wood. He was squatting, his shirt riding up a bit. Even his lower back was eye catching.

“You don’t wanna share?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not sharin’ anything with you.”

He turns back to you with a smirk playing on his lips, “Not even a better look at those panties you’re wearing?”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.”

You did hear him, of course, but were in denial of the actual intentions behind the words. He creeps closer, finding a spot on the couch next to you. You take another bite of your apple, staring at him with curiosity.

Was he being serious?

You contemplate your options. Do you play into the game? Do you resist and possibly regret it later? He was such an asshole earlier. But then again, he always is. He was before you slept with him. So was that a valid excuse to not play into the game?

You remember the ache between your legs last night after reading a smutty romance novel. You imagined the characters as you and Joel, yet you never wanted to admit it. You knew that you wanted this, but resisting to give him a taste of his own medicine would be satisfying, too.

“Ya know,” He ponders, leaning over to meet your eyes, “I still have your other pair you left at my house.”

You remember the slight panic you felt the morning after when you couldn’t find them. You knew damn well he’d find them somewhere, but you didn’t think he’d keep them.

“Didn’t even know I left them,” You lie, your eyes averting away from him.

You were a horrible liar.

“You’re pretty cute when you lie, sweetheart,” He grabs your chin, tilting your face back to his, “You left them on purpose. Thought you’d use that as an excuse to come crawling back to me.”

He was being smug, you knew that. For some reason, you don’t cave immediately even though the conversation was making you tingle.

“Crawling back to you? Why would I do that?” You question, “When I have all these other guys who will gladly take up my offers.”

He smiles smugly, “Hm, that doesn’t seem very like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t seem like the type of girl to whore yourself out to a bunch of assholes.”

His finger traces your lower lip, catching it and pulling down. You don’t pull away, soaking up the intense tension in the air.

“You don’t know me, Joel Miller.”

He just stares at your mouth, “I know enough.”

You want to lean in further, push your lips on his and finally surrender to him. But you hold on for a few more seconds. You’re practically quivering under his touch, wanting nothing more to just cut the shit and jump on top of him.

“You told me not to touch you earlier,” he mumbles, “But here you are just fumblin’ over yourself every time I touch ‘ya.”

“Will you just shut the fuck up and kiss me?”

His touch becomes rougher, his one arm pulling you into his lap, the other hand grabbing your face roughly.

“You start talkin’ like that you get nothin’,” his breathing fans your face, blowing your baby hairs away from your forehead, “Be a good girl like before.”

You squirm a bit, trying to lift your head in defiance. It doesn’t work, he has a good grip on you. His eyes are dark as he adjusts you so you are practically mounted on his lap. He releases your face bringing his hand down to your neck. He pulls you down to his lips, connecting them feverishly.

You couldn’t help yourself. You melt into him, your hands wrapping around his neck before sliding them down his chest. His hips are practically rutting into yours. You grind down, moaning out at the contact. You knew that being disobedient wouldn’t get you anywhere, so to get what you want, you knew you’d have to play into his dominance.

He smiles into the kiss, knowing you have been waiting for this moment.

You pull away, pulling your shirt off. He’s looking at you like you’re his next meal. You kind of are.

“Missed these tits,” He says his hands resting on your ribcage, right under your bare breasts, “Best ones I’ve ever seen.”

“Joel,” You groan, fumbling for the button on your pants, “Need you. Bad.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I know baby.”

He fondles you for a second before latching his lips around your left nipple. His tongue swirls around it before he slightly bites it. You arch your back, wanting more from him but he just pulls away. You roll off his lap, tugging your pants down, including your underwear.

“Ah,” He’s not even paying attention to you butt naked all spread for him, instead he’s leaning down to your pile of clothes. He grabs your panties, holding them up, “Baby pink. You fuckin’ tease.”

“Joel,” You whine, nudging him with your foot, “Enough about my underwear.”

He runs his hands up your leg before standing up and discarding his own shirt and pants. He leaves his briefs on, his cock tenting the gray fabric.

“So eager,” he mocks, “What do you want from me, baby girl? Hm?”

You smile at the million of thoughts running through your head. But you settle for words that you know will drive him wild.

“Do whatever you want to me, Joel.”

He pulls you to the edge of the couch. He’s on his knees like he’s about to pray at the altar to whatever God may exist. Instead, he’s between your legs, speckling your thighs with scratchy kisses. His salt and pepper hair is messy, his sunkissed bare arms highlighted with some freckles. You never noticed them before.

“‘M gonna need your mouth,” He mumbles, raising his fingers to your mouth. You grab his wrist with your hands, lifting his fingers to your lips. You suck on every one, releasing each one with a pop. He watches you with his lips slightly agape, almost hypnotized by the action.

He uses his newly wet fingers to trace your slit before he uses his pointer and middle finger to spread your lips. He’s playing with you, making you writhe underneath his touch. You lift your hips a bit, which causes him to lay his free arm across your lower stomach.

“Patience, sweetheart,” He gives your pussy one lick, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

He’s good on his word.

He dives into you like a ravenous animal. His tongue hitting every desperate spot within you. You were taken to the same state of mind when he first ate you out. You had no words, just moans of pleasure.

He uses his fingers to toy with your opening, sticking two fingers in initially before he becomes too eager to see you fall apart. He wraps his lips around your swollen clit, suckling and moaning around it. You knew from before that he liked all eyes on him. You watch him as the vibrations mixed with him finger fucking you sends you into your first eye rolling orgasm.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so fast in your life. It’s a release you’ve been yearning months for, making it even sweeter.

He pulls away, giving your pussy a little slap. It makes you yell out.

“Came without permission, but that’s okay,” He licks his fingers, “You have a couple more in you. You just gotta beg extra for ‘em.”

He was a menace.

You just nod, not able to communicate your actual feelings on him denying you the simple pleasure of cumming all over him. The idea of having to hold back made you a bit eager to see how far you could take it, though.

“Need your mouth now,” He tugs off his underwear, kicking them across the room. You don’t know how, but it almost looks bigger. Maybe it’s the swollen red tip that makes you overawe over it.

“Would you like me on my knees, sir?”

He leers at you, “What a good girl, being so polite… Yes, baby girl, get on your knees in front of me. I wanna see those eyes.”

You crawl off the couch, getting in between his legs. His cock is laying on his lower tummy, just waiting for you. You aren’t super into sucking dick, but this was Joel’s. You know that you had to give it your all. You wanted to give it your all.

You grab ahold of the base of his cock, keeping your eyes on him as you slowly open your lips to take him. Once your hot mouth touches the tip, he hisses in satisfaction.

“Mhm,” He groans, “Take all of it, baby.”

You’re not sure if you can, but you are going to do your very best.

You relax your throat as much as you can, slowly inching his cock down your throat. You’re halfway around it when it hits your gag reflex. You pull back, still keeping his cock wrapped around your lips. You sit up, jerking the base of his cock as you slurp up as much as you can.

“You got it baby,” He encourages, “Relax and take it slow.”

Whenever Joel praises you, you can’t help but let it get to your head.

You take a deep breath in as you take more of him in. Widening your jaw more, you finally get him completely engulfed in your mouth. He twitches inside, which sends a jolt of pleasure to your core. You let him take control, raising his hips a bit to fuck your mouth. He has a hold of your braid, which only adds to the experience. You’ve never had your hair pulled before, but you’re beginning to love the sensation. He’s a moaning mess, chanting your name like a prayer. Your saliva is all over his lower tummy by the time he pulls your mouth away from his cock.

“Gonna make me cum like that if you keep goin’,” He states, pulling you up to his lips. He kisses you, all tongue and teeth, “Let me fuck that pussy, yeah?”

You whimper, “Yes, please.”

“Such a good girl.”

He pulls you up into his lap while you slowly position yourself above him. You loved riding him before and with how sensitive and riled up you were now, you were prepared to ride his cock like it’s the last thing you’d ever do.

He focused his attention on rubbing his cock head between your pussy lips. You bite your lip as soon as he pushes slowly into your entrance. You groan, letting the sweet stretch take ahold of you.

“Atta’ girl,” Joel sighs, “Take all of me in that tight little pussy.”

You gasp as soon as he raises your hips a bit, repositioning how his cock sits inside you. His hand rests on your pelvic bone, pulling you forward. You realize he’s guiding you, helping you grind back and forth on his dick. Every roll of your hips pushes a moan out your throat, making Joel stare up at you with satisfaction. He removes his hands from your hips, bringing his right hand to your throat.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby girl,” He lets out a wanton moan, while your stomach feels like it’s reaching a boiling point. He realizes how tense your getting so he reaches down with his spare hand, putting more pressure on your clit. “This is my pussy.”

“Mhm.”

“Say it. Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours, Joel.”

“That’s fuckin’ right, baby girl. All mine.”

“Joel, please,” You cry, “I need to cum.”

“No,” He spits, “You don’t cum until I tell you.”

You clench, trying to resist the release. He notices you slowing down, so he stops choking you. Instead of letting you have a moment to recoup, he grabs your waist again, raising it slightly so he could raise his hips to pound into you. With his fingers still pressing on your bud, he chooses a bruising pace. You are practically screaming, the release imminent.

“Please, please,” You beg, “Joel, I need to.”

He doesn’t stop his assault on your pussy, “You keep beggin’, baby girl. I’ll tell you when.”

“Fuck, fuck,” You can’t stop yourself, the vibration from your incoming orgasm taking over your body, “Please Joel!”

“Cum,” He grits his teeth, “Cum all over this cock, baby girl.”

You have never had an orgasm take over every fiber of your being like it. You throw your head back, yelling Joel’s into the silence of the house. His pace slows down, as your cum soaks his lower half.

“Oh my god,” You groan, not knowing how to formulate a full sentence yet. You were still seeing stars in your vision, as you try to refocus on Joel.

“Holy shit,” He pulls out of you, “You okay?”

You just nod, your head falling forward. Your braid falls over your chest in between your breasts. Joel grabs the end of it, toying with it for a moment while you catch your breath.

“I’ll give you a minute,” He picks you up off him, laying you onto the cushion next to him. You grab his hand as he tries to pull away.

“I don’t need one,” You were still spent from the first two orgasms, it was written all over your face. Joel just chuckles, positioning himself over your body. He cages you in, tilting your face so you make eye contact.

“You ready for me already?”

“Need you.”

He uses his leg to part your thighs, settling between you again. He was still hard, his cock nudging your swollen wet opening.

“I want your eyes on me,” He commands.

“Yes, sir.”

He pushes into you again, your mouth parting in a gasp at how sensitive you were.

He smiles at your reaction while he settles into a steady pace. You try to focus on him, watching his facial expressions as he dives into you over and over again.

Joel had to be sculpted by whatever God created him. Every part of him was angular, his cheekbones quite high. His nose was just about perfect, especially from the side. His side profile was everything.

You truly didn’t think he looked his age. The only thing that kind of gave him away was the grays speckled through his dark hair. Other than that, the guy was a sex god.

You are too busy to admiring him, you don’t even realize how close he is. He’s gripping onto your hips, probably bruising them with how tightly he’s holding them. The way his dick twitches inside you, sends that familiar rush back into your body.

He’s not breaking eye contact. You smirk while he groans pushing harder into you.

“You better cum inside me,” You murmur, “Want you to fill me up.”

“God,” He cries, “So fucking flithy.”

And he loved that about you.

He releases into you with a loud sigh. You don’t teeter over that edge until he pulls out of you, looking to see his work.

He uses his two fingers, pushing them inside you, then back out. He rubs his cum onto your clit, slapping it a couple times. When you jolt in pleasure, he smiles knowingly.

“One more time?”

He positions himself between your legs again. He’s fingering you so lazily but it’s still enough to have you crying out in pleasure. You don’t even have time to respond to him, before you’re falling over the edge and cumming once more.

You lay there, trying to catch your breath again. Joel stands up on wobbly legs, making his way to the nearby bathroom. You didn’t know if this house would be stocked with rags or anything, so when Joel comes out with a folded blanket, you can’t help but giggle.

“This is all we got,” He gestures towards the blanket, “We can burn it when we finish with it.”

You take it from him, running it between your legs. The wooley fabric scratched a bit, but you didn’t have one care in the world.

Until you get a familiar sinking feeling. Like you did something very wrong.

You sit up while Joel takes the blanket, cleaning up himself. You try to stand, your legs feeling like jelly. You pick up your panties from the floor next to Joel’s clothes. You start to grab each of your clothing items, throwing them on as you go. You watch as he does the same.

“I guess this means you don’t hate me,” You mutter, not knowing what to say after what just occurred. You felt guilty and sick with anxiety.

If anyone else sat in on this day with Joel, they’d say the same thing. The way he talks to you, how annoyed he was to be stuck with you on patrol today, everything. It’d make anyone feel not wanted.

He shoots you a glance, “I never hated you.”

He says it with such conviction that you wince, not sure whether to believe him.

“You have ignored me for months. You fought with Tommy because you were stuck with me today. And then on the way here, you yelled at me for having to pee. Called me dum-”

“I didn’t call you dumb.”

You breath in sharply, “You’re just impossible, you know that?”

He shakes his head. You know he wants to say something smart back, but it never comes.

Instead he sits down beside you, keeping his eyes down at his feet. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a lifetime.

“Listen,” He huffs, “I don’t hate you. I am just not good at…”

“Being nice to people?”

He smirks, finally looking up at you, “Sure, but hey… I don’t regret anything that happened. I enjoy our… time together.”

You wanted to strangle him.

After months of contemplating what went wrong, he tells you he doesn’t regret anything.

After spending all that time acting like he did.

You wear your emotions all over your face and Joel realizes it quickly. He rests his hand on your knee, a gentle gesture that makes your heart rate increase by a thousand.

“You made me feel like shit for months,” You admit, trying to hold your composure, “I’ve felt like an idiot since the moment Ellie walked in that morning. You made me feel that way, Joel. You made me feel stupid. And here I am, all this time later, and I still feel fucking dumb. Maybe even dumber now, since I just let you fuck me again.”

His hand travels up to cup your cheek. You felt like crying, but you knew that it wouldn’t do you any good.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, darlin’,” He confesses, “I am sorry for everythin’.”

You felt like you were being manipulated. You always had a terrible time figuring out what a genuine apology looked like. You were used to being exploited and having your heart ripped out and stomped on.

You turn away from his hand, looking out the back sliding glass door. The rain is coming down, pitter pattering on the tin roof over your head. You see lightning go across the sky, hearing the loud crack of thunder seconds later.

You pondered if you should just run in the other direction. Away from Joel, away from the emotions and memories that were being sludged up from the deepest pits of your brain.

“When I grabbed you earlier, you had this horrified look on your face…” Joel starts, bringing your attention back, “It was a face ‘d seen more than a few times. That look of disbelief and fear.”

You just let him continue, not looking him the eyes.

“I never wanna to make you feel that way,” He admits, “I never wanna scare you or hurt you. I knew in that moment, I was using that pent up anger at myself towards you.I just… I spent so much time tryin’ to find ways to keep you away from me because I don’t wanna disappoint you or hold you back.”

You finally look back up at him.

“I am sick of findin’ ways to keep you away. I like havin’ you around.”

You want to believe him so badly.

“I like having you around, too, Joel. I just…” You stammer, “I just need a bit, okay?”

He bows his head, “Yeah, ‘course. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll take watch and wait for the rain to let up.”

You take up his offer, stalking off to the nearby bedroom. You just wanted space, a moment of peace and quiet. Your body was still recovering from the greatest orgasms of your life, now your mind is littered with a million emotions you didn’t know how to muddle through. Once you lay down on the old bed, you realize that sleep would probably bring you back to life a bit. You close your eyes, letting your mind ease out of the chaos of reality.

–

When you wake up, you don’t hear anymore rain. You only hear the crackling of the fireplace. You don’t know how long you’ve been sleeping, which sends you into a slight panic. You waltz out into the living room, seeing Joel lounging on the couch you defiled and reading. It was a random novel, probably from the large bookcase in the hallway.

“We good to head back?” You question.

“Yeah, let’s get home ‘fore they send out a search party.”

You watch him stretch his shoulders as he stands, his jaw clenched in an unrelaxed way. His hair is messy and standing in different directions from the way he was laying. It makes you smile.

“Hey Joel,” You say, walking closer to him, “When we get back to Jackson, would you want to go out to dinner or something?”

His gaze softens. You were really trying, he could tell.

Your rested mind decided it was time to just jump head first.

If Joel was being honest with his intentions, maybe it was time for you to be honest with yourself, too.

“I’d like that, sweetheart.”

“It’s a date, then.”

taglist: @pedrotonin @mysingularitybts @harriedandharassed @paleidiot @misatoad @lottieellz101

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #cool about it #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel miller x reader smut #gracielovespedro

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rainbowmothed · 3 months

Text

── I'M NOT A VIOLENT ANGEL. I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE.

· ★ · basically just me rewriting vaggie's fall + chaggie first meeting. trigger warning for blood, gore, murder, classic extermination stuff!

Vaggie felt the pressure settle on her shoulders as she spread her wings, lines of black smearing across the crimson sky of the underworld in a flurry of feathers as she and her kin descended from the beaming light illuminating the once darkened sky, atmosphere thick with the already fresh scent of bitter blood.

Guilt was all Vagatha could manage to muster in her soul, her very being. She never liked to be an exterminator. She didn't know why– most of her kin adored slaughtering the “demon scum” of the underworld. And Vaggie knew she was no different than them, no less shameful in comparison despite feeling butterflies churn in her stomach before she drew her angelic spear. Six years she had spent as one of Adam's top girls, always cast to be on the front lines, praised by her peers for being one of the most merciless, blood-thirsty ones out there.

And oh, how she despised it with every single fiber of her being.

Vaggie cringed as she remembered the proud slaps on the back and reassuring pats shoulders after every extermination as they rose back to the skies above afterwards, the shouts of “good jobs” and “that was even better than last year” filling the air, choking her, suffocating her as the words shoved their way down her throat until soft tears pricked her eyes and her skin flustered with shameful heat.

God, she hated her job. And it was strange. She was created for this. Created in the Heavens for the sole purpose of reigning massacre upon people who were seen as nothing more than the dirt under their heels, when, in reality, Vaggie knew they were far more than that. They were once human souls, who once had lives, and who once had families, who maybe still did have families. She knew she'd killed at least one husband who had a wife and kids at home, waiting, and one wife or one child. Likely far more than that.

So many denizens had crumbled to their knees at her hands as she lodged the blade of the spear into their flesh. The flesh she was meant to see as worthless, puny, disgusting, sinful. Wretched. But the flesh she saw only bore hints of light, shimmering under the surface, waiting to be unveiled, until it was cut short and dulled as their black blood splattered across the alleyway floors and concrete sidewalks, heads slamming down as they met their gruesome fates. Perished.

And this year, Vagatha knew she would do the same thing. Or rather, should do the same thing. She was given a sharp nod to descend as she continued through the air. Her previous guilty thoughts had made her work up a tad bit of a nervous sweat, so she pulled away the mask that concealed her face, swiping away the sweat that stuck to her forehead like bothersome glue. Not bothering to put it back on, Vaggie simply attached it to her waist, feeling it thud against her hip as she flew down into the alleyway, boots finally making contact with the glass-lined gravel below.

Expecting to see some looming, wretched soul, Vaggie was only greeted with a cowering little child, far younger than her, far less defenseless. Where were its parents? It didn't deserve to fall. Not like this. “Go, run.” Vaggie urged, before she could form a second thought about her own actions, pulling her blade far away from the thing's throat and waving it off. Sparing it. The guilt had become unfathomable, and she was no longer even in control of her own body. Pathetic.

However, the sounds of footsteps behind her made Vagatha quickly snap out of her daze, wings perking up with surprise as she drew her blade, expecting some idiotic, bold sinner, only to feel a hand grasp her shoulder. Vaggie’s eyes widened as her lips parted, attempting to let out a flurry of excuses as she saw Lute’s face before her. Grinning, merciless.

Oh God.

Vaggie let out a shrill shriek of pain as she felt the angelic weapon pierce her eye, gouging it out and letting it roll onto the ground below. Vagatha’s stomach churned with nausea as she naturally fell to her knees, letting out another cry as she felt Lute’s boot press against the top of her skull.

“Traitor scum like you have no place in Heaven.”

Vaggie attempted to choke out a plea, a beg for mercy, but was cut short as she felt Lute’s gloved hands wrap around the base of her wings, pulling back with relentless force as they were ripped from her body, another pathetic splatter of neon green, angelic blood splashing across the ground. Vaggie felt like she was going to retch from the pure amount of adrenaline and pain pumping through her skin, her being, her very soul.

Guilt. Harsher than before.

Guilt for betraying Heaven. Guilt for slaughtering the people of the underworld. Guilt for not living up to her superiors’ standards of her. Guilt for every single thing she had ever done wrong, crashing down on her at once.

—

Vaggie shakily stumbled up to her knees as Adam and Lute walked away, snickering under their breaths and beaming with nothing but pride. No guilt themselves; nothing but happiness and unfiltered glee at finding a traitor amongst their ranks and properly punishing her for it.

All for sparing one measly child.

Vaggie tore away the mask that still hung to her belt, exterminator uniform soaked with blood and torn in some places. In a moment of anguish, mixed in a blurred puddle with hints of anger, she ripped it all from her body, leaving herself in the clothes she had underneath. Vaggie tossed it into the dumpster that lay against the wall of the alleyway, her neon green blood splattering down the side of it as she threw it to be picked later.

Still weakly clutching the spear in her hand, she leaned her back against another dumpster, trying not to brush the stumps of her ripped off wings against anything to prevent any further agonizing pain. She already had plenty of that, her eye now an empty socket, vision nowhere to be found beside the one she still had. Thank Lute for that, she mused. Didn't take her vision completely.

Vagatha was silently praying for some random imp to come pick her off. Finish the game her superiors had started, end her pathetic life once and for all. Lay her corpse against the dirt of the ground she once saw as beneath her. Funny, seeing as how the people she once saw as her victims, albeit with a bit of shame, could slaughter her right here and now with absolute ease.

Vaggie didn't even cry. The tears would've hurt her eye too much. She felt them boiling under the surface, yes, but they never trespassed that burning point, never spilling or teetering over the edge just right to drop. Vagatha soon enough heard footsteps approaching. Great, her future murderer had finally come, just as she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness due to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Instead of the expression of a cruel murderer, she was greeted by the face of a shocked denizen. Gorgeous, with blonde hair, streaked with honey hues. Pale skin, with rosy cheeks, akin to that of a marionette. Beautiful. If this woman was the last thing Vaggie was to see, she would definitely be able to go out happy compared to her earlier predicament. The bitterness flushed out of her soul as she stared up at the demon, waiting for the blade to press against her neck. For her to end her suffering.

But it didn't.

Instead, a bandage was carefully wrapped around her missing eye, the denizens fingers soft and delicate. Perfect compared to her own, scarred with the memories of the lives that had been taken by them. It made her expression soften. It was the little things that made Vaggie swoon like that, and this was definitely one of those little things.

Was she falling for the woman who she thought was going to slaughter her just a moment ago? It was a tad funny, actually. The flusterment only grew as she saw her tuck a piece of blonde hair behind her porcelain-hued ear, diverting her gaze as she cheekily smiled.

This girl would definitely be the death of Vaggie, but in a completely different way than she was originally anticipating.

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queenofapeacefuldawn · 3 months

Text

SPY × Family: Chapter 94 analysis unhinged thoughts

hello hello! i am back with my thoughts for the latest chapter! please note that there are spoilers ahead for chapter 94! (Long-ish post incoming?)

Okay, so I loved this chapter. I'm a person who loves locked room murder mystery type stories, so this definitely scratched that itch for me. Obviously, I'm biased.

Analysis (of sorts?):

Right off the bat I can say that this chapter isn't really oriented on emotions or certain character dynamics. It is pretty plot heavy (but. not to the main plot. this chapter in itself has a plot to its own, but I really really liked it).

So the chapter starts with Bondman facing off an enemy in a snowy mountain...

which, of course, inspires Anya to have an adventure of her own. She asks Loid to take her skiing, only to be flatly denied...

BUT! Agent Anya has tricks up her sleeve (threatening to cry), and that works on our dear, super-spy Agent Twilight (he's so weak and stupid y'all.)

side note:

he thinks he's soooo cool. he's not.

Anyway, we get Twilight trying to explain skiing to Yor, which... fails, kinda. we also get gymnastics from Yor, (SHE's the cool one), and a half-baked explanation from her about learning all that from a gymnastics teacher.

The Forgers are trapped in a snowy blizzard, which leads them to take refuge in a lodge. They meet a group of young college students, who regale them with a tale of a bloody snowman who kills people in the dark.

Might just be me, but this design reminds me of Type-F from the new Code White movie (note: this isn't exactly a spoiler, I haven't seen the movie, but this is what's on the wiki and in the trailers). The snowy backdrop + this Type-F-esque design might be a homage to the movie? Probably just me, though, haha.

Anyway, onto the main focus of the story (kidding, it's not):

WE COULD'VE HAD IT ALL..... YOR AND LOID SLEEPING ON THE SAME BED.... WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN....

(jk, it probably wouldn't have happened, but a girl can dream)

"Eh, why not?" Certainly, these words CANNOT exist in the vocabulary of THE Agent Twilight! Perhaps.... no, it can't be... he's finally RELAXED for once? Feeling secure enough to ASSESS THE LAYOUT FOR POSSIBLE ESCAPE ROUTES WITH HIS YOUNG DAUGHTER? No... it can't be possible....

(Sorry, I know I'm unfunny. I don't think that'll change)

But, genuinely, this just shows how at ease he is with his wife and daughter. He might not know it yet, but I know it (← somebody whose opinion isn't worth shit).

Finally, onto the main crisis of the story:

the would-be murderer.

There's something to be said about how he jumped into action to save the guy's life, (as one does), BUT. BUT

OHOHOHO. The minute Yor's in danger (see: the man reached out to grab her but Loid just grabbed his hand) he decides to find the killer to prove her innocence. (You know his adage? A spy should never draw attention to themselves.) The minute his WIFE was in danger he resolves to find the killer and prove Yor's innocence their guilt. HMMMMM. Agent Twilight, you ain't slick. I think you momentarily forgot about about your #1 lesson to never draw attention to yourself just to prove Yor's innocence. OHHHHHH. The fanfiction is fanfiction-ing

(I'M SORRY I'LL TRY TO BE FUNNY FROM NOW ON)

To summarize the rest of the chapter: Anya realises with her telepathy that the killer is the lodge owner, and meddles in the investigation to nudge Loid in the right direction, and the police arrive to the lodge to find the incident resolved. Everyone's happy, right?

Not... really.

Anya's excited because, "Wow, I solved a murder! So cool, best trip ever!"

But Yor and Loid aren't that happy. Loid is worried that this kind of meddling will get Anya in danger... and he's more worried that she isn't really grasping the gravity of the situation.

Which. She kind of isn't. A man was almost killed, but she's not showing any signs of shock? Remember, he was this worried even after the hospital visit where she makes a mess of that sand-model thingie, and after the bus hijacking arc, when she's hyped about the Stella, and he tells her that the Stella was "not for the reckless way you defied those hijackers."

Which.... is a lot of character development from the man who was A-OK with leaving her alone in the apartment, to now how he constantly worries about her wellbeing. Growth.

Also, another tidbit:

I feel like this chapter showcases another facet of his personality. Not Agent Twilight's, or Loid's, but [REDACTED]'s.

[REDACTED] always wanted to help. Even in the War Arc, when, in Luwen where he was staying at his great-uncle's house, we can see that he wants to catch fish for his and his family's dinner, while, in the backdrop, children are laughing and playing. It's always been in his character to help, and, hell, it's partly the reason he is who he is today. Agent Twilight wants to think that he left [REDACTED] behind after that fateful bombing in Luwen, but [REDACTED] is hanging around him like a ghost, and some of his character bleeds through the facade that is Agent Twilight, which is masked by the facade that is Loid Forger.

Final thoughts:

Loved the chapter. It's probably just me reading into it too much, but... that scene where he grabs the guy's hand who was trying to tie up Yor. Hm.

This entire chapter might have been a locked-room murder mystery type chapter, but I genuinely think that it showcases how much of an effect this family has had on Agent Twilight. What with taking Anya on a sweep of the premises to look for escape routes, to trying to prove Yor's innocence that definitely betrayed his number 1 rule as a spy... this man is truly so oblivious, I wanna cry.

(Also: did he not stop for a moment to think that him performing first-aid on the victim, or trying to build a radio from scratch OR playing detective to prove his wife's innocence IN FRONT OF A GROUP OF OSTANIAN PEOPLE would raise suspicions? Obviously, it was all overshadowed by the discovery of the would-be killer, but... at least one person had got to have been suspicious of Loid.)

(Also also: He's so weak. One look at her crying face and he's gone.)

This was just my thoughts from a preliminary read of the chap, so if I get more thoughts, I'll probably add onto it in a reblog or a new post. Tysm for reading! Hope you liked it, and have a great day/night! Remember to stay hydrated!

#spy x family #spy x family manga #spy x family manga spoilers #spy x family chapter 94 #spy x family chapter 94 spoilers #agent twilight #loid forger #thorn princess #yor forger #agent twilight x yor forger #twiyor #loid forger x yor forger #loidyor #anya forger #bond forger

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dragonnarrative-writes · 2 months

Note

im gonna be honest, I keep rereading pt 3 and 4 of the slasher handler and fantasising about how incredibly sexy it would be if kyle acquired a handler of his own by accident or on purpose and he finally understands simon's obsession now 😵‍💫

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Kyle and Simon aren't friends, per se. They only met through Johnny, because Johnny is sloppy and impulsive and never knows how to clean up his own messes. It's offensive to Kyle's meticulous nature and, apparently, appeals to Simon's need for a pet.

Since Johnny's been serving time for the last nine months, with nine months to go (sloppy work, he's lucky Kyle was able to clean things up), Simon's gone to ground. Every now and then, news of his work pops up. Once, one of the victims had ended up at the hospital Kyle works at.

"The Ghost Killer strikes again! Ah...! Run...!" Kyle had muttered to himself, taking the unconscious young man's rapidly fading vitals. They'd found him in an abandoned building, an old hospital well outside of Simon's usual territory. Which means something has changed.

That evening, sipping a beer, he'd called Price on his burner.

"What can I do for you, Kyle?"

"Just letting you know that your dog is out of the yard. The big one, not the terrier," Kyle answers with a smile. "He left behind a bit of a mess, but there was only one little rabbit left suffering. I handled it."

Price had hummed on the other end. "I saw the news. 'S not like him. I'll check in." And then he'd hung up.

Months later, and Kyle finally has an answer when he catches Simon trailing behind a woman not once but three times. He's surprised to see her face, an old classmate and the justification for his second ever human kill. He's almost sad to know that she's been marked for death. When he hears about the Ski Lodge massacre and the Ghost copycat, he has a drink in her honor.

So it's a surprise when she reaches out to him online and asks to meet.

She's frazzled and wild-eyed when she sits in the chair across from him. She's also wearing one of Simon's beanies. And when she reveals what Simon's been up to, he can't help but laugh.

Simon - the weird, off-putting, murderous Ghost - has somehow managed to find the one person in the world who devotes herself to a project more than him. The Final Girl Girlfriend.

They're both doomed.

Kyle begins the painstaking process of reviewing his daily journals for mentions of Simon and their shared connections. It's very unlikely that Simon would be caught alive, and even more unlikely that he'd say anything about Kyle or Johnny or Price. But unlikely isn't impossible, so it's important to start getting his stories straight now.

Reviewing, flagging, and annotating his journals from his initial meeting with Johnny to now takes a month and three days. It's always an interesting process, looking at his life with the advantage of hindsight. There's always a new fascinating pattern to examine. For example, that first summer, he'd meet with Johnny every other week, and two and six days later, he'd gradually step up a patient's blood thinners.

Another pattern that's emerged is that he hasn't dated anyone for more than 35 days in the last three years. That's about as long as it takes for his exacting nature to become... a conflict. It's not much of a problem. He's a nurse, he works long hours. He's got a gym routine and volunteers at the local pet rescue once a week. He's a part of the community, so he doesn't stick out as a loner. But he's also solidly at a point in his life where someone would expect him to have a partner.

He makes an online dating profile. It takes a week for him to delete the app.

"Darlene," he greets the head nurse with a smile and her favorite coffee at the beginning of his next shift. "How are you today?"

"Kyle." As always, she barely glances at him, just holds out her hand for her drink. "You're early. What do you want?"

She's right, he's thirty minutes early. He grins. "You wound me. Can't I just want to know how a beautiful woman is doing?"

Darlene gives him a blank look over the top of her bifocals. "Save it for the maternity ward, Garrick. What do you want?"

"Just wanna know the lay of the land," he says, coming around the desk and taking the seat next to her. He likes Darlene because she only expects him to be coy for a short time. "Been on the apps, trying to date. But my hours make things difficult. You know everybody's business. How is anyone in a relationship around here?"

"The surgeons are all on meth, the rest of the doctors are on coke, and the nurses are either fucking each other or their high school sweethearts," Darlene says, dry as a desert. "You know this already. What do you actually want?"

"That's it," he says with a shrug. "Just want to know who's not seeing anyone, or if you know of someone at another campus with the time."

She takes a sip of her coffee and thinks for a moment. "Stay off the psych and plastics floors. Maternity floor's about to get a whole new batch since all of those idiots got pregnant within three months of each other. But there's something in the water up there, so unless you also want a baby, I'd say leave them alone."

"James is on the maternity floor," Kyle points out.

"James cheated on his boyfriend and his side piece with another nurse," Darlene points out, settling into her coffee and gossip. "Which is another reason to stay away from plastics, but also trauma and rads. I didn't know you were bisexual."

"Doesn't come up much," Kyle dismisses, sipping his own coffee.

By the time Kyle has to clock in, they've explored the pros and cons of almost every department. The prospects are pretty grim. Maybe being single isn't the worst thing in the world.

He makes a point of spending time with the other nurses for the next month. He goes out for drinks and karaoke, attends a couple of baby showers. Lets on to a couple of gossips that he's looking, tells another that he's not sure he has time to date. Enjoys the conclusion of a project when a racist old bastard finally has the heart attack he can't bounce back from.

And then the nurse coroner flags the death for investigation.

Kyle doesn't panic because technically all deaths in the hospital are investigated. But he is intrigued. His own notes show that the patient's condition was well within the expected parameters of recovery and relapse. His medications were administered appropriately while Kyle was on shift, and the hydrogen peroxide added to his IV would have been nigh undetectable.

In the end, the hospital is not determined to be at fault for the death, and that's all that administration cares about. But the cause of death is changed from heart attack to embolism in the record, and that is intriguing.

"Knock knock," Kyle says, poking his head into the office area of the morgue. He expects to see Dennis, the older gentleman running the morgue unit, who waves back at him. He doesn't expect the new face, sitting across the desk from him.

"Good morning, Kyle," Dennis greets, waving him in. "Been a bit since you've come to see us. Care for some tea?"

"Can't," Kyle says, apologetically. "Just dropping someone off."

"Well, at least let me introduce our new nurse!"

The new nurse gives him a no-nonsense handshake and a nod. They don't say much beyond their name, and Kyle is pleased to put a face to the name on the investigation into his last project. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he couldn't stay long, so he says his goodbyes.

But when his next completed project is flagged for investigation again, he decides that maybe it's time to take an interest.

#cod #fanfiction #dark fic #slasher handler #kyle gaz garrick #gaz appreciation nation #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #coffeeshop chats #thank you so much for this ask #this really helped me push through the writers block!

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kelcemenow · 9 months

Text

As The Snow Falls - Chapter 1.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1007

Warnings Nothing much in this first chapter, just setting the scene!

CHAPTER 1

You took a deep lungful of cool, fresh air as you looked up at the beautiful wooden lodge in front of you. You dropped your bag next to your feet and shielded the bright sunlight from your eyes as you took in more of the sight.

A gentle squeeze of your shoulder interrupted you, "It's gorgeous isn't it?"

You smiled to Kylie, "Oh man, yeah. You're so lucky!"

"We don't get here as much as we'd like to but hopefully that will start to change." She raised her voice and leaned her head back towards her husband.

"Yeah, sure." Jason was struggling to carry the vast amount of luggage from the trunk, "Hey, honey? You wanna help me out here?"

Kylie laughed and jogged back to the truck before stopping and waving down another vehicle of vacationers, quickly disappearing in the opposite direction to guide them into the driveway. Jason hung his head and groaned.

"Hey, I got you." You smiled as you made your way closer to him, grabbing the handle of a bag that was slowly slipping from his grasp, "She's just excited!"

You had met Jason in your classes at college and you two quickly became close, forming a solid friendship group with friends Jasmine, Marc and Amie. You were all incredibly proud of Jason's successful football career and together, you would try to catch as many of his games as you could. Conflicting dates and locations would sometimes be a problem so you had all agreed to meet at least once a year for a big weekend reunion. It was Jason's turn this year to organise the trip this year and along with Kylie, arranged an incredible stay in their ski lodge in Vail.

"Yeah well, there'll be no skiing for me when I break my back carrying all of her junk!"

You laughed and grabbed a few more bags, placing them down in the snow at the door to the house.

"Hey girl!" Jasmine sang as she ran towards you with her arms outstretched.

You pulled her in for a tight hug, "Hi! How are you? It's been forever!"

As you pulled back, she brushed some hair from her face, "Oh, I know. I'm so busy with shoots and runways and brand deals, it's insane!"

"Well, you can tell me all about it over a drink later, why don't you bring your bags in and grab a room." You called out to her as she made her way back to the car. Your eyes landed on Amie and Marc who were chatting with Jason, so you walked back towards the truck.

"Honestly guys, it'll be fine." Jason mumbled.

You furrowed your brow, "What's up?"

Amie threw her arm around you, "Oh, just Princess Jasmine driving me crazy the whole way here."

"And speaking of driving, she didn't even touch the wheel. Me and Amie had to do it all. 13 hours, Y/N...13 hours." Marc rolled his eyes.

You giggled, "Oh, come on guys, was she that bad?"

"Fashion week this, photoshoot that...I saved people's lives at work last week but do I brag about that?" Amie shook her head.

Marc laughed as Jason handed you another bag.

"Drink, anyone?"

______________________________________________________________

You relaxed back into the large red leather Chesterfield armchair by the crackling fire, cradling a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with a generous shot of rum.

"Well, I think you guys should've won, it wasn't a holding. The ref didn't make the right call at all." Marc shrugged his shoulders.

Kylie hissed through her teeth, "Oooh, don't let Trav hear you say that!"

"Yeah, it's a good job he can't make it this weekend." Jason took a sip of his drink as he pulled Kylie closer into him.

You smoothed your blanket down over your knees, "Oh, did you invite him?"

"Yeah, I thought it would be cool, but he's got some event or something tonight. It's a shame, it would have been cool." Jason said.

Amie wiggled her eyebrows, "It would have been cool for Y/N."

You sighed and took a large sip from your mug.

"Wait, what?" Kylie squealed.

You rolled your eyes, "It was one drunken kiss back in college, which can I remind everybody was, like, a century ago!"

Kylie giggled as Jason smiled at you, "Trav had a little crush back in the day."

The group laughed loudly and you could feel your cheeks burning, "Oh, stop it Jason! It wasn't a big deal, it was in a game of truth or dare and we were just kids!"

"Aww, leave Y/N alone!" Amie shouted above the clamour.

"Amie, you brought it up!" You laughed.

The sound of footsteps diverted your attention to the top of the staircase when Jasmine was adjusting her silk dressing gown.

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?"

Amie raised her eyebrows, "Maybe because you're wearing that! Go and put something on that will stop you from catching pneumonia."

Jasmine opened her gown as she descended the stairs to reveal a short silk chemise, her bottom lip protruding into a pout, "But it's cute!

You smiled and lifted your blanket, "Come on Jas, you can share my blanket."

"Thanks babe! So, what are we talking about?" She skipped over towards your chair and snuggled up next to you.

You opened your mouth before anyone else could, "Oh, just Jason's brother Travis who can't make it this weekend."

Jasmine lifted an eyebrow and looked over to Jason, "I didn't know you had a brother?"

Marc lifted his head from the back of the couch, "You really do live in your own little world, don't you?"

A gust of cold air flew into the room as the front door opened and a tall, broad man stepped in. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a black beanie hat, a smartly trimmed beard adorning his chin. Jason immediately leapt up from the couch and ran towards him as your heart skipped a beat.

"Alright now! Y'all can't have a party without me!"

______________________________________________________________

Yet again, this was going to be a one-shot but my brain couldn't behave so this will most likely be a big old series! The photo just fuelled something in me! Don't forget to let me know if you would like to be on my Taglist!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #nfl fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #nfl smut #nfl angst #nfl fic

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fanfreakinfiction · 7 months

Text

Listen to the Music

Chapter One: Should've Been a Cowboy

Masterlist 🖤

7.3K Words // Joel Miller x f!southern Reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x younger/southern!reader (Could be video game Joel or HBO Joel. I like the 2003 timeline though, so we’ll just pretend the 2003 timeline is canon for both.)

Chapters:

One - Should’ve Been a Cowboy

Summary: Jackson gets a jukebox which mean’s Joel has to install it! Annoying for him, but exciting for one certain someone who loves music.

Tags: Multipart, SUPER slowburn, eventual smut, FLUFF, age difference, M/F, canon type violence, drinking, smoking, alchol, reader gives off innocent vibes but isn’t, Joel is grumpy, reader is southern, corny ass music transitions bc i love it, slight mention of religion (reader is from the bible belt), some mentions of smut.

A/N: Set in Jackson - probably a little out of canon but just rollll wit it. This is also a split POV! Also if you love 90s country music you will like this. I made a Tipsy Bison Playlist for you guys to check out where none of the music was made past 2003.

Jackson was buzzing, quite literally. Every corner you turned, someone was eager to share the latest news.

"Y/n! Did you hear? Jesse and Astrid brought back that jukebox from the ski lodge! They’re gonna fix it up and put it in the Tipsy Bison!" Olivia shouted breathlessly from the stables' entrance, her jet-black hair falling in disarray around her face.

"Hell 'liv, you ran all the way here to tell me that?" You chuckled, taking a break from shoveling muck in the stables. Your Southern drawl emerged breathy and unusual from not conversing with anyone for the past hour. Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you greeted the teenage girl with a warm smile as she rushed to embrace you.

"Well, yeah! Mom said you liked music! Told me to come tell you! Said to meet her and Ginger there at 7:00 sharp!" Olivia exclaimed with contagious excitement.

You laughed, returning the embrace and appreciating the bond you'd formed with the young girl over the years.

The first friend you'd made upon arriving in Jackson was Caroline, a slender woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, and a mouth that matched yours. Hugging her hip was a young girl, Olivia, with jet-black hair and the same blue eyes. At the time, Olivia couldn't have been more than seven. In the four years since, Caroline had become like a sister to you, and Olivia like a niece. It was bittersweet watching her grow up, but you’d protect that little girl with your life.

"Well, your momma is right about that," you said, tucking a strand of hair behind Olivia's ear. "And I hate to tell ya, darlin', but Ellie beat you to it. I heard about the jukebox from her this morning." You turned Olivia towards Ellie, who was busy in the back of the stables, hunched over a worktable, oiling an old saddle Mike had found during a recent patrol.

"Ellie’s here?!" Olivia squealed, running off to join Ellie at the back of the stable.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you turned back to your work, the girls' excited chatter filling the stables.

As 6 pm approached, Ellie abandoned the saddle for a conversation with Olivia. Although it irritated you slightly, it also warmed your heart to see Olivia making friends her age. In this post-apocalyptic world, friends were a rare commodity, especially outside of safe havens like Jackson.

You were only five years old when outbreak day happened. Your parents were at work, and you were at daycare. You vaguely recalled your daycare teacher trying to stay calm, but panic eventually overtook her as she locked all the children in the bathroom. Your grandparents, miraculously, arrived to rescue you. Your grandfather, a Vietnam Vet who’d served two tours before leaving the military, was also a grizzled cowboy. He owned a ranch where he boarded and broke horses.

The most vivid memory you had of outbreak day was your grandfather bursting into the daycare with a .308 Winchester in hand, calling for you frantically. You recalled him nearly pulling your arms out as he scooped you up, then handing you over to your crying grandmother. Your grandfather reprimanded the daycare teacher sternly, instructing her to get the kids to a military outpost at the airport and then evacuate Tulsa. The exact words had faded from your memory.

You remembered the scent of your grandmother's perfume as you clung to her while she carried you out of the daycare. Fighter jets roared overhead, and you covered your ears as your grandmother hurried to their old Jeep. Your grandfather opened the passenger door for your grandmother, and she kissed your head. During the two-hour drive from Tulsa, Oklahoma, to his ranch, your grandmother had you play a game called "Keep Your Eyes On Jesus," where you'd focus on the silver cross necklace she always wore. That day marked the end of your life in the city and your chances of making friends. Your childhood died on the daycare bathroom floor.

"Helloooo, earth to Miss Y/l/n?!" Ellie's voice suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts as you continued to organize bridles, leads, and cinches.

You turned abruptly. "Hmm?" was all you managed as you met Ellie's gaze.

Ellie pointed to her empty wrist, giving you a knowing look. “It’s 6:20,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

"Shit," you murmured, quickly shoving tack items back into makeshift storage bins. Ellie laughed as she headed out of the stables with Olivia in tow.

---

Joel was exhausted, bone-deep tired. His knees ached, his back throbbed, and a relentless headache pounded behind his eyes. All this fuss over a damn jukebox.

Now, don't get him wrong; Joel loved music as much as the next person, and he understood why the whole town was buzzing with excitement. But he felt like people were acting as if they'd found a cure for the infection, not an old jukebox.

And yet, there he was, in the Tipsy Bison, helping to secure the wiring for the ancient contraption. A small crowd of men gathered around, drinks in hand, watching him work. Not a single one offered to help, and Joel knew why, but it still irked him to have the entire town gawking at him.

"You got time for leanin', you got time for cleanin'," Joel's dad used to say when he and Tommy were watching him work.

"Will it work?" Seth's voice interrupted his thoughts from over the bar.

Joel responded with a grunt as he connected two wires, causing the jukebox to spring to life. The bar fell silent, and Joel felt a wave of annoyance—or perhaps embarrassment—wash over him as he sensed everyone's eyes on him.

Slowly, he stood up from his crouched position on the dusty floor, his knees cracking in protest. He examined the jukebox, its lights aglow with a soft, white hue. However, the interior glass was so filthy that the song list was barely readable. His gaze fell on a doorbell wired to the coin slot. Joel pressed it once, his eyes scanning the various lettered and numbered buttons.

"S2," he mumbled to himself, thinking of Sarah as he hovered over the letter. With all eyes in the room on the back of his head, he slowly pressed the buttons into the old metal board of the machine, each button emitting a satisfying 'click.'

Silence enveloped the room, followed by a whirring sound.

Please don't make me look like a fool in front of the whole town, Joel silently pleaded, not caring to whom he addressed his thoughts—God, Satan, or Buddha.

Another click, more whirring, and then the old jukebox started singing like a canary.

"I'm in a hurry to get things done

Oh, I rush and rush until life's no fun

All I really gotta do is live and die

Even I'm in a hurry and don't know why…"

The room erupted into cheers and hollers as the song "I'm in a Hurry" by Alabama filled the space. Joel released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A hand clapped his shoulder, followed by another pat on his bicep, as various townsfolk expressed their gratitude. He grunted in response, uncomfortable with the attention. He couldn't help but think he preferred it when the town treated him like some cryptid.

"Joel... drinks are on the house tonight. I think this'll be the busiest night since we found that Bud Light truck," Seth said, crossing his arms and standing next to Joel to admire his work. Joel shifted uncomfortably but nodded his thanks to the man.

"So, uh, how does it work with no coins, I mean?" Seth asked, looking at the old doorbell attached to the wiring coming from the coin slot.

Joel let out a soft huff. "That there is the 'coin,' per se. Push it however many times for however many songs, but… I'd maybe limit people to three," he quipped, attempting dry humor.

Seth smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I'd hate to hear the same shit twenty times in one day."

Joel sighed. "Yeah, let me see what I can do about the glass, and it'll be nearly new."

With that, Joel carefully worked the glass out of the jukebox, his eyes widening slightly as he pulled back the grimy cover. He didn't know what he had expected, but this jukebox seemed like a unicorn. As he pulled back the filthy glass, a list of songs greeted him—mostly country music, some '80s hits, and a few oldies like Frank Sinatra. Seth whistled softly behind Joel's right shoulder as the music filled the cozy bar.

"Can't be late, I leave in plenty of time

Shakin' hands with the clock

I can't stop

I'm on a roll, and I'm ready to rock…"

———

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you speed walk through the snow towards your tiny cottage on the outskirts of Jackson. It was a modest two-bedroom, one-bathroom house, but it had a porch with a breathtaking view of the mountains. The unusual emptiness of the streets at this hour suggested that most of the town's residents were either at the Community Kitchen or the Tipsy Bison.

Almost slipping on your porch steps, you chuckled to yourself, attributing it to the icy snow. Unlocking your front door, you immediately shed layers of clothing in a trail leading to the bathroom. Excitement pulsed through you as you started the shower, envisioning the possibilities that the jukebox might hold. Maybe it would play Johnny Cash or some new Alan Jackson track you hadn't heard before. Alan Jackson held a special place in your heart.

Thoughts raced as you hurried through your shower, eager to join the buzz of the town. Drying your hair hastily, you searched for your special occasion jeans. They were a pair of dark-washed Levi's, the kind you'd nearly sold your soul for at one of the general stores. They hugged you perfectly in all the right places and, most importantly, were clean—devoid of stains or blood.

Pulling them up over your hips and buttoning them up, you checked yourself out in the mirror. A dark red sweater with a v-neck and your patrol boots completed the look. You adjusted the silver cross necklace around your neck, a memento from your grandmother, and heard her voice echo in your mind.

"Just keep your eyes on Jesus, baby… we're almost to the ranch."

Breaking your reverie, you felt ready to head out for drinks and music. Slipping into your coat, you ventured out into the sunset-lit, snow-covered streets of Jackson. The Tipsy Bison came into view after a short walk, and your excitement threatened to burst from you. The line outside the bar, however, crushed your spirits.

"No way..." you muttered, coming to a halt. The entire town seemed to be here. You watched from a distance, scanning the crowd until your eyes landed on a blonde-haired woman nearing the front of the line. She turned and made eye contact, flashing a wild smile as she waved you over.

There was a hint of apologetic awkwardness as you joined your friend. Some people in line shot you dirty looks for cutting, but it’s not like the bar’s gonna grow legs and walk away.

"About TIME!" Caroline exclaimed, enveloping you in a warm embrace as you met her outside the bar. "Ginger's already inside; she got us a spot at the bar!" Her excitement was contagious.

"Sorry! I had to go home and change. I didn't wanna come out smellin’ like a horse," you apologized, returning the hug.

"Oh honey, a shower doesn’t change that," she teased, playfully elbowing you.

"Caroline!" You gasped, feigning offense, and lightly elbowed her in return.

Curious, you peered into the bar, attempting to glimpse over the tall men in front of you. Music wafted out, and you heard the buzz of chatter as people walked in and out.

“It’s a shit ton of Country music," you overheard someone say as they walked away, "Well, what’d you expect from a ski lodge in Wyoming in 2003?” came the retort. Caroline shot you a knowing look, and you suppressed a smile.

The line gradually moved forward, and you stepped into the warm atmosphere. Caroline hung up her coat, and you couldn't help but shoot her an envious glance at her overly dressy top – a pink silk halter tied tank top that accentuated her figure beautifully.

“The hell’d you find that?!” You asked, a mix of curiosity and a hint of jealousy in your voice. It made her cleavage stand out, and it seemed perfectly timed as an unfamiliar song started playing from the jukebox, capturing everyone's attention.

“Her hair was Harlow gold

Her lips a sweet surprise

Her hands were never cold

She had Bette Davis eyes…”

Being on your own for so long after your grandparents had passed had made you lose a sense of pride in your appearance. But being in Jackson, surrounded by other women again, ignited that desire to care once more. Caroline had been instrumental in helping you rediscover your femininity, teaching you how to braid your hair and transform dull button-ups into something more womanly. Caroline had been a high school senior when the outbreak happened, with a life and dreams you couldn't relate to. She aimed for Harvard, wanting to be like Elle Woods from a movie called "Legally Blonde." Those aspirations had seemed foreign, considering your upbringing on the Ranch, where your grandfather taught you to care for animals, garden, hunt, fish, and, of course, how to shoot – and shoot well.

Caroline was the first person to make you question your beauty, to make something seemingly frivolous in the apocalypse feel essential.

"I believe that caring for myself isn’t self-indulgent, but rather an act of survival," Caroline had told you when you questioned the worth of bartering for old Avon makeup from the general store.

Caroline took your hand, pulling you toward where Ginger had miraculously saved some standing room at the bar. You hardly noticed as your gaze fixated on the Jukebox, where a line of people awaited their turn to pick a song. Your heart sank a little; you didn't think Caroline or Ginger had the patience to wait for you to choose a song.

Stepping up to the worn wooden bar, you were greeted by Seth's crooked smile. "Be back with ya in a minute, ladies," he said, his old hands moving as fast as they could to serve the bustling crowd.

"Bout time!" Ginger exclaimed as you turned to her. "I didn't think Seth'd let me save space any longer," she added with a laugh, her eyes scanning your and Caroline's outfits with admiration. "Damn girl! What'd you have to sell for those?!" She playfully ran her hand over the material of your jeans.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. "Oh, you have NO idea!" you began, but before you could continue, Seth returned.

"Two whiskeys, please," Caroline ordered for both of you, prompting you to resume your story. "You wouldn't believe it, okay..."

"Here we go..." Caroline rolled her eyes, and you playfully nudged her. Ginger hadn't heard this story before, and you were eager to share.

"I was rummaging through a house right after I'd left the ranch, and I found a Walkman! Battery-operated and a whole box of cassettes," you explained as Seth brought the whiskey back. Ginger listened intently as you continued. "I picked up some of the names I recognized from the pile. I ended up with like 10 tapes and a whole pile of batteries!" You took a swig and leaned on the bar top, facing Ginger, while Caroline leaned on your shoulder, clearly having heard this story many times before.

"Who were the tapes of?" Ginger asked, taking a swig of her dwindling beer.

"So I had an Alan Jackson cassette, I had a Shania Twain cassette, hmm oh! Johnny Cash's greatest hits, which were technically four tapes, one Journey cassette, George Strait, and then I even found a Marty Robbins tape!" You listed the tapes off, trying to recall them all.

"Sooo? What's this got to do with those Levi's?!" Ginger asked, laughing.

"Well, damn, hold on, sister, I'm tryna set the story up!" you retorted with a laugh.

"Anyways," you continued, "one day I'm navigating some thick woods. My headphones are around my neck, and I still have the music goin'. Well, I clipped the Walkman to the hip of my pants, and this fuckin' infected came outta nowhere!" You gestured dramatically with your hands. "This thing fuckin' leaps on me and pushes me up against a tree—"

"—crushes the Walkman!" You and Caroline said in unison, and all three of you burst into laughter, drawing the attention of others in the bar.

Tears welled in your eyes from laughing as you recounted the memory. "I'd never been so fucking mad in my life!" you recalled, trying to catch your breath. "I also haven't cried as hard since the day I lost that thing," you said dramatically as you took a drink. "Almost wish it'd bitten me instead of killin' my fuckin' Walkman," you added bitterly.

"Well, what did you do to it?" Ginger asked curiously.

"The infected? Oh. I fuckin' stomped that thing's head in," you deadpanned, throwing Ginger and Caroline into another fit of laughter. "Like... a lot," you repeated, deadpan again as you took another drink. "Fuckin' thing destroyed my Alan Jackson tape...anyways, I held onto the tapes, maybe out of bitterness. But once I got to Jackson, I traded the tapes for the jeans." Ginger made an "Oooh" sound, nodding as if she now completely understood.

Caroline tapped you on the shoulder, about to say something, when the sound of a very familiar song filled your ears, and you had to bite back the squeal that threatened to escape.

"It's Alan Jackson," you said, your eyes gleaming with a serious excitement that caught Ginger's attention.

"Come on," you said, pulling Caroline with you onto an opening in the bar floor as the chorus hit. You pulled her into a two-step, a dance you had seen your grandparents do every year on their anniversary.

"I should've been a cowboy

I should've learned to rope and ride

Wearin' my six-shooter,

ridin' my pony on a cattle drive

Stealin' the young girls' hearts

Just like Gene and Roy

Singin' those campfire songs

Woah, I should've been a cowboy…"

You sang unabashedly, as if you, Caroline, and Alan Jackson were the only ones in the bar. Your head threw back in laughter after Caroline begrudgingly tried to match your steps. After a moment, you were so engrossed in your dance that you didn't even realize other people had joined in, dancing to the music. Ginger laughed from her spot at the bar as she watched your and Caroline's forgotten whiskeys.

———

Seth had been right. This was the busiest Joel had ever seen the Tipsy Bison. Brooding in the corner of the bar, tucked into a dimly lit table, Joel sat, nursing his fourth glass of free whiskey.

Shit. If Seth was offering, he wasn't gonna say no to free drinks.

Joel's tired eyes scanned the room as he tried to determine who he recognized and who he didn't. His gaze landed on a particularly familiar set of eyes. Tommy.

He watched as Tommy approached the secluded table, offering a crooked smile to the man.

"Big bad Joel fixed the jukebox?" Tommy teased as he sat down across from Joel.

"Did it for the free drinks," Joel retorted, attempting to deflect the sudden unwanted attention, his face flushing as he averted his brother's gaze.

"Well… you may have just earned some points with Maria," Tommy said with a genuine smile.

Joel smirked back. "Guess something good did come from this after all." He could feel the whiskey settling deep in his chest as he spoke to his brother.

Tommy glanced around at the crowd, but a roar of laughter snapped both of their heads toward the bar. Three women stood a few feet away, listening to one woman tell a story.

Joel narrowed his tired eyes. He didn't recognize the woman engrossed in her story. However, he did recognize the blonde with the revealing pink blouse. She scanned the patrons of the bar like a hawk, looking for her next prey and obviously uninterested in her friend's story.

The woman had approached Joel two days after he arrived with Ellie, asking to bum a cigarette and then bombarding him with a thousand questions as she batted her eyelashes at him. Her name was something like Karen, he couldn't quite recall. But when another bout of laughter reached his ears, his gaze locked onto your form, now less hidden behind the woman with her back to him.

He watched almost mesmerized as you laughed and smiled. Pretty, was the only thing his brain could manage. Suddenly, your face became very serious as you said something that made the two girls howl in laughter.

Tommy cleared his throat after an awkward silence, and Joel realized he had been completely caught staring at you. Their eyes met, and his little brother looked like he was about to say something smart, but Alan Jackson's music broke Tommy's focus.

"Holy shit! I forgot this song existed!" Tommy exclaimed with a nostalgic laugh.

Joel's attention was drawn back to the bar by another bout of laughter. Except, now, you had migrated to the middle of the room. Your arms were placed perfectly on the blonde chick as you began dancing. The blonde appeared obviously embarrassed by the sudden change, making a face of disdain. You laughed, the sound caressing Joel's ears, and he felt something stirring in him. Maybe it was the whiskey, but deep down, he knew it wasn't.

He and Tommy watched carefully as more patrons began to crowd the space, joining in the dance. Tommy let out a huff of laughter, his eyes now focused on the scene. As the song ended, everyone clapped, and Seth, the bartender, felt it appropriate to make an announcement.

"Everyone, thank Joel on your way out! He fixed up the jukebox," Seth declared, and a wave of applause and stares washed over Joel.

Joel could feel a flush creeping into his face at the attention. He cringed inwardly as all he could manage was a stupid smirk while looking down at his whiskey glass.

"Jukebox Joel!" someone in the crowd cheered, and Tommy choked on the beer he was drinking. Joel delivered a swift kick to Tommy's shin.

"Haha! What? Come on… it's better than Jackass Joel," Tommy laughed with a smirk as he teased Joel.

Joel actually let out a soft chuckle at that and shook his head as he looked back down at his empty glass. "Prick," Joel muttered softly as he glanced up at his little brother. "I'm gonna go get another." With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table and made his way toward the bar to get another drink.

———

"I'm gonna go have a cigarette. Save me a spot!" Caroline swiftly moved to grab her coat, leaving you and Ginger at the bar.

Ginger looked at you. "So how's the stables?"

"Mmm, they're fine. I've recently gotten some help from this teenager, Ellie," you replied as you finished off your whiskey, paying no mind to the man who muscled in on Caroline's vacant space behind you.

"Is she a good help?" Ginger asked as she also finished off her beer.

"Depends on the day," you said with a soft laugh. "She's a great listener, just a little poor on the completion side of things. Like today, I asked her to oil this saddle Mike brought in from a patrol. Olivia stopped by to see me, and sure enough, Ellie just ended up talking with her for the last hour of the day. It's like she won't shut up. I swear, these outbreak babies are somethin' else," you added with an exasperated sigh. "She's a good kid, though. Smart as hell. I'm just mad I'll have to get up early to finish oiling the saddle before patrol." You finished with a final smile as you looked up to make eye contact with Ginger, who appeared as if she'd seen a ghost. She wasn't even looking at you but over your shoulder.

"Ginge?" you asked worriedly, placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her a bit.

"I'm gonna go grab a cigarette," she said hurriedly, shaking your hand off her as she all but ran out of the bar, leaving you standing there stunned.

In an instant, your senses tingled with the presence of an imposing, commanding figure emanating a cocoon of warmth from the shadows behind you. A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine, and a cascade of goosebumps rippled across your skin as you executed a deliberate, almost theatrical pivot to meet the piercing gaze of none other than Joel Fucking Miller.

———

If Joel had a dollar for every face he'd seen turn away from him in fear, he would've been a millionaire twelve years ago. But nothing felt as satisfying to him as watching your little friend scamper off to leave you with him.

He waited patiently for you to turn around before he spoke. His eyes drifted from the back of your head, tracing the contours of your figure, to rest on the soft curve of your ass. The sight made his breath hitch, and his gaze locked onto a familiar little red tag that stared back at him—Levi's.

Fuck he thought to himself. Those must've cost a pretty thing like you a whole lot.

After what felt like ages, you finally turned to meet his gaze. Your soft, youthful face surprised him. You were young, younger than him, maybe even younger than Sarah would've been.

Your lips parted slightly as you gazed up at him with your fucking doe eyes. His eyes traveled south from your lips to the silver cross around your neck. He cringed internally, his gaze shifting away from your neck as he signaled to Seth at the bar.

"Mr. Miller..." Your voice fell warily from your lips, carrying a soft southern accent that caught his ear.

Joel grunted softly. "Mhmm," he replied, waiting for Seth to bring his last whiskey of the night. He had to force himself to look away from you.

"You're… Ellie's dad?" Your voice sounded sheepish, not in the usual "I'm scared of you" kind of way he was accustomed to in this town, but in a "I messed up" kind of way. He spared a glance at you, noticing how you fidgeted with your hands and struggled to make eye contact, trying to look up at him apologetically.

"Mhmm," was all Joel settled for after a long pause. Your face paled, and he had to look away to keep from laughing.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Miller!! Ellie has been a great help, and I'd love for her to st—" You sounded panicked, and he didn't like it.

"Kid's got ADHD or somethin'. Can't finish anything she starts…unless it's food or a sentence," the words flew from Joel's mouth before he could process what he had just said. Seth rounded the bar at that moment and handed Joel his whiskey.

Joel took the glass and was about to take a sip when your giggle froze him in his tracks. It wasn't a laugh or a chuckle, but a full-blown giggle.

"Haha! She is very food motivated! Sometimes I catch her going for the sugar cubes that are meant for the horses," you laughed as you spoke to him. Joel looked down at you with a crooked smirk, sipping his whiskey as he turned his attention back to his glass.

"Well… uhm, I should probably..." Your voice trailed off with a hint of uncertainty, and from his peripheral vision, Joel could make out a flush on your cheeks as you tried to awkwardly excuse yourself from his presence.

"You let me know if she gives you more trouble..." What the hell was he doing? Was he actually talking right now or was it the whiskey? Slowly, he turned to look at you, his left arm resting on the bar as he slowly set his glass down, shoving his right hand in his belt loop. You were flushed, perhaps you'd had too much to drink? Or maybe it was... nah. He looked into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for a moment before dropping to that stupid silver cross on your neck. He wanted to rip it off your neck while burying himself deep inside you. Your voice brought his attention from your neck and his thoughts to the present, where he stared into your eyes.

"Yeah… I, uh... I will." You almost sounded confused and curious. You were biting your lip, your face still flushed, your hair framing your face perfectly. He had to stop himself from grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing himself on you. "Thanks for fixin’ up the jukebox..." Long gone was the shy demeanor as your words came out like sultry silk. You stared back at him seriously, and he could tell you were being genuine. He tried to swallow the sudden dryness the whiskey had left in his mouth. His aching back and throbbing knees from fixin’ the damn thing long forgotten as he rolled your thanks around in his head.

Damn.

He grunted in response and, with a white-knuckle grip on his whiskey glass, he forced himself to walk away. He passed by you, his form squeezing around yours in the crowded bar as people danced. He forced himself to look straight ahead when your left shoulder grazed his chest as he nudged past you gently. He slinked his way back to his table in the corner, where Tommy and Maria now occupied two of the four chairs.

As soon as he approached, they eyed him and stopped talking almost immediately. Tommy spoke up first with a smirk. "So uh..."

"Shut it," Joel snapped, his words coming out harsher than he had intended, and Maria huffed.

"Be nice. You're on my good side for the night. Don't make that change before I've even had a chance to enjoy it," she glared at him. Leave it to Tommy to pick a hardass for his wife.

"She's nice, Joel, but... she's young," Maria said with a sigh.

He felt angry heat flicker in his belly, replacing the momentary desire. He glared at Maria, who stared right back at him, and he felt his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding.

"Hon, why don't we go dance... enjoy it while we can?" Tommy's voice rang out, and for once, Joel was thankful for his baby brother.

He watched carefully as Maria reluctantly agreed and let Tommy lead her away. Tommy shot Joel a knowing look as he disappeared into a sea of people. Joel settled back into his seat from before, his eyes scanning the now dancing and raucous crowd.

Unconsciously, he found himself searching for you, scanning the spot where you'd stood with your friends, but it was now occupied by some other men.

———

"What the fuck, Ginger?!" You spat harshly as you confronted the two girls who were practically shivering outside, puffing on a shared cigarette.

"What do you mean 'what the fuck'? You were runnin' your mouth about the scariest man in town's daughter!" Ginger retorted, a mischievous laugh escaping her lips. "I wasn't about to stand witness to you getting your teeth kicked in!" she added, taking another drag.

"Wait, you saw Joel Miller?!" Caroline chimed in as she put out the cigarette.

"Saw him?! She damn near insulted his daughter in front of him!" Ginger laughed, and you could feel your cheeks redden.

"I didn't know he was behind me! You could've said something! I had to apologize, standin' there like an abandoned idiot!" You playfully frogged Ginger on the arm, your accent growing thicker with anger.

"Ow!" Ginger winced as she rubbed her skinny arm through her leather coat.

"Wait, you actually talked to him?!" Caroline asked as if it were an impossible feat.

"Well, yeah. I felt kind of bad… Ellie is a good kid, she's just very talkative," you explained, crossing your arms to ward off the cold.

"And he talked back?" Caroline continued her interrogation.

"I mean if you can call a couple of pig-like grunts talking, then yeah, I guess," you replied with a shrug.

"Hmm…" Caroline offered as she gave you a once-over. "Come on, let's get back inside." She headed into the bar, with you and Ginger following behind.

The night passed fairly uneventfully, save for a few men asking for a dance. Caroline, as usual, was the star of the night, charming most of the men into buying her drinks and joining her on the dance floor. Ginger cozied up to a man you recognized from the kitchen, someone she had been with before. You were starting to feel the fatigue kick in when you realized the line for the jukebox had drastically shortened. Excitedly, you made your way to the magical machine, your eyes scanning the list of songs. You were in awe of the extensive selection: Journey, Patsy Cline – one of your grandmother's favorites, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and some you didn't recognize at all, like Linda Ronstadt, ABBA, Earth, Wind & Fire…

You didn't even notice a presence near the bar, watching as you scanned the list in awe. Your fingers guided you, pressing the doorbell button connected to the coin slot, as you had watched so many people do all night.

Your fingers grazed over the letter "J" for Joe—Jesus. "J" for Jesus, you mentally reprimanded yourself. Then you moved to a number, "5," your age on outbreak day. You listened to the machine click and whir in amazement. Unsure of the song title or the artist, you waited to hear the first chords.

"Came in from a rainy

Thursday on the avenue

Thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV, and the radio

Still, I can't escape the ghost of you..."

Leaning on the jukebox, you listened to the foreign song by a band called Duran Duran. The lyrics suddenly made you feel melancholic as you absorbed each word.

"What has happened to it all?

Crazy, some'd say

Where is the life that I recognize? (Gone away)"

———

Joel couldn't help himself. He wanted to blame the whiskey, but deep down, he knew he wasn't even close to drunk. From his spot at the far end of the bar, he watched as you walked up to the damn jukebox. You looked like a kid on Christmas, that twinkle in your eye, just like Sarah when he threw her a surprise birthday party with all her friends, or like Ellie at the Museum…

He watched you hesitate when it was your turn to pick a song. His eyes drifted to those Levi's, like they had been poured onto you. The way they clung to your curves made his mind wander. He imagined himself coming up behind you in his kitchen while you prepared to cook something that he had hunted. His chest tucking into the curve of your back while he pressed his hips into the curve of your ass. The thought shot an arrow of fire straight to his groin. Fortunately for him, Maria's voice echoed in his head. "She's nice, Joel... but she's young." He knew Maria wasn't bullshitting him about that. You hardly looked the same age as the women you hung around with.

His gaze shifted from the curve of your hip to the profile of your face. From this angle, he could watch your eyes scanning the song choices. He wondered what you would choose and, for a fleeting moment, told himself that if you picked a slow song, he'd have to ask you to dance. He watched your face crinkle slightly as you read through the songs, likely because you didn't recognize most of them. Sipping his whiskey, he waited to see the outcome.

He observed as your fingers grazed the buttons until making their final destination. He couldn't help but imagine what those fingertips would feel like grazing his body in the same tender way. Your smile lit up when the jukebox whirred to life, and he released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding when the song "Ordinary World" by Duran Duran began playing. It was an odd choice, he thought to himself.

The semi-familiar song filled the now-dwindling bar. Couples still danced, others nursed their beers, and some chatted. His eyes remained locked on your face as you listened intently. He could tell you had chosen the song on a whim, not knowing it. He sat and watched as the once-childlike wonder on your face slowly dissolved into a heartbreaking frown, one that he had seen a hundred times before on different women's faces.

Heat rose on his cheeks as he watched the blonde from earlier drunkenly sling her arm over your shoulder. Suddenly, he felt like a creep for watching you for so long. He turned his gaze back to his now-empty glass as Seth came over to offer him another. Politely declining, Joel stood up slowly, adjusted his coat, and, feeling a pang of regret, he slipped out the side door of the bar.

"But I won't cry for yesterday

There's an ordinary world

Somehow I have to find

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive"

———

"Come on, kiddo… time for you to walk me home," Caroline hummed in your ear, her arm slung around you. Her alcohol-laden breath pulled you out of your self-wallowing music session. You slid your left arm around her waist, providing some balance as she leaned her head on your shoulder.

"My dad loved Duran Duran…" Caroline slurred into your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine. She had only mentioned her father once before, and it had been followed by a request never to bring it up again. Hastily, you changed the subject and led her to the entrance of the bar to retrieve her coat.

You grabbed her dark purple barn coat and draped it around her shoulders, making sure she was bundled up, then zipped up your own coat tightly. Caroline took your hand as you began to walk, leaning heavily on you. It had to be late because as soon as you stepped outside the Tipsy Bison, you felt your hair freeze. Both your and Caroline's breath fogged up the space in front of you as you surveyed the mostly empty streets of Jackson. Caroline's house was on the other side of town, and you mentally prepared yourself for the chilly walk ahead when Caroline made a mumbled noise into the crook of your neck.

“‘S lookin at you all night..” she murmured as you helped her navigate the snow-covered streets.

"Hmm, darlin'?" you asked, guiding her carefully.

"He was lookin' at you!" she repeated, a bit louder this time.

Confused, you adjusted your hold on her to prevent any accidental slips that could bring both of you down in the snow. "Who was lookin'?" you inquired, but she didn't reply. Suddenly, she went limp in your arms, and you let out a soft yelp at the abrupt change in weight.

"Carol?!" you called, trying to stifle a laugh as she put her full weight on you. "Shit. How much did you drink, darlin'?" you groaned, realizing that you were going to have to carry her home.

The walk across town to Caroline's house had left you wide awake. After taking her shoes off and tucking her into bed alongside a peacefully sleeping Olivia, you left the house quietly, ensuring the door was locked behind you. Stepping back out into the night, you were greeted by the sight of the quiet town, blanketed in snow with darkness settling in. A shiver ran down your spine as you took in the serene atmosphere.

You began your journey toward your own home, which lay on the opposite end of town. However, as you walked, your thoughts wandered back to the saddle that Ellie hadn't finished oiling. Despite your tiredness, you knew that if you went home now, you'd simply lay in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep. With a sigh, you turned on your heel and headed back towards the stables, your hands shoved deep into your pockets to ward off the cold.

As the stables came into view, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. The door was ajar, and a soft light spilled out from within. You knew you had closed up for the night, and the thought of leaving a kerosene lamp burning in a barn full of hay and the town's most prized mode of transportation was, unthinkable.

An uneasy thought crossed your mind; maybe it was Maria or Tommy, someone needing to head out for a late-night patrol. However, such occurrences were rare unless there was an emergency. With cautious steps, you entered the stables as quietly as you could, your senses on high alert.

To your chagrin, you found the horses calmly chewing on the hay you had left for them hours ago. The pit in your stomach deepened as you scanned the area, trying to discern any signs of an intruder.

"H...Hello?" you called out, your voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky even to your own ears. You couldn't help but think sarcastically, Oooh, very threatening. In that moment a thought crossed your mind that maybe Jackson was making you soft. You stood there, waiting for a reply, but there was none.

Confused and still on edge, you carefully followed the source of the soft lantern light. It led you to the back of the stables and into the tack room, your footsteps echoing softly in the enclosed space.

There, almost right where Ellie had left it, you saw the saddle that Mike had found on his patrol. However, what caught your attention in the dimly lit room was the unmistakable sheen across the leather. It gleamed in the lantern light, catching your eye immediately. It had been fully oiled, a stark contrast to the untouched condition it had been in earlier when Ellie had been working on it.

Confusion wracked your body; did Joel make Ellie come back to oil the saddle? Your fingers gingerly rubbed the leather between your fingers. No, this wasn’t Ellie’s work; this was oiled to perfection. Ellie was a good kid, hell, a great kid considering all the other children who’d grown up in this hellscape, but she oiled saddles like she was pouring syrup on pancakes. No, this had been done by someone with skill and experience.

A soft smile crossed your face as you reached for the lantern. Maybe Joel Miller wasn't the monster your friends had told you about after all. You'd have to ask Ellie in the morning.

As you stepped out of the barn, relocking everything up for the night, you couldn’t shake the warm feeling in your gut. A feeling you hadn’t felt since you’d eaten your last meal with your grandparents... a feeling that scared you.

Unbeknownst to you, a dark figure across the street watched from the shadows, illuminated only by the orange glow of his lit cigarette as he leaned against a column under the roof of the general store. Joel took a drag from his cigarette as he watched you relock the barn for the night. He tried to tell himself the warm feeling in his chest was from the cigarette he'd been puffing on, but he knew better.

Joel took one last drag from his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his boot before heading home, maybe something good came from that damn jukebox after all… he thought to himself as his eyes followed your form walking off into the snowy darkness of Jackson.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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nikethestatue · 11 months

Text

The Agreement

Chapter 2

Azriel, Lord Night, the Duke of Velaris

This woman, Elain Archeon.

As he made his way out of the inn, Azriel decided to take a walk.

It was a pretty spring day, with the skies a cloudless picturesque blue, so rare in London that he felt that he owned it to himself to enjoy it. It would be a decent one hour walk from here to his house in Belgravia Square, but he needed to think.

He didn’t want the girl to stay too close to him, therefore, he had arranged for the lodgings to be in Westminster, but far enough away. And yet, despite the precautions that he took, he also relinquished his name and title to her at their first meeting –and it was not something that he had planned on doing. He also didn’t plan on the meeting to go the way that it did, but here he was.

When he had put out his advertisement, and sent the requirements to Mrs. Amren, his criteria was rather simple. He was looking for a female aged 17 to 26, a virgin, with a good reputation, a pleasant appearance and free of diseases. Medical records were obtained from the local physicians–Azriel did not want to deal with TB, gout, or any other unpleasant conditions. He wanted someone well-proportioned, and not too slim or sickly, and neither did he want a girl who overindulged in food. She was to carry his babe, and needed to be healthy and preferably fit. He preferred someone spirited, with a good, cheerful disposition, though he knew it would be difficult to gauge. Anyone could pretend to be anything for a few hours. Ideally, the chosen girl would be someone curious, easy to talk to, and someone who had at least basic education. She needed to be able to read and write, so she could sign the contract.

Everything about Elain Archeron had checked out, after he received reports from his investigators, who had travelled to Dover and to St. Margaret Bay to gather more information about the woman.

The woman, whose photograph unsettled him deeply.

Truthfully, he wasn't expecting much from his advertisement. It was absurd to assume that 90% of responders would not be opportunists and madams, crafty whores and sob-story adventurists. Naturally, no one was familiar with his identity, and even Mrs. Amren, with whom he’d worked before, and who’d proven herself to be an agile and witty woman, was not entirely sure whether he was the one to actually place the advertisement. She was the one who sorted through the respondents, and Azriel’s army of servants and investigators was at her disposal. Mrs. Amren narrowed down the list for him, whittling it down to manageable, and selecting the few girls who seemed to fit all the criteria, before sharing the photographs with her employer.

There were only four women who made the cut.

The first one was a hearty red-haired girl, with a big bust, wide hips and a strong body, named Bryce Quinlan. Her face was appealing and she had large, beautiful amber eyes. Despite her simple appearance, she was in fact interesting to talk to. Gregarious. Well-read. Inelegant. A farmer’s daughter, who studied to be a teacher, she was unapologetically interested in money. Which was absolutely fine with Azriel. But if she was a virgin, then he was a giraffe. He was half-afraid that she’d tackle him on the floor and ride him into oblivion. She might have impregnated him.

So that was a no.

The next girl…he already forgot her name, because the moment she stepped into the room, she buried her face in her hands and began to weep loudly. Then she turned around and ran away.

So that was that.

Disappointed, he still had high hopes for the next girl.

Her photograph intrigued him–she was attractive, with an open, unblemished face, pin-straight hair and big, light-coloured eyes. When she arrived, she was taller than he assumed, and remarkably pleasant of face. She was Irish, and spoke with a lovely accent. Her eyes were bottle green with shades of aqua, and her hair turned out to be reddish-brown. Her face and hands were covered in a smattering of freckles. Gwyneth Berdara was her name.

She was a librarian at the Trinity College Dublin–an unusual position for a female. But she was also a student there, one of very few females accepted to study at the university. Her tenacious attitude, and her open, friendly manner impressed Azriel. She was not young–almost 25–unmarried and studious. It was clear that she was a learned woman, interested in academics and the pursuit of her goals.

“Why are you here?” he had asked her bluntly.

“I don’t wish to marry, Lord Night,” she admitted to him. “And neither do I wish to live in poverty, like so many of my kind. I want to teach and I want to be an academic, but I am realistic–it’s not a position that is easy, or even possible for a woman to achieve. Who’d want to have a female as a professor?” she laughed, sadly, and unhappily.

Azriel understood. She was correct in her fears.

“This opportunity,” and she pointed between the two of them, “would allow me independence. I wouldn’t be saddled with a child, but I would have the money to continue my studies and live the life I wish to live. Perhaps become a suffragette.”

He could see it. This Gwyn Berdara was the kind who wouldn't sit back and hope for a happy ending for herself. She’d fight for it. Carve it out.

In the end, Azriel knew that she wasn’t for him. Mostly, he didn’t want to deny her her goals. He was realistic–even if she thought that the child wouldn’t impact her life, he was convinced that that wouldn’t be the case.

He did what he thought was right in this situation. He wrote a check for £1000 and wished her luck in all her future endeavours. He didn’t have to, but he felt a paternal kind of tug towards her. That amount of money would set her up for life. For him, it was a drop in the sea of his wealth.

Lastly, there was Roslin. He couldn’t recall her surname, but Roslin was a beautiful woman with thick auburn hair, brilliant blue eyes and a thick scar on the side of her neck. The scar did not disturb him, though he wondered what had happened to her to receive such a nasty wound. The conversation flowed comfortably, but Azriel noticed quickly that Roslin was…dazzled. She sighed and batted her lashes, wrung her fingers, smiled and blushed. Azriel thought that she would serve him fine, but it was quickly apparent that she was looking for a husband, and not for a gentleman who needed her to bear his child. Azriel didn’t even want to start upon this road. He dismissed Roslin kindly and politely, and thanked his lucky stars that he did not offer her his name. He was well known and his face was featured in the newspapers with some frequency, but he hoped that Roslin wasn’t someone who read much about political affairs or the War Office.

Elain Archeron was a latecomer. He’d basically given up on the idea of finding anyone even remotely suitable and the task was taking too long for his liking. So it took him by surprise when he recognised the name–Archeron, as in Archeron Shipping, Ltd. It was an unusual surname, which only one family in Britain possessed. Because the origins of the family were in fact Greek. It was once a well-established, successful, widely known shipping company, which had fallen on hard times. When he’d asked Elain about her reasons and she told him about her family, he already knew the story. The father, Voldemar Archeron, had run the company into the ground with bad investments and even worse weather–three of his ships were lost at sea. Whatever was left of the wealth, he squandered. Ida, his wife, had died a few years back of typhus. The three daughters were left without dowries or good prospects. Back about a decade ago, the eldest sister, Nesta, was proposed as a match to none other than the Duke of Dorchester. Her dowry promised to be so big, that her lack of a title didn’t seem to matter. And then, it all just disappeared one day, including Dorchester’s interest. Azriel didn’t know much about the middle or the youngest sisters, until he read the name ‘Elain Archeron’. Mrs. Amren confirmed that Elain was indeed one of the Archeron sisters and it piqued Azriel’s interest even further. Seemed like pure madness that a young woman from a good family, and with what was confirmed to be a spotless reputation, would be interested in selling herself, her womb, and her potential for money. It intrigued him for whatever reason.

There was something that they had in common–the Archerons were also someone who had made it big, who were successful, yet who always remained the outsiders, because of their origins. He could relate. One look at his dark golden skin, his jet-black hair, his aquiline nose and the slant of his eyes, and it was obvious that he wasn’t exactly English. Which he wasn’t. His mother was from the Middle East, an exotic, gorgeous woman, who became his father’s obsession. His father, an English duke, dragged the woman here, actually married her! Yet never allowed her to forget that she was something else. A foreigner. Someone lesser. Azriel’s mother was a beautiful, sad woman, who spent most of her life behind the walls of their various estates–too strange to truly become Lady Night, the Duchess of Velaris, yet virtually enslaved by Azriel’s father. The only kindness his father permitted was for them to adopt baby Cassian. Azriel and Cassian were cousins, though they viewed each other as brothers.

In some way, Azriel wondered if he was repeating his hateful father’s ways?

Was he also forcing an unsuspecting woman into a situation of bondage and sexual slavery? All because he saw Miss Archeron’s photograph and knew, without doubt, that she must be delivered to him.

Simply put, in the photograph, Elain Archeron was gorgeous.

Elain Archeron

The sweetest face, gentle and innocent, like a blooming flower. Thick lustrous hair. A plump cheek that he wanted to sink his teeth into. He didn’t know her colouring, and needed to find out. Were her eyes black or blue? Green or brown? What colour was that beautiful thick hair? He wanted to know what her neck would taste like. How her hands would grip his arms. He needed to see beyond what the photograph offered him.

Seeing her photograph made him send a telegram to Mrs. Amren, requesting an immediate meeting with Miss Archeron.

Today, he saw the girl in the flesh, and he came to realise that he wanted nothing, absolutely nothing more than for her to agree to the arrangement.

He’s been faithful to Morrigan–they had planned on a happy marriage, not one of convenience, but certainly one of mutual attraction and respect, and eventually, maybe even love. And he’s been faithful to her since her accident. No, he wasn’t planning on living the life of a monk, but he needed to secure himself a child, a legacy, for he couldn’t divorce his wife and had to remain married to her while she was alive. Frankly, in the past year, he didn’t have time for any liaisons and didn’t want to arouse any unnecessary questions about the state of his marriage.

Elain, however, was something unexpected. His plans changed the moment she stepped into the room and looked at him with that shy, yet slightly defiant gaze of her huge brown doe eyes. Sad eyes, which spoke of hidden sorrow and grief which was her own. Brown. They were brown. Dark caramel came to mind when he looked into those eyes. Pale, but flushed cheeks, and full, plump lips. A tiny cleft on her chin, and a birthmark on her cheek. Golden brown curls tucked under a simple hat. The dress was plain, a little ill-fitting, definitely not tailored. He imagined that the dresses were shared among the sisters, and it was probably one of the better ones that they had. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, and he could imagine that the poplin dress offered little warmth to her too-thin frame. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t wear any jewellery, even something simple, but the hat was decorated with three beautiful flowers, and there was a little flower brooch on her lapel.

Azriel didn’t expect to be actually fully attracted to her. He thought that she might be pretty enough for him to willingly stick his cock into her. But he was intensely and immediately drawn to her. He fought the urge to come up to her and cup her little heart-shaped face between his hands. He wanted to press his lips to those pink, soft lips, and offer her her first kiss. It would be her first, he was sure. Was it so wrong that he suddenly desired to bring her into womanhood? He added the virginity clause and payment into the contract after he saw her photograph. He was honest when he told her that it wasn’t something that belonged to him, and he wanted to compensate her for it. But just because her maidenhead didn’t belong to him didn’t mean that he did not want to take it. That it wasn’t meant for him. And he wondered if in exchange, he could make the girl with the sad doe eyes see some light and offer a measure of comfort and happiness.

Azriel was a male prone to melancholy and didn’t love or care for most people in his life. He didn’t even love his wife, though he cared for her. Yet the prospect of spending more time with Elain Archeron, of making her his lover, of caring for her physically, of keeping her by his side filled him with a sense of joyful anticipation. Was he feeling excited? Intrigued? Thrilled? Yes to all. He could also be just a lonely man who wanted to be needed by someone, even if it was just for his money. It was possible that she’d come to care for him in some personal way eventually. She was so cute, declaring how she was not looking for love. It was wise of her and he appreciated her rationality and the fact that she knew that there would be no chance of a happy end for her, for them. But it didn’t mean that he couldn’t hope for a connection, for this to be less than just a transaction.

He didn’t even notice his hour-long walk by the time he arrived at his house. Unlike most of his compatriots, Azriel was a soldier, a military man, and though he was only twenty nine years old, he held the rank of a Captain in the army. Nowadays, he actually had a job…Which sort of made him smile, every time he thought about it. Men of his station did not have jobs. It kept him mostly in London, which is what he preferred–yes, he was a Lord, a peer, and held a position at the House of Lords, but he also headed the Intelligence Branch for the British War Office. It frustrated him that Britain was so far behind in its intelligence initiatives, than, for example Prussia, which had established its own branch of Intelligence services back in 1804. Now, almost 100 years later, he was actively working on establishing a new branch–the Doctorate of Military Operations–which would include intelligence gathering and spying. The world was changing around them, and so the needs of his country demanded that their operations moved with the progress.

Azriel spent the rest of the day at his office at Westminster, and was grateful for the distraction because it allowed him the opportunity to not think about Elain Archeron. He couldn’t forget her even if he tried, even when he engaged in numerous conversations throughout the day, and read dozens of documents, and put his signature on reports and missives. He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings when he finally left work and walked to his club. He always enjoyed walking, particularly when he was in the city and indeed to spend so much time indoors. The walk also allowed him the opportunity to obsessively ponder what Elain might be doing at that moment, and what she’s done during the day. Did she eat enough? He hoped that she had ordered food for herself, and ventured out of the inn and enjoyed the park and the shops. He knew that she wouldn’t spend any money on herself, even if she really wanted to, but he wondered if she’d found something that she enjoyed looking at, or touching. He ate dinner at the club, wishing for the day to be over.

In his head, he was creating a list of things that he wanted to do for Elain. A very hypothetical list, but it gave him something to do and occupied his mind for the evening.

Firstly, he wanted to make sure that she ate and got healthy. The kind of thinness that she sported wasn’t the fashionable type, where noble ladies ate like dodo birds, so they could maintain their tiny waists. No, her kind of thinness was caused by hunger, maybe even starvation. Her tiny arms were as thin as noodles and the collarbones protruded violently through her skin.

So it would take a little time to get her to a place where she was feeling better physically, and hopefully, emotionally as well.

When he initially thought about this scheme, Azriel wasn’t looking for a ‘project’ to sink his time and effort into. He wanted to impregnate a woman, have her have the baby and leave. However, after only one meeting, he was already reconsidering his initial plans. And that allowed for a coil of dread to unfurl in his stomach. What he could not permit himself to do–ever–was to develop feelings for this woman. Any woman.

Morrigan was his priority. He wasn’t going to exchange her for another woman. Yes, the physicians told him that there was no hope of recovery–not only was she paralysed from the waist down, the brain bleed rendered her completely incapacitated. She breathed, and she ate soft, pureed foods, but she needed total care, around the clock, and when he told her ‘for better or for worse, in sickness and in health’ Azriel meant it. Azriel valued loyalty above else, and just as he expected it from others, he also required it of himself. He might not be a faithful husband, but he would be loyal.

However charming, beautiful and desirable Miss Archeron was, and he found her to be enticing in every way, Azriel knew that he had to remain clear headed. This liaison had a purpose, and that’s what he was going to stick to. In the end, she would be ruined. And notorious, if she was not smart about it. He wished to maintain as much decorum about the affair as possible, and of course there was the non-disclosure agreement by which they were obligated to abide.

He’d treat her well, with kindness, he’d pay her the way he promised, but he was going to use her body because he needed to, and not because he wanted to. In the end, he knew how this was going to end–he was going to break Elain Archeron’s heart. He was going to be ruthless about it too. An innocent girl such as herself would undoubtedly find herself enamoured with him, especially because he was going to be her first in everything. And she was going to lead herself to believe that he was reciprocating her feelings. Alas, when all was said and done, the truth would be brutal–she would be left with money, but without her babe, and without love.

He only hoped that she’d be able to find happiness and a good man some time in her life.

And forgive him.

It was 10 am exactly when Azriel stood in front of the door to Elain Archeron’s room. It was utterly quiet on the other side of the door, but he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, as his blood rushed hotly through his veins. He wouldn’t be terribly surprised if she’d bolted. He was almost expecting it, though last night he was feeling hopeful. The morning light made things clearer, and with clarity came the realisation that this entire scheme was pathetic and at best absolutely ridiculous. It was never going to come to pass and he was deluding himself into thinking that he’d ever succeed. Regardless of how wealthy he was and what riches he offered to someone, no woman in her right mind would go through with this. Even if he wasn’t painful to look at, and was a gentleman, it was still an experience that no one wanted.

He knocked softly on the door.

If he was going to face rejection, he was going to face it like a man.

He knew it was coming, and he’s been preparing for it the entire morning: while he was getting a shave and dressing, he was imagining how she would let him down. Would she be gentle and soft? Would she be curt and upfront? Or cowardly, and simply run away without seeing him ever again?

A better question was–why was he so obsessed with her? Why did he need her answer so badly and why did he want it to be a ‘yes’? Why was he feeling so strangely possessive about her? Her body? Her acceptance? Her acquiescence?

All of last night, he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t for him, that she wasn’t for him and that he shouldn't be subjecting a reputable maiden to this foolishness. Nevertheless, here he stood, hopeful like a young lad at his first courting.

He knocked harder, when he didn’t get a response the first time.

Heart sinking, he needed to acknowledge to himself that she was gone.

Was he going after her all the way to Dover, pursuing her like a madman? Or was he letting her go, acknowledging that she was an unfulfilled promise?

For the first time in a long time, Azriel, a lord and a duke, a millionaire and a magnetically attractive male, felt terribly lonely.

When he knocked the third time, louder and more insistent, a vast, empty hole opened up in his chest, and when there was no answer, he hung his head low, accepting the inevitable truth.

Elain was gone.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #my writing #the arrangement #chapter 2 #Azriel and Elain #Azriel #Elain Archeron #elain x azriel #elain #Elriel fanfic #acotar fanfic

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