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theywhowriteandknowthings · 15 hours

Note

Hello! I have a continuing idea for the Mutefemreader and ghost! They were put on a first mission together in winter and it kind of goes sideways… they find an old cottage and decide to settle there until the weather blows over. And that’s when ghost kind of opens up and talks to her? And he finds out she isn’t so different from him when it comes to a bad past.

Thank you kindly! Love you’re work! 🎊

Thank you sm! ❤️ Oh this is nice angsty and fluffy.

Of the Same Coin

Pairing: Ghost x mute!fem!reader

Readers callsign is "Quiet" (definitely not a nod towards MGSV) I think the name is cool.

Warnings: Angst, some fluff?, mentions of past trauma

Words: 4.3k (This got out of hand but when do I ever make things simple)

Synopsis: Two hurt people finding solace with each other...

The stark red mixed with the white snow beneath you had you feeling ashamed and guilty. It bubbled in your stomach, hidden beneath the mask that covered the lower half of your face from the blistering wind that whipped against you and sunk its teeth into your bones despite the many thick layers you were wearing. Snow hit you face from all directions as you trudged through the snow, stepping in the footsteps created by Ghost in front of you.

He stood out against the pure white snow as he led the way to what you assumed was shelter. He seemed to know where he was going without having to look at a map, his walk full of confidence that screamed lieutenant for more reasons than one.

Red stained the outside layer of his uniform on his shoulder. It spread downwards despite the freezing temperatures and occasionally blood would drip onto the snow, likely to be covered up from the intense snowfall that would soon turn to a blizzard you both walked through. If the bullet wound bothered him, then he didn’t show it as he continued forward without saying a word.

Your first mission with him and you screwed it up.

Recon for intel about Makarov on Russian convoys in Siberia. It was a simple task, one that made you feel almost like they were taking it easy on you when you had already been on multiple missions with Price and the others. You had proved yourself to be a viable asset to the task force with your captain vouching for you anytime someone dared to say otherwise and you had only been with the team for a year. Yet this mission with Ghost, the first one you had with him by yourself, had been given to you as if you were a rookie who needed to learn discipline.

You didn’t complain and didn’t show your slight disappointment about it to anyone, not even Ghost because despite the fact that the mission was lackluster, you were excited to be on the field alone with your lieutenant.

“Ready for the cold, sargeant?” Ghost had signed to you from across the table in the briefing room.

“Absolutely.” You signed back with a smile, confident about the mission even though it sounded underwhelming.

All of that confidence had been sucked out of you, leaving you a lot less like a soldier and more like a lost child who had fallen on their ass. You were freezing from the wind, wet from the snow that hit you, and utterly defeated.

“Quiet!” Ghost barked over the wind and brought you out of your thoughts.

You stood up straighter and looked up at him, noticing that he was a few more paces in front of you. You must’ve slowed down significantly while you were stuck in your thoughts, causing you to fall slightly behind which only made you feel more embarrassed than you already were. If it weren’t for the fact that the heat had been ripped from you, you would’ve felt your entire body get hot from the stare he was giving.

At least you wouldn’t be shivering.

“Stay close!” He beckoned you forward with his head.

You nodded and raced up to him, holding your arms close to your stomach as you followed behind him. You kicked some snow out the way and watched him give you a quick once over with unreadable eyes before he turned around and continued walking forward.

Usually his silence didn’t bother you. You weren’t exactly in the position to demand someone to speak when you couldn’t even do that yourself, but it almost felt like he was snubbing you for what happened. You couldn’t really blame him for it, it was your fault he had a bullet stuck in his arm, so his anger towards you was justified. However, that didn’t make it hurt any less than it did as he didn’t spare any words with you.

Part of you hoped that it was because it would be difficult for him to speak over the wind, but it was impossible to know unless you asked him. You unfortunately, weren’t as good as reading people like he was and right now you wished he could teach you that skill.

A sharp gust of wind smacked against your face, pushing snowflakes against your watery eyes and stopping both of you in your tracks. You clenched your jaw tightly to stop your chattering teeth as you watched the surrounding area quickly turn into a complete white out in the matter of seconds.

It made your heart beat faster and you gripped your arms tightly, your fingers digging into your wet overcoat. You could feel an unbearable sting begin to form on the tips of your fingers and you wondered if maybe this was going to be your last moments.

You could hardly see Ghost in front of you and he was only a few feet from you. You heard him call out for you but it was nearly impossible for you to hear him, so instead you attempted to close the distance between you both.

Ghost outstretched his hand for you to take and didn’t hesitate to hold onto yours with a bone crushing grip that made you wince. He pulled you forward at a pace quicker than what your legs would allow you in the near knee high snow, but you pushed yourself in hopes that soon you would be out of the blizzard.

You stared down at your connected hands as you walked, focusing on the slight comfort you felt from having the weight of his large palm against your smaller ones. He easily could’ve directed your hand to grab onto his vest. It would be more practical, especially on the very impossible chance that someone showed up to shoot you both, but you were glad that he hadn’t.

You decided that it was better to focus on his hand in yours than anything else as you let Ghost lead you out from the field into a forest.

You weren’t sure how long you both had been walking for. It felt like hours but maybe it had only been minutes, it was hard to tell with the weather blocking out the sun, though you did notice that the already sparse light was starting to lessen.

The chance to worry about being stuck outside in a blizzard during nighttime didn’t happen as Ghost tugged on your arms to get your attention.

When you looked up, you could see a very small cabin, one that you assumed was most likely a safehouse or at least a place you could use without being shot by someone since it looked uninhabited. You weren’t sure how good a cabin in the middle of nowhere, in the wilderness would fair you both, but you at least would be out of the snow and the wind.

A relieved sigh left your chest and you rushed up to the door with Ghost right beside you.

Ghost slammed the door open with his shoulder when it wouldn’t budge from the ice that was stuck on the frame and pushed you inside. He didn’t waste any time following inside as he shut the door as hard as he could against the wind, locking it for good measure but you were sure the ice would replace itself quickly.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t warm by any means, you could still see your breath in the cold silence, but you were less likely to turn into an icicle inside. The small one room cabin had a good layer of dust collected on many of the surfaces, the few windows having snow, ice, and grim blocking out most of the light from outside. There was an old couch and a bed stacked full of quilts that screamed your name.

However, now that you were out of the weather, your attention turned back to your lieutenant who was still actively bleeding from his arm.

You turned to grab his arm with frozen hands, shivering like mad to lead him to the couch so you could patch him up, but he stepped away from you.

“Start a fire.” He gestured to the fireplace and you jumped from how loud his voice was in the silence now that you could actually hear him. “And get out of those wet clothes.”

You wanted to argue but he turned his back to you as he walked into the kitchen, so you had no choice but to do as he said. You walked to the fireplace and knelt down, sending a silent thank you to whoever was here last for leaving a package of wood pellets inside, along with a good amount of firewood.

It took you a moment to light the fire, your fingers being too stiff and frozen at first but once you got the package lit, you tossed it in the fireplace with a few logs on top. The fire slowly built and brought warmth along with it that at first, stung against your frostbitten skin before it thawed you. You didn’t waste any time to throw off all of your layers down to the innermost one which was luckily not as damp as you thought.

The warmth against your bare skin felt good and you could already feel the effects of the fire around the cabin. It made you want to sit down in front of it until you were dry and most likely half asleep, but you couldn’t.

Instead, you walked over to the bed and pulled the quilts off, fighting back a sneeze as some disturbed dust hit your nose, and held one in your hands as you looked at Ghost.

He was bent down in one of the cabinets, most likely checking to see if the pipes had frozen over, but that was the last thing on your mind, even though you knew that there was a possibility you’d both be stuck inside here for a long time. His usual thinking of the future was good but you were also worried that he was starting to lose too much blood and that he was going to get too cold.

You tapped your foot on the floor to get his attention.

“What?”

Ghost didn’t turn around to look at you and as much as you didn’t want to let it hurt you, you were already not in the best headspace about that. It made you falter and you gripped the quilt in your hands a little tighter. You wondered for a moment if you should just give up and let him come over to the fire on his own before you tapped your foot against the floor again, less forceful this time.

“Quiet-”

He stopped what he was doing and looked back at you with softer, apologetic eyes before he nodded for you to go on.

“The pipes can wait.” You signed to him before you showed him the quilt.

“You sure you want to be stuck in a place with no plumbing?” He signed back and you nodded as you held out the quilt for him to take.

Ghost didn’t say anything as he stood up and walked towards you. He began to take his clothes off, tossing them on the floor without care. Each layer he peeled off, the more prominent the red stain became on the sleeves of his clothes before he made it to the last layer, the entire sleeve of his arm soaked rich with blood.

You couldn’t help but stare at it as he grabbed the quilt from you, your eyes glued to the way his shirt stuck to his skin from all of that blood.

“Medkit’s probably in the bathroom.” He said, watching you from behind his mask as you stared at his arm. “I’ll get it.”

“Stay.” You signed and gestured towards the couch before you rushed to the bathroom.

When you found the medkit, you came back into the room and sat down on the couch beside Ghost, throwing the quilt on top of his lap before you began to pull out what you needed from the kit.

“Take your shirt off.” You signed as you held alcohol soaked gauze in your hand.

“I’m flattered, sergeant, but take me out to dinner first.” Ghost teased, most likely in an attempt to lighten the mood but you didn’t look impressed.

Without another word, he slid his shirt off and revealed the bullet wound that was in his bicep. You grimaced before you gently began to clean the blood that was stuck to his skin all the way down to his wrist. You watched him flinch ever so slightly when you dapped more alcohol onto his wound, finding some solace in the fact that it had stopped bleeding for the most part, likely from the many layers he had on.

The silence in the cabin was only broken by the howling wind outside and the crackle of the fire as you worked to patch him up. You had pulled the bullet out of him with ease, grateful that he didn’t squirm much at all, unlike Soap when you had to do that to him. You sewed up his skin meticulously as you tried your hardest not to hurt him anymore than he was while you did so. Though your hands moved gently, your mind was being anything but gentle to you as you did so.

You were waiting for Ghost to reprimand you for messing up but you hoped that the reason he was silent was because he didn’t actually think you were the reason he was hurt.

The whole reason why he had been shot was because of you.

You had noticed that there was a gun pointed on him from your location on top of the ridge you both were hiding on. The convoys had spotted you and you both were trying to pick them off with your rifles, but there were too many. Before, the weather had been mostly clear but the wind and snow came almost immediately, making it difficult to communicate with Ghost through the comms like you normally did.

He couldn’t hear the coded beeps you had created to avoid any miscommunication on the field. He couldn’t hear you when you tried to warn him about the sight that was on him and you realized that the only way he could’ve was if you had yelled at him.

This was the first time this problem had risen up, the first time that your silence failed the mission and it fucked with your head.

It didn’t matter what Price thought about you, it didn’t matter if you were one of the best sharpshooters on the team. You fucked up because you couldn’t say a damn word when it mattered, when your friend’s life was in your hands, all because of them.

“‘S’not the first bullet wound I’ve had.” He assured you in the best way he could and you glanced up at him. “Won’t be the last either.”

You shook your head and finished stitching him up. You threw the medkit on the floor and grabbed another quilt, placing it over your shoulders as you turned your attention towards the fire. You pulled your knees up to your chest as watched the flames dance in the brick fireplace, letting the warmth seep into your damp clothes.

“You’re upset.” Ghost pointed out as he pulled his shirt back on. “Why?”

You glanced at him to see that he was staring at you expectantly, the look he had being that of his profession, a lieutenant asking his sergeant a question. It wasn’t so much of a demand, but you could see that he was waiting for the answer as if it would be a given.

For a moment, you thought about lying or just not telling him anything, but you quickly realized how impractical that was. You both were most likely going to be stuck inside for at least a few days as you waited for the weather to lighten up and he knew you too well to let it go. He would get the answer out of you eventually and you knew that he had the patience for it.

“You got hurt because of me.” You signed without looking at him. “I fucked up.”

Ghost looked at you with confusion.

The thought never crossed his mind. He had replayed the situation over and over in his head many times on the trek to the cabin, going over all the ways it could’ve gone better or worse than it had, but the idea of blaming you hadn’t popped up until now.

In all honesty, he thought it was ridiculous. The one thing about this job was that not everything could be controlled and getting injured was unfortunately one of those things. Of course, it was easy to keep yourself out of the line of fire and behind cover, but it was never guaranteed to keep you a hundred percent safe, there was always a chance that something like a bullet going into your arm or anywhere else, could happen.

To blame you would be irresponsible on his part. All of you were the best of the best and though it was better to never have mistakes, it was unrealistic to believe they could never happen.

“These things happen, sergeant.” His voice was calm and leveled, his words spoken with indifference as he pointed out the obvious.

“It shouldn’t have happened, I shouldn’t have let it happen.” You argued back with a huff that made him frown.

Ghost didn’t like when you were upset, though he never outwardly expressed that to anyone. Usually when you were upset, he would try to do something to at least make it easier for you to feel better, such as get your favorite food or go on walks with you, but he was out of those options right now. There wasn’t much he could do but talk to you and that wasn’t something he was particularly good at.

He was a man of action, a man who would rather do something for you to fix the problem than talk it out. His words often came out too harsh or cold to bring any comfort even when that’s what he was trying to achieve. He was too awkward, his ability to read people only going so far when the issue wasn’t something he could fix physically.

He thought over his options, trying to come up with some solution to ease your guilt. The only thing that came to mind was to attempt to downplay the pain he felt right now.

“I’ve been through a lot worse than this.” He blurted out. “Not all my scars are from the field.”

You looked at him with knitted eyebrows for a moment, trying to decipher what he meant before he looked at you, not turning his gaze away from you as he waited. You stared deep into his eyes, searching for a hint within them but found that they were guarded much like he often was and you knew there was a reason for that.

Before you assumed that it was because of the job you both worked in. It was easier to work in this environment when you kept yourself on guard, when you didn’t let your emotions show and when you were always prepared for the worst. But Ghost was protecting himself from something old, something that had plagued him before he set foot in the military.

It made your chest tighten and you gave him an acknowledging look, one that you hoped signified that you knew what he was talking about without him having to elaborate.

It didn’t help you in the way he thought it would however. It gave you answers, a very small amount of answers, to the questions you’ve had about what happened to make Ghost adopt his persona, but it only made you think about how your pain caused him to suffer through more.

Maybe you were being dramatic, it was in the job description that injuries happened, but you were far too upset to think rationally.

“You still got hurt because I couldn’t say anything.” You emphasized and his eyes narrowed.

“That’s never been an issue before.” He pointed out and you shook your head.

“That’s my point! It’s never been an issue until it truly mattered and that means that I’m not good enough for this job.”

“Then speak.”

You sent him a glare, one of the nastiest looks he had seen from you since he started working with you but he didn’t seem bothered by it. You were shaking from anger, almost appalled by the audacity he had to say that to you and if it were possible, you would’ve stormed away from him.

You knew Ghost wasn’t good with words but it seemed like he was being insensitive now after all of the friendliness he had shown you before this moment. You should’ve expected it, he was your lieutenant, a higher up who was supposed to be your boss. There shouldn’t be sympathy for your problems and yet it still stung hearing him be so tone-deaf.

“If it bothers you that much, then speak.” He repeated and you gripped the quilt tightly. “Unless you can’t because something inside you won’t let you. So why get mad at something you can’t control?”

His words sunk into you and quickly doused the burning anger inside of you. You stared at him, your eyes softening as your shoulders slumped before you let out a shaky breath.

Ghost stared back at you with those cold tired eyes but for the first time you could see softness in them too. A look that told you he felt for you, one that told you he was there to let you feel for yourself as your frustrations slowly slipped into a feeling that made your chest heavy, a feeling of remorse for what you had lost, what had been taken from you.

He saw that familiar sadness creep up into your eyes and he ignored the heavy feeling in his chest that came from the look.

Despite what he presented as, Ghost was curious about people and who they were, it came from being so observant. He wanted to know because knowing meant all of the secrets that might be used against him. He had questions about why you were mute but he didn’t dare ask them when he saw that all too familiar look in your eyes.

Defeat. Remorse. Anger. Fear.

Those were things he’s felt, things he feels very often that he would never wish on anyone, even if it was common for soldiers to go through them. He would much rather not feel anything and often lost himself in his persona to avoid having to deal with them, something that he hoped you wouldn’t turn to.

He knew. Deep down he knew why you had that look in your eyes and that’s why he didn’t ask. He didn’t know how long ago it had been, not that it mattered since it seemed to cling onto you like a leech, but he could only assume just how bad it had been.

You shook your head, answering his rhetorical question he asked as you fell back against the couch. You knew what he said was right, he was speaking logically, trying to get you to come out of your head to look at the bigger picture, at what really mattered and it was working.

His comfort didn’t come from soft words, not really anyway, but helping you see the truth and it helped a lot more in this situation than anything else.

You mourned now. Your heart was heavy and if you were alone, you may have shed a few tears just to let them out before your head hurt, your chest hurt, everything inside of you hurt. It was more than just physical, it felt like something inside of you that wasn’t tangible had been ripped apart in ways that made it impossible to escape the feeling.

It made you afraid, deep inside you were just a scared woman who had been hurt by people who wanted information out of you.

“It still hurts.” You looked back at the fire as you signed to him, blinking away the mist in your eyes.

Ghost brought your attention back to him with a light touch on your shoulder. His eyes reflected your pain with his own but with more anger than you were feeling now as he signed the simple words:

“I know.”

The words stunned you and made you feel remorse for him because paired along with his eyes, they said everything he couldn’t.

I know you’re still hurting because I’m still hurting. I know that the pain follows you everywhere, it does the same with me. I’m still haunted.

I was hurt too.

You dared to place a hand on his wrist, doing so with care but he didn’t pull away from you. The contact from both of your now warmed bodies was enough to have you let out a silent sigh that seemed to take some of the weight off your chest as you stared down at where you held his wrist.

Ghost hesitantly placed his hand over yours, barely putting any weight on it, and you looked up to meet his now comforting gaze.

A small smile stretched across your face as you gently squeezed his wrist before you pulled away.

“At least we have each other.”

Ghost’s eyes widened before his eyebrows knitted together. A strange feeling crept into his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, something he probably had never felt before this moment. It made him want to hide from you but stay as close to you as he could too, to hold you and to push you away.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it but the sentiment was enough to make him feel something…good.

“We have each other.”

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 15 hours

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Grocery Shopping with König [539 word drabble]

No warnings, food talk, König is a goof.

Grocery shopping with König is a nightmare.

The old adage of “Don’t shop hungry” is impossible, the man is never not hungry.

He’s also a frugal bastard.

Your freezer is always filled with marked-down food that had to be frozen lest they spoil. You swear there’s been a whole rotisserie chicken just stuffed at the back of the freezer for over a year.

“But Biene, it’ll just go to waste.”

“But it’s such a good deal! Fifty pence off!”

“Why not, we could make something interesting with… pickled onions and mini frankfurters! I can make you Fleishsalat!”

And so on.

Today, you’re sneaking off to the store on your own. You’re on the last dregs of your paycheck for the month and you need to just get the essentials. No more, no less.

“Where are you off, Beine?” You hear him call from the bedroom, it’s early, and you had hoped he would sleep in. He usually does after a long deployment like the one he’s just been on.

“Just popping to the shops, go back to bed,” you insist, already shouldering on your coat, desperately wishing you’d just lied and claimed you were going for a jog.

“Ah bitte, let me come with,” you hear him bumbling around in your bedroom and groan. You know you can’t literally run away from him… Or can you?

You seriously consider it for a moment, but give up on the idea as your giant boyfriend trots like an excited puppy up to you. He’s dishevelled and wearing odd socks, but you can’t help but smirk at how handsome he looks.

“Ok, but if you’re coming with me,” you start, squaring up to him with a best a no-nonsense look you can muster on your face, “We have to stick to the list, no deviations, no bargains, just the…” you quickly count the number of items on the list, “twenty-four things I have written down, are we clear?”

“Javol, of course Biene, in and out, no distractions,” he holds his hand over his heart as if undertaking a solemn vow and you roll your eyes.

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I?” You mutter, almost to yourself as you usher him out of the door.

“You offend me, liebling, I’m a man of my word.”

Two hours later you’re back home with double the amount of items your list. Handfuls of food stuffs to be frozen immediately, some junk from the World Foods aisle, and a bouquet of roses that Kö grabbed when you weren’t looking.

At least he paid for everything, which meant you weren’t feeling the financial strain quite so hard this month.

“I’m sorry Biene,” he whispers against your temple as he wraps his arms around you from behind as you try and play freezer-Tetris to fit the new wave of bargains in the cramped space, “I’ll buy you a bigger freezer.”

You almost snap at him that isn’t the problem, not by a long shot, but at the end of the day, Kö’s little quirks like this are just part of who he is.

And in the grand scheme of things, it’s such a small thing to worry about.

Because you love the big oaf.

No matter what.

CoD Masterlist Grocery Shopping with Gaz Grocery Shopping with Ghost Grocery Shopping with Soap Grocery Shopping with Price

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 15 hours

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*Creedance Clearwater Revival starts playing in the background*

Oh SuperWhoLock, how I do *not* miss you.

You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

#superwholock #vietnam flashbacks

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 16 hours

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Oh but that’s tooth-rottingly sweet 🫠

Lovebirds

So... I made Dove (my newest Tav) to romance Rolan, because I totally forgot that he's not romanceable in game. BUT! I won't waste the potential.

Ship is called Rove and I rove them ♥

#sketch #art wip #rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #tav x rolan #bg3 #baldurs gate fanart

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 18 hours

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Soft Simon makes me weak 😩💜

Mmm, thinking about Ghost going on a date with reader after not having been in a proper relationship in years

He was never one for hookups, and he could never keep long-term relationships. Most lasted about a month at most before he backed out.

Fast forward to now, he's been invited out by you. He figures it'll be like most other dates, a quick dinner at a noisy restaurant before he gets overwhelmed and leaves.

To his surprise, it isn't. You kept his comfort in mind and suggested a walk by the bay instead.

When he walks beside you in silence, you don't seem to take offense. In fact, you don't seem to mind at all. You fill in his silence with easy conversation, keeping it focused on you and not trying to pry into his personal life.

You don't hesitate when he responds with one word answers, instead taking the opportunity to discuss an interest of your own. By the time it's long past dark out, you offer to take him home, apologizing for not acknowledging the time sooner. He didn't want to stop listening to your voice

When he declines your offer, you smile. You tell him to stay safe, to rest well, and to text you when he gets home.

At his apartment, he can't stop thinking about you. About how polite and kind you were. About how you actually cared about his feelings, how you weren't off put by him.

He glances at his phone.

You receive a text at 1 in the morning. A simple 'Back safe.'

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 19 hours

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I know "60s housewives who invented slash fanfiction" has taken on a life of its own as a phrase, but Kirk/Spock didn't really exist until the 70s and THOSE WOMEN HAD JOBS. They were teachers and librarians and bookkeepers and scientists and they damn well spent their own money going to conventions, printing zines, buying fanart and making fandom happen. Put some respect on their names.

#True heroes #Our forebears

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 22 hours

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Gaz and König best friendship team up unite!

Broke: having König instead of Gaz in the 141

Woke: König and Gaz are both there and become besties

#fanart #call of duty #könig #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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tv shows with time travel organizations/bureaus/police/agencies/whatever should have a department with instead of a tech genius eating candy, it’s a harried seamstress or fashion designer who is like

“1450 italy? does it look like I have the time to dye you wool? nO. YOU’RE GOING TO THE 1980s”

and throws shoulder pads at the hapless time agent

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Ghost x Reader's Song:

Dead Flowers - The Rolling Stones "It's a bit fuckin' melancholy, ain't it?" Simon asks you as he lounges between your thighs, head on your abdomen as you rake your fingertips through his short blonde hair.

"And we aren't?" You retort with a heavy exhale through your nose as you settle back against the arm of the sofa, "Just sort of fits, don't it?"

"Yeah, guess so," Simon grunts in assent as he closes his eyes.

And you can send me dead flowers every morning Send me dead flowers by the mail Send me dead flowers to my wedding And I won't forget to put roses on your grave

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost fluff #Spotify

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Sex Pollen, sex pollen is on the brain. I'm coming for you hoes.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Sharing it again because pey wet and wigan kebabs live rent free in my mind

local cuisine 🤌

#call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #my art #soapghost #anyway--Simon is currently extolling the necessity of pey wet #and Johnny's just mad that he actually likes it 😤#wigan kebab blast 💥

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

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Suck it Joel.

You made your bed <3

Lie in it and weep <3 <3

Devotion 🖤 II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 8)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

II. Predator or Prey?

CH 8 (6.6k) | The Night You Left | Joel barely sleeps, tossing and turning in his bed with his clothes on, knuckles bloody and burning, throat raw from screaming. He wakes up to hushed whispers outside his door and he throws it open, inexplicably hoping to see you out there. Instead he sees a sea of terrified faces, Sasha tucking Beth behind her, Tess peering out from the bathroom with Rosie holding a cold cloth over her swollen face. Kerri is further down the hall, sweeping up chunks of drywall and dust on the floor from the holes he’d punched into the wall hours earlier.

He looks back towards Tess. Fuck. She looks awful, already two swollen black eyes and a split lip. What kind of a monster does that to someone?

“Tess, I–”

“I’ll be alright Joel,” she reassures. “Why don’t you head over to the baths and get cleaned up?”

She knows he can’t be seen in the state he’s in. What would people think? They’d think he’d fuckin’ lost it is what they’d think. And they’d be right.

Joel heads to the old plaza, a ten minute walk down the street and around the corner, to the old salon now serving as the town bath house. This early in the morning he knows no one is going to be here so he lets himself in through the back door. He checks the tank of the town’s only working hot water heater and begins to fill one of the stock tank tubs, shucking his clothes off and climbing in. The water stings his raw knuckles as he scrubs at his body, washing away bits of dusty drywall and blood – his or Tess’, he can’t tell.

Fuck, he fucked up. He shouldn’t have reacted like that. He shouldn’t have done that to Tess. This is what you fucking do to him, this is the effect you have on him. You bring out the worst in him. All you ever did was distract him, tempt him, tease him, and reject him. He saved your life, fed you, clothed you, protected you, and put a roof over your head. And how did you repay him?

Resentment. Neglect. Defiance. Abandonment.

What did he even see in you? He thought you were brave, but you were so soft on the inside. He thought you were smart, but he watched you act like such a fucking fool. He thought you were beautiful, but you wouldn’t even let him say it. He thought you were wild, but he tamed you so easily. He was wrong about you. He tells himself that he’s glad you’re gone and that he’s better off without you around anyway.

—

The first Thursday without you, Joel takes Beth to the meeting, despite complaining that he’d rather go alone. Beth had already gotten to work making clothes and this would be a good opportunity for her to give some out to the families that lived further out of town, at least that’s what Tess had said. He’d never admit it, but he held his breath when a group of people led by the tall and imposing Hank walked in the room, someone else trailing just behind. Several people shifted and Joel saw it was just Hank’s little girl, blushing bright red when she caught him looking at her.

Shit. He’s not sure why he let himself think it might be you. Hank hadn’t brought you to the church meeting on Sunday so why did he let that tightness grow in his stomach thinking he’d bring you to the Thursday meetings the way he used to bring Beth? Whatever. He doesn’t even want to see you. He continues to be in a foul mood all week and despite pleading with Tess for forgiveness – which she gives him – all the women in the house seem to avoid him.

The second Thursday he notices Hank’s young daughter, who’d introduced herself several times as Amber, following his every move, watching him, sitting next to him, hanging on his every word with rapt attention. The little girl must have a crush. How inconvenient. But wait, he might be able to use this to his advantage. He’d noticed you ducking behind Hank’s oversized frame at church the past Sunday, avoiding him like the plague, and decided he was going to give you a taste of your own medicine.

Fuck you, you little ingrate, he’s gonna ignore the shit out of you right back.

He purposely avoided looking in your direction during his speech and sat with his back to you during dinner. He made sure to act like the perfect leader, loving and gentle, graciously accepting people’s well wishes for Tess’ illness – the cover-up for why she’d been in the house for over a week while her face healed up. Within earshot of you he gives attention to every other female Valley member, even going so far as to bring people into his embrace, hugging them tight.

He’s like an oily politician – kissing babies and shaking hands – but he hopes you see it all. He hopes you feel sick over it, feel jealous, feel regret. He hopes you feel the loneliness rotting in your gut like he does. But how will he know? How will he know if he can’t see you, can’t talk to you? He needs access to you, someone for you to confide in, someone on the inside. Little Amber will do nicely.

He strikes up a conversation with her, bumping up the charm to an eleven. He opens with some mildly flirtatious banter, asks some questions about her – women love that shit – before getting to the point.

“Hear you got a new roommate over there,” he postures casually.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Amber beams.

“She is?”

“Oh– ummm,” her brow furrows. “Isn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” he chuckles, “You tell me.”

“She’s alright, yeah… I mean, she– she’s fine.”

“Well you should let me know if she does anything to bother you.” His voice is smooth and buttery.

“I should?”

“Well yeah,” Joel touches his hand briefly to her chin, “I gotta make sure you’re happy, don’t I?”

“Oh,” she giggles, face flushing immediately.

“So make sure you tell me what’s goin’ on, okay?”

“Yeah I will,” she tries to suppress her smile. “I– I definitely will.”

“Anything at all, even if you think it might not be important.” He makes sure she’s looking at him and drops his voice an octave. “Anything at all, okay, sweetheart?” He winks to seal the deal.

It was almost too easy, turning little Amber into his own private mole. Every Thursday he gave her a couple minutes of attention and she folded, playing right into his hand and spilling everything you two had talked about over the past week. She told him where you went, what you did, who you talked to, and even what anyone else in the house said about you. Apparently Hank’s wife was missing Beth and Joel briefly thinks of telling Tess to make a switch back, but then gets angry at you again and changes his mind.

You don’t deserve his forgiveness, you’re not missing him enough, not even close to being as miserable as you could be. Amber had told him that you’d cried yourself to sleep almost every night the first week but then the other day after the church meeting he’d watched you hunch down behind little Amber – barely five feet tall – trying to hide from him. Your stubborn pride is gonna make it even more satisfying when you come crawling back to him, begging him to let you come back home.

Amber tells him when you’ve stopped crying at night but says you still spend a lot of time on your own, wandering the edges of the property. She catches you up in the hayloft all the time, or napping with the baby goats. She says you don’t spend any time with Danny or Diego, the ranch hands, so he resists his urges to take them by the collar and threaten to bury them alive if they so much as look at you.

—

Joel woke up in the mornings feeling empty, like his chest had been broken open and hollowed out, all of his internal organs scooped onto the ground. The only thing that remained inside him was a deep-seated ache. He tried to soothe it with conversation but Tess didn’t want to hear it, kept telling him it’s better this way and to move on. He tried to temper his loneliness with touch, but when he reached for Sasha’s hand after dinner one night she ripped it out of his grip. One evening, in a particularly weak moment, he nuzzled into Kerri’s neck while she was washing dishes, her hands occupied and covered in suds.

“Oh,” she squeaked, startled by his touch.

“Hey,” he said, muffled against her skin, twitching under the brush of his beard.

“I’m not really–” she started.

He didn’t let her finish. He was out of the room before she could even finish her sentence. How fucking pathetic was he? He didn’t even want her – not really – and she couldn’t even stand to be touched by him. This is what you’ve done to him, this is what you’ve made him. He’s been ruined by you.

When it's been just over a month since you left, things at the house finally get back to a sense of normalcy again. For a while, Tess was the only one speaking to him, and besides the Thursday meetings Beth was assigned to accompany him to, she avoided him like the plague. Kerri wouldn’t meet his eyes, Rosie shuffled away from him whenever he entered a room, and Sasha gave him dirty looks every time she passed him in the halls. But with time, things were improving. There was a low hum of conversations around the dinner table now – none of them involving him – but at least everyone else was happy.

The following Sunday Amber traps him in a corner and starts saying shit about coming to live with him. He has no idea where she got this idea in her head but she keeps trying to touch the buttons on his shirt and he’s doing everything in his power not to swat her little fucking hands away. He sees Tess giving him a look and he knows. He knows he needs to get away from her, that people can see him, that people will talk. What if you see him? You’re never gonna come back home if you think he’s messing around with this annoying child. He has to stop using her for information, he has to cut her off.

The following Thursday marks the end of February and Amber’s reports have gotten brief and repetitive. Walks alone along the pastures, always has her nose in a book at bedtime, late to every meal (much to her mother’s chagrin). She tells him that you only leave the farm on Sundays for church and on Wednesdays for your bath, having to settle for a weekly wash at the Covered Bridge Inn another mile down the road with some of the other farming families. He bets you’re missing your three soaks a week since you left town.

Joel decides to cut Amber off then and there, she’s not giving him anything he doesn’t already know and he needs more, he wants more. He needs to fill that emptiness inside him and you’re the only thing that can make him feel whole again. He’s barely looked at you in weeks, always avoiding watching you directly, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of thinking he gives a fuck. He doesn’t, not really. He just wants to soothe the hole you left. He convinces himself he just needs a taste, just needs a peek. He just needs to see if you’re missing him, to make sure you’re suffering the way he is, the way you should be. He wants to see it for himself. Then he can get over you – move on – like Tess says he should.

He waits until the following Wednesday and makes a trip out to the Mansfield’s farm when he knows you’ll be gone for your bath. Only Hank remains on the farm to greet him but is honored and excited by Joel’s presence. Joel makes up something about wanting to visit Hank because of how much he respects all of his hard work, but asks Hank to not spread the word lest the other farmers be jealous. Hank nods in agreement as he shows Joel around the property and then welcomes him into his humble home.

When Joel excuses himself to use the bathroom he takes a walk around the upstairs, checking each bedroom to find yours, recognizing it when he sees one of your old shirts on the bed. He lifts your pillow to his face, huffing in your familiar scent. Under your pillow is a book, paperback cover worn and tattered, Of Mice and Men by John Steinback. Joel stuffs it in his waistband and pulls his shirt back down, heading back downstairs to tell Hank he should get going.

There’s no mention of his visit by his little spy the next night so, he assumes Hank kept it a secret and you were none the wiser. He wants to go to the farm again, he wants to have another piece of you. Just one more taste, just one more. He waits until late in the day on the following Wednesday and, avoiding traps he and his patrols helped set, he rides out and sneaks onto the property from the neighboring fields. Hank is working out in the far pasture and doesn’t even notice Joel’s surreptitious arrival.

The house is unlocked and he goes straight to your room, this time laying down in your bed, letting himself soak in the scent of you wafting off the sheets. He thinks of you crawling in the bed every night at the end of a long day working your ass off on this farm, a big change from the cushy life you had back home. He knows you only get a bath once a week here, and he can smell your scent on the sheets strongly. He smells sweat, dirt, farm animals, and a trace of tangy milk. You must change the sheets when you get back from your bath. This must be the most pungent they smell all week.

He grabs his dick overtop his pants, he can feel it already hard and aching at the thought of you. He wishes he had more time to lie here, to really be able to enjoy himself, but he made up an excuse to Tess and she’ll be suspicious if he’s gone too long. He takes his hand away from the front of his pants and instead grabs your pillow, throwing it over his face to breathe it in a final time. He gets up, adjusting himself, and takes a step towards the door before he doubles back and snatches your pillowcase off the pillow, stuffing it down the front of his shirt.

—

He’s panting slightly as he makes his way in the back door of his house, having had to jog from the stables, cutting through the town park so he’d be back before Tess started wondering where he was. Kerri gives him a sideways glance and an empty smile, quickly turning her head back to her meal preparation. Tess and Sasha come up from the basement holding jars of preserved vegetables.

“Where you been?” Tess asks.

“I told you,” he tries to stifle his heavy breathing. “I had to help Peter out with his solar panel issue.”

“But Peter’s wife Georgia just came by here not even ten minutes ago and asked how you were doin’,” she says, looking confused.

“Yeah well it wasn’t at his house,” Joel thinks quickly. “He’s been tryin’ to get it fixed up for little old Miss Betty, out– umm… over there by the woods.” He picked the most remote, home-bound person he could think of, hoping it would cover his ass.

“Oh, she needs power? For what?” she asks, setting down the jars on the counter with Sasha, not giving Joel her full attention anymore. He uses the opportunity to move out of the kitchen towards his office.

“I dunno, just helpin’ out Peter,” he says and then ducks out of the room before she can question him further.

Once he closes his office door he pulls out your pillowcase from under his shirt and balls it up to his face, sniffing it more. He sticks it in the bottom desk drawer under the maps, where he keeps your lost pair of underwear, your rejected christmas gift, and the book he took from under your pillow on his previous visit. Something scratches at him from deep inside, something that might resemble guilt. He shakes it off. He has nothing to feel guilty for. If you want underwear, books, or your pillowcase so bad you can come back home and have them.

—

He can’t even wait until next Wednesday to go over to the farm. Sunday morning rolls around – he’s spent all weekend planning this moment – and he gives a well-rehearsed speech to Tess about being sick. He doubles over in his bed and clutches his middle, groaning until her face softens and she puts the back of her hand to his forehead the way his mom used to. She brings him some water and rice and tells him to get some rest before heading to the services with everyone else in the house.

Once he’s left alone he jumps out of bed, throwing the covers off like a child on Christmas morning. He knew that if he went to church he’d be able to see you, maybe fill a little bit of his craving. But since he doesn’t really look at you, how much of you can he actually see? Knowing that Hank would bring your entire household to the service meant the farmhouse would be empty. He can sneak over there while everyone is preoccupied and have his fill of your scent, of the ghost of your presence. He needs this, he tells himself, he needs a little bit more before he stops, before he gets over you.

He doesn’t want to take a horse this time, wants to leave no trace of where he’s going or risk anyone seeing him riding out. Most of the town is at the church service but he wants to be extra cautious. He heads out the back door and ducks into the trees beyond the yard, making the long way around the populated square to hit the fence-line. He finds a well-worn path through two fence sections and, avoiding the traps he knows are there, darts south towards the farm.

Joel’s knees are aching by the time he hits Hank’s property, heart pounding and feet throbbing, having set a brutal pace to make the trip in just about thirty minutes. His chest is heaving to catch his breath as he crosses over the creek and walks up the small hill to the old farmhouse standing like a silent monument above the pastures.

He takes his time on this visit, going through your side of the dresser, recognizing the clothes you had before, touching the fabric with his fingers that he would feel beneath his touch whenever he held you in the mornings. He looks in the closet – mostly Amber’s clothes – but sees a nice dress in there he assumes Hank intended for you to wear to church. Joel’s never seen you in a dress, maybe no one here has either, since you’ve certainly never worn this one.

He takes off his clothes and climbs in your bed, lying face flat on your pillow, and smells you. Not your soap or shampoo, but you, the real you. The you he used to smell when you were at home, when you were in his arms, when you were his. Before you left him, before you broke him, before he was empty. He slowly humps against the bed – his cock rubbing the worn, softened sheets – and thinks of you.

He imagines you coming back and catching him, throwing your arms and legs around him, crying how much you miss him and kissing him until he agrees to take you home. His come spills on your sheets and he throws the blanket back over top, leaving the mess for you to find. Part of him hopes you know it was him. He puts half his clothes on and then begins to get sleepy, having stayed up half the night going over and over in his head his plans for today. He lies down on top of the bed just to rest his eyes for a moment.

He doesn’t hear the horses pull up with the wagon outside, or the door opening and people entering the house downstairs. He doesn’t hear anything until there’s footsteps on the stairs coming towards where he’s still half naked and just awake. Shit. He jumps up and grabs the rest of his clothes off the floor, kicking his boots under your bed and jumping in the closet just as Amber bursts in the room, humming a hymn and babbling about how she wants to make soup to send to him. You hum in assent but otherwise say nothing.

He wishes he could see you, but he’s pushed himself into the closet and to the side as much as possible. He is half-covered by a mothball-smelling crocheted cardigan and a mildew-smelling old raincoat. He hears the soft sounds of fabric and the wooden creak of dresser drawers, then you both silently shuffle out of the room and down the stairs. He waits a long time until he's sure the coast is clear and manages to get himself dressed, pull on his shoes, and make it downstairs.

He hides in a closet for several hours, hearing Amber and her mother all around the first floor, cleaning and cooking and gossipping to each other. Where are you? Are you in the hayloft like Amber said you like to be? Are you feeding goats or milking cows? He wants to see you but he knows he has to go, knows he’s stayed too long. Everyone has been back at his house for hours and Tess will most definitely be wondering where the fuck he went to.

It’s mid-afternoon by now and he knows he can’t waste anymore time. He ducks out of the closet and runs for the closest patch of trees as quickly as he can. As soon as he’s in the cover of the woods he starts thinking of the shit show he’s gonna walk into. Tess is gonna give him the third degree. He left no note, no indication of where he would be. What excuse is he even gonna give? He played sick so convincingly and now what is he gonna do? What can he tell her that will be believable?

His mind is racing with a hundred different thoughts and he’s trying to ignore the sting of the cold air in his lungs and the burning of his thighs as he presses forward up another hill. He’s sure that’s why he misses the trap. Because he knows where they all are, he helped set almost every single one. He has a map in his office with all of them marked off, directs the patrols to check and maintain them. He knows better. But he’s distracted. You’ve distracted him. This is all your fault. That’s all he can think as he feels the trap clamping over his ankle and the biting pain shooting up his leg. This is all your fuckin’ fault.

Joel loses his balance quickly as the counterweight trips and yanks his leg out from under him. He sees the whole world flip and feels the fire of tearing flesh licking up his leg. He comes to rest with his shoulders on the ground, his head brushing against the fallen leaves, but the lower half of his body lifted up in the air, strung up in the tree by his ankle. Shit, this is a good trap, he was so proud when he thought of it and now he can confirm that it’s quite debilitating and extremely painful.

—

The sun has started setting when Joel hears a single step behind him and he whips his head around, facing a lone figure, light hair braided over her shoulder, pack on her back stuffed full. Sasha.

“Hey honey… I didn’t hear ya coming,” he groans, shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, Joel,” she looks him over quickly, “That’s kinda the point.”

She opens her mouth to ask a question – probably something akin to what the fuck are you doing out here – but then she looks southward, towards the still-visible fields of the dairy farm, and back at him. She closes her mouth, deciding not to ask something she already knows the answer to. Instead she looks him up and down, taking in the scene in the fading light.

“You uhh… you want me to get you down from there?”

“Well what’s the alternative, honey?” He motions around. “You gonna leave me here?”

“I could…” her face remains impassive, considering her options, “But Tess would probably miss you.”

Joel lets out a huff and gives her a partial smile, it’s as much as he can manage having been stuck like this for far too long. Sasha throws her pack down and fishes some bolt cutters out of the back, reaching them above Joel’s ankle and cutting a chain link rather easily. Joel's body unceremoniously slams down to the forest floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she mutters, kneeling down to check him over. “What’d you think was gonna happen when I cut it?”

“I dunno honey but I’m not a fuckin’ gymnast. I’ve been hangin’ upside-down for hours, so I’m kinda at the whim of gravity right now.

“Well twinkle toes, good thing you’re not training for the olympics, because your leg looks absolutely fucked. We need to get you to the clinic ASAP.”

Yeah yeah yeah Joel grumbles, grunting and groaning as Sasha helps him to his feet, leaning into his side so she can support his weight on his bad side.

“Is your horse nearby?”

“Didn’t bring a horse,” he sighs.

“Joel, we’re still over a mile away from home and your leg–”

“Well we better get going then, huh?”

“But, Joel–”

“Time’s a wastin’ honey, let’s go.”

—

By the time the doctor finishes wrapping Joel’s ankle, he can already see the blood seeping through the bottom layers of the bandages. She’s given him some expired meds for the pain that are managing to take the edge off, but he’s still extremely uncomfortable. He’s not gonna tell her that though.

“I’m gonna need to see you tomorrow to clean and redress this wound.”

“I can come by after–”

“No,” she interrupts. “No, Joel, I’ll make a house call, you shouldn’t be walking on this at all. This needs to be elevated so the swelling can go down.” She wraps the second layer tighter and Joel bites back a noise. She notices. “That’s why it’s leaking like this, you didn’t elevate it,” she scolds, and then murmurs under her breath, “And you walked a mile on it.”

“Well I knew you made house calls but I didn’t think you’d make middle-of-the-forest calls.”

She makes a noise that sounds like hmmm, and grabs another roll of gauze to keep wrapping around. He’s not sure if she bought his story, that he and Sasha were scavenging together and he wasn’t looking where he was going, but she removed the trap from his ankle and gave him a tetanus shot and some antibiotics. He didn’t even realize she had all of that here but she opened a locked cabinet and there was a secret stash of medicines, just waiting for him.

Since he was hanging upside-down he didn’t lose much blood and the doctor told him she doubts there’s a broken bone, given that the trap clamped down above the ankle bones and more into the meat of his leg. She is worried about infection, of course, and said that the way it pulled on his leg could take a while for the muscles to heal. How long did Sasha leave you hanging there she kept asking and he kept explaining that they’d split up to cover more ground, and she’d found him when he missed their meet-up time.

“I think that’s enough, Doc, quit fussin’ over me,” he tells her as he shifts on the bed to get up. “Get Sasha for me and I’ll head home, and don’t worry, I’ll keep it elevated.”

“Sasha left after she dropped you off Joel,” she leans back and points to the doorway, where one of the clinic staff has rolled in a rusted wheelchair. “We’re gonna take you.”

“I’m not getting in that thing.”

“Oh cut it out, you already got your tetanus shot.”

—

He gets out of the chair and stumbles up the front steps, forbidding them from helping him through the door and promising to elevate his leg and keep it that way, trying to keep his voice in a whisper and not disturb the house. He hops inside and his fears are immediately realized when he sees Tess waiting for him at the dining room table. Their eyes meet and they stare at each other in silence for a long while before she rises out of her chair and points to an empty one.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says, walking into the kitchen.

Joel sits in the chair and Tess comes back in, motioning for him to put his leg up on the bench next to him, setting a cloth ice pack gently on his injured leg. She slowly sits down and resumes looking at him. A long silence passes between them.

“You gonna make me ask?”

“Ask what?” he says casually, then she pins him with a look and he drops all pretense, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m sure Sasha already told you.”

“She didn’t tell me why.”

“Why? You already know that too.”

“I know you were out there at the farm, Joel, sneakin’ around, messin’ with her stuff, fuckin’ with her head, I don’t know what all you get up to. But why, Joel? Why?”

“What do you care, anyway?”

“Why can’t you leave her alone?” she hisses

“Why is that any of your fuckin’ business?”

Tess slams her hand down on the table and hisses, “You made it my business when you brought her into my house.”

“Your house, is it?”

“You’re goddamn right it’s my house, and I take care of everyone in it. I sent her to the farm to get some relief from you and your behavior, and you can’t show one ounce of self control? Who the fuck are you?”

“I don’t think–”

“No, you’re not thinkin’, that’s the problem,” she interrupts. He’s stunned into silence. “I’ve taken a lotta shit in my life, Joel, and I’ll keep taking it if it’s for the greater good. I’ve followed you around for years and I’m loyal, but I ain’t stupid. I see you slipping. Everyone does. Everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve sacrificed for you… you gotta play your role.”

“I’m tired of it,” he whispers.

“You’re not tired of everything it gets you.”

He grumbles at that and mutters something like it doesn’t get me what I really want, and she knows he means you. She knows he still wants you, even when he pretends like he doesn’t. She sees the way he purposely avoids you and looks the other way when you come near. It’s all bullshit bravado, and she fuckin’ knows it. She knows he’s sad, lonely, heartbroken without you. But she needs him to either put up or shut up. Admit it or move on. She can’t have him stuck in this loop of destruction.

“Leave her be, Joel. It’s done with her, it’s over.”

—

Two weeks go by in a blur, Joel doesn’t sneak away to the farm, he avoids Amber at the Thursday meetings, he steers clear of you at the Sunday service. He goes where Tess tells him to go, meets with who she tells him to meet with. His leg heals well and he’s back on his feet much sooner than the doctor expected him to be. He spends his days working with the gardeners in town to get ready for spring planting, and the evenings working in his office to schedule patrols and plan maintenance for sections of the perimeter fencing.

He keeps his head down and keeps his mind occupied. He starts to feel better, and then he’ll lie in bed at night and he’ll hear the door to the tiny room across the hall close and remember you’re not there. It cuts like a knife in his hollow chest, the slow thumping of his heart echoing in its empty chamber. He feels bad for going the whole day without missing you and his stomach gets tied up in knots over everything that happened.

He tries so hard not to think of you, to keep his mind busy with anything else… until he can’t. Until everyone stands up as he introduces Bianca’s baby to the community and then everyone sits back down and there you are. You’re standing in the middle of a pew halfway back, staring daggers through him. Looking at him like he just slapped you in the face. He can’t help but look at you – for the first time in over two months – and watch you come undone.

He sees you run out of the sanctuary and only Tess’ iron grip clawing at his elbow keeps him from running after you. After the service he tells her he’ll meet them in the hall for lunch and she reluctantly leaves him, mouthing behave yourself as she goes.

And then you’re in front of him again, the both of you looking into each other’s eyes. There’s so much fire in yours, he hasn’t seen you look like this since the first day he saw them, backed into a corner of the clinic like a trapped animal, teeth bared and ready to pounce. You start snapping at him, biting him with your words, and he can’t fucking help himself. He bites at you right back. Every sharp barb of your tongue, every click of your fangs, he’s spurred on to hiss and claw in response. You call him a liar and then tell him you don’t care when it couldn't be more obvious that you do.

Why won’t you just admit that you care? Why won’t you just admit that you miss him? Why are you so afraid of the truth?

You brush by him, purposely knocking his arm with your shoulder as you exit and when he turns to follow you he sees Tess in the doorway. She walks up to him and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until her arms close around him and he’s sobbing into her shoulder.

“She hates me,” he heaves.

“She doesn’t hate you, Joel,” she hushes.

“She does. She thinks that was my baby.”

“Did you tell her it wasn’t?”

“No,” he sniffles.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Cause I’m incapable of doing the right thing. I just keep fucking up,” he sobs. “I keep doing the wrong thing every fucking time. I grab her, I hurt her, I say the wrong thing, I fuck it all up.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he wails.

“I do, I know why.”

“Why then?” Joel sniffles.

“It’s easier for you to push her away than it is to let her in.”

—

Joel is sitting in silence at the dinner table later that night, mindlessly picking at his plate, lost in his thoughts. The meal has long-since finished and the women are clearing the table, moving in and out of the kitchen and talking with each other. Beth is excitedly telling them about a barn cat who had kittens last year and everyone is gushing over the talk of adorable kittens.

Joel remembers Sarah finding two abandoned kittens after a soccer game one cloudy May afternoon, two flea-infested little rats hiding behind the practice field’s bathrooms. She’d carried them in her shirt back to him, all three of them crying, begging him to let her keep them. He said no a hundred times but still wound up driving all of them all the way across town to the only vet’s office open on a Saturday. Hundreds of dollars later they were stuffed full of medicine and food and were sleeping curled up in the crook of Sarah’s neck.

She told him she understood when he said they couldn’t keep them forever – allergies, he’d explained – but that didn’t stop big, fat tears from rolling down her face when she placed them into the arms of their new owners.

“You did such a good job taking care of them,” he’d told her, wiping away her tears. “You should be so proud. Look how big they got! You did that! You gave them a shot at a great life.”

“You did it too, dad,” she’d said, hugging him, telling him he also did a good job.

He didn’t do shit, he just couldn’t say no to her. And she thought he hung the moon. She thought he was some kind of a saint. Joel Miller, patron saint of disgusting, sickly little kittens. The man she thought he was… he could never be that man. Not then. Not now. Not after everything he’s done.

And then he realizes he’s sobbing again, at the dinner table, and everyone is staring at him.

“Y– You okay, Joel?” Beth asks.

“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I was just… thinkin’ about Sarah.”

“Who’s Sarah?” Kerri says.

“Can everyone give us a minute?” Tess says.

The room quickly clears and Joel is still sputtering and sniffling at the head of the table. Tess sits down next to him and he slides off his chair, kneeling on the floor and burying his head in her lap, tears rolling down his face and soaking her jeans. He’s muttering I can’t lose her too and sobbing and Tess thinks this might be it, he might finally be ready to face it.

“What’s wrong, Joel?” Tess asks gently.

“She left me, I fucked up and she left, I don’t deserve her, she hates me, I’m a monster and she hates me and I don’t do anything right and I just fail over and over and she can’t stand me and all I do is–” his cries, devolve into a blubbering mess.

—

It’s just before midnight and the house is dark and quiet. Only a lamp in the living room casts a glow on them – Tess and Joel on the couch – where they’ve been sitting and talking for hours. He’s finally calmed down, having talked through months-worth, if not years-worth, of feelings with her. Things they’ve already talked about, things she’s suspected but never had confirmed, and secrets they’ve kept even from each other. It felt cathartic, like a weight lifted from the both of them, and they sit in companionable silence before they head up to bed.

A loud, frantic knocking at the front door makes both of them jump. Tess goes to answer it and all Joel hears is a tandem of words, spilling out like a waterfall so quickly he can only catch some of them. Not in bed… looked everywhere… can’t find... He gets up from his seat and heads to the door, freezing when he sees Danny and Diego’s harrowed faces standing on his darkened porch.

“W– what’s goin’ on?” Joel asks, looking between the two men and Tess.

Tess grabs his arm, bracing him.

“She left.”

🖤

As always, muchas gracias to my amazing editor, @papipascalispunk for sticking with me through my highs and my lows, my slumps, and my manic incessant babbling about CJ.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx @lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin @heimtathurss @untamedheart81 @pixielou5 @feel1n-h1gh @elegantduckturtle @koshkaj-blog

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

Text

But Daddy, I hate him. <3

(I have not listened to the TSwift song but I just thought it fits)

Devotion 🖤 II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 7)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

⚠️PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE SERIES WARNINGS, ESPECIALLY: references to previous SAs (not described in detail), manipulation, thoughts of self-harm and suicide.⚠️

II. Predator or Prey?

CH 7 (7.8k) | 10 Weeks Later | It’s the last Thursday in March and you’re helping pack up the wagon for Hank and his daughter, Amber, to make one of their weekly trips into town. The milk churns are loaded in the back, filled and ready for delivery to the Valley residents in town. You double check the breast collars on the horses and the traces going to the wagon while Hank asks if you’re sure you don’t wanna come with? He asks every week and every week your answer is the same.

“No thank you, Hank, there’s plenty to do here.”

While that’s certainly true, it’s not the real reason you never join them. There’s plenty to keep you busy and never a shortage of chores on a dairy farm, especially one that has almost no electrical power to help run it. But the more honest reason you don’t join them in town is that it would complicate your ability to avoid Joel. Part of you felt a finality when you got here, that whatever it was between you was over and you’d start fresh and finally be rid of him. But you should have known better. You should have known he’d still haunt you.

Your mind has still been full of him, filled with memories of the good times and the bad. You think you see him out of the corner of your eye, in places he shouldn’t be, but when you turn to look, of course he isn't there. Sometimes you think you can smell him when you walk into your room at night, but he’s definitely never been in there. You can usually avoid actively seeing him, since Hank doesn’t like to attend the Friday night events and Joel would never come this far out of town with as busy as he’s kept by Tess. But you can’t avoid him on Sundays.

Hank never presses the issue when he asks you to join him on Thursday nights, but joining them on Sundays isn’t optional. As a devout man, Hank requires everyone to dress in their best clothes and make the hour-long ride into town so you can all sit in the big, old church and hear about God’s plan for you. Every Sunday you see Joel in the front row, sitting through the service before he gets up and makes his usual speech. You scoot down in the pew, making yourself as small as possible, trying not to draw attention. He gives you none.

Once the service is over, everyone funnels out of the church to the rec hall next door. You walk past the closet where you were on your knees for your false god and try not to burn at the shameful feeling that washes over you, twisting your stomach into knots. You hate him. You miss him. You hate yourself. Sometimes Tess comes over to your table at dinner and talks to the Mansfields, making sure to ask how you’re doing and gives you kind smiles. But Joel never comes over. He sits at his table with the other women – and Beth – and keeps his back turned to you.

You once thought that it seemed like he was putting extra effort into purposely not looking your way. You pushed the preposterous thought from your mind until you realized too late one Sunday that you were in a line to shake his hand before dinner. You were busy re-plaiting Amber’s braid at her insistence and didn’t notice how close you were to him until you heard his gruff voice speaking to Hank. It was too late for you to run the other way, which is what you usually did, so instead you ducked down, trying to hide behind Amber, knowing it was futile.

Amber beamed at him, shaking his hand with both of hers, bubbling with praise over how great his speech was and what a great job he did. Her little crush on him had never been more annoying than it was at that moment. You knew that he knew you were there, there was no way to hide your entire body behind Amber’s diminutive frame. And yet, you watched his eyes jump over you and land on the next person in line, completely – and purposely – ignoring your presence. He was definitely making an effort.

–

All of that happened nearly two months ago and now you just make absolutely sure to pay attention and stay away from him on Sundays, so you don’t have to notice him not noticing you. In fact, these days you hardly think of him at all. Okay, maybe that’s not quite true, but you’d like to think that in comparison to when you first got to the Mansfield’s, you’re doing much better.

The first night you’d arrived, Amber had led you up the stairs to her room, which she said you’d be sharing. The room was huge, probably three times bigger than the room you had been calling yours. You had a comfortable bed all to yourself on one side of the room as well as three dresser drawers and half the closet to fill with your things. You hadn’t brought anywhere near enough clothes to go in the spaces, but you found that Beth had unexpectedly left several items of clothing behind in a size that fit you.

When the lanterns were snuffed out for the night you’d laid your head on the pillow and cried heaving, muffled sobs, hoping Amber wouldn’t hear you. Why were you crying? You had more space and more autonomy at that moment than you’d had in months. You had a bedroom door that closed and a family that was eager to have you. No one was going to hit you, touch you, or scream at you. You were safe. And yet you felt so alone. More alone than you had in a very long time.

You’d let yourself cry until your head ached, and then you got up and walked to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on your warm, puffy face. You looked in the mirror and began to chide your pitiful reflection.

Why are you crying over him? Why would you miss him? What is wrong with you?

These same thoughts repeated for the first week, playing over and over in your mind every time you started to feel sad. So stupid of you to cry as if you were the only one in the world with problems. The whole world had gone to hell and you were crying because some man lied to you. You shouldn’t have even fucking trusted him in the first place. You’d let yourself fall right into his trap even though everything inside you was telling you not to.

–

You wonder if he misses you or if he’s already moved on to the next one. Maybe Beth has fully replaced you and his focus is on her now, already suffocating her with affection and fucking her in your old bed. Had he asked Tess about you, or Hank, or anyone? You have thoughts about getting sick or even dying, and wonder what he would say when he heard, if he would feel bad, if he would shed a tear. He most likely wouldn’t care at all, his fixation with you having run its course. You were yesterday’s news.

You think about hurting yourself and if he’d do anything about that. Maybe he’d come out to the farm and visit you; sit by your bedside and read to you. Maybe he’d throw you over his knee and spank you for it. You wonder if you should leave The Valley, and you’re not sure which would hurt more; him coming after you or him letting you go. Maybe you should kill yourself. He’s not around to stop you. No one is.

Goddamnit, you are so fucking dramatic. None of this shit matters, anyway – your life was always a burning pile of trash and it was always going to be a burning pile of trash. A couple-months-blip of whatever pseudo-relationship you had with this man was not the pinnacle of your life. He wasn’t sent by some higher power to save you. You weren’t two halves of a whole, ripped apart at the beginning of creation, roaming the ends of the earth to find each other again. Get a fucking grip.

Oh, you were used by a man for your body? What else is new? That’s not breaking fucking news, that’s just what men do. That’s what men do to you. That is what your life has always been and clearly you’re some kind of magnet for this behavior. There is obviously something about you that all these men see and it calls out to them that you’ll fall for their bullshit every time and they can take whatever they want from you. You’re doing something wrong, leading them on somehow. You deserve this. You were asking for it.

At the end of the first week you’d told yourself you weren’t gonna go on with these spiraling, obsessive, pathetic thoughts about him anymore. You were exhausted at feeling this way and were sure everyone around you was getting tired of it too, of you moping around the farm like Eeyore, sniveling and crying. You were distracted all the time, head in the clouds. Months worth of hopes and dreams played over and over in your mind, each recalled moment had hit you like a fucking shotgun blast to the stomach.

Giggling in the hallway while he kissed your neck and tickled your skin with his stubble. Pow.

The phantom feeling of his fingertips tracing circles on your skin while he reads to you. Pow.

The heat of his body behind you, sniffing your hair, whispering, “Good morning, baby.” Pow.

His tongue sliding along your bottom lip, licking into your mouth, tasting you. Pow.

How stupid were you to think that’s what your life was going to be like? As if it could ever be like that. Your life isn’t a fucking movie, it’s not a love song, it’s not some sappy romance novel. You’re not the main character, you’re not the heroine. You don't get a happy ending. You get to be used. You get to be left. You get to be alone. You get to be hungry. You get to feel empty.

That’s what you had before, why would it be any different now, here – at the end of the world? Why would you deserve anything different?

–

You need to stop your hyper-fixating thoughts, you feel like you’re going crazy out here, haunted by him. There’s no one you can talk to or confide in, no one you trust. You have to find a way to get this out of your system. You need to figure out how to move on. You decide you’re going to let yourself have each memory one time, and then you’re gonna pack it up and send it away, so it can’t hurt you anymore.

You find an old stack of newspapers in the loft of the barn and begin ripping off small sections. Each time you have one of these spiraling thoughts of him – losing yourself in a memory – you walk to the edge of the property and stand next to the creek that runs through there. You let yourself have the thought, from start to finish, and before you can repeat it or turn it over in your head to overthink it, you crumple the scrap of paper in your hand – crunching it down into a tiny little ball – and throw it into the creek. Once it’s out of sight you don’t let yourself dwell on it anymore.

The conversation you had one evening, limbs entwined, between making out like teenagers on the chilly front porch, saying that if he’d met you before the world ended he’d have taken you out on a date.

“Where would you take me?”

“Out for ice cream, to a baseball game, maybe a drive-in movie.”

“What movie?”

“Any movie you wanted to see, baby.”

“What else?”

“I’d bring you flowers, hold your hand, kiss you goodnight.”

“Would you call me after?”

“Of course I would, you’d be my girl.”

His girl. His. His possession. Maybe that’s all he ever wanted; to own you like you were just another one of his little things on a shelf.

Into the river.

Right around Thanksgiving, he’d told you more about Sarah, his daughter. He’d told you she loved the color purple, drawing butterflies, playing soccer with her friends, and giving her old man shit. You’d thought the shine in his eyes when he talked about her was one of the best things about him.

“Single dad?”

“Yup.”

“Ever married?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Just never appealed to me.”

You didn’t read into it at the time but you wonder now if you shouldn’t have seen the signs, if it wasn’t obvious and you were just being willfully ignorant. Oh well.

Into the river.

You told him about going with a friend and her stepdad to their lake house for an overnight when you were little. You and your friend had spent all day playing in the water and when it was time for bed she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow. The loud, squealing of the air conditioning kicking on and off kept you awake and you reluctantly got up to ask the only adult to make it stop. He suggested you sleep in his bed instead, lifting the covers for you to join him. Against your better instincts, you crawled in.

“How old were you?” he asked with gritted teeth.

“Maybe eight.”

He cursed under his breath. “Wasn’t right.”

“I know.”

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that too.”

“He shouldn’t ha–”

“I know, Joel.”

“You tell anyone? Your mom, your dad?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know… I guess it felt like something you’re supposed to keep secret.”

“Did he ever–?”

“No. I never saw him again. And I never hung out with that girl again.”

What’s worse? The memory of it, the shame of recalling it in front of him, or the way he pitied you, holding you tighter in his arms that night than he ever had before?

Into the river.

This was your routine, sometimes once or twice a day, sometimes more. One particularly hard day early on you made nearly a dozen trips to the river. Amber asked if you were okay. You lied and told her you were fine. You had to let him go, each thought you released cleansing you of him, letting the water wash away your pain. This went on for weeks and weeks and you’re not sure if you’re actually getting better but you are feeling a little better and maybe that’s all you can hope for.

–

Amber used to ask you a million questions a day about him. What was Joel like? Was he nice? What was his house like? What did you do there? Was it fun? You didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was both your ultimate dream and your worst nightmare, that his house was a trap that he held you in while he manipulated and hurt you, and that he was a monster hiding in plain sight in this community he created just for that purpose. Instead of divulging that heinous truth, you suffice to tell her that Joel is kind, the house is nice, and living there was fine.

It was obvious that she had a little thing for him, but if you’re being honest she probably got it from her mother, who talked about Joel with the same dreamy lilt to her voice as Amber. Hank also seemed to get misty-eyed when he talked about what great things Joel has done for the people in this valley. A wolf emerges in the apocalypse, disguising himself as a shepherd, and the sheep all flock to him. You remind yourself not to judge them too harshly since you too were once one of the sheep.

You’d been living with the Mansfields for about a month when Amber started to make comments about Beth coming back to the house. Your stomach lept into your throat, thinking that it meant you’d have to go back to your tiny, doorless room at Joel’s house. But the more she spoke the more you realized she was acting like she would be the one going to live at Joel’s. You realized that you saw them last Sunday, hunched in a corner, talking to each other. You’d just assumed she had trapped him into talking to her, knowing how captivated she was with everything that came out of his mouth.

But now you wonder if they haven’t been growing closer, getting to know each other at the Thursday meetings she insisted on going to when you turned down Hank’s offer to accompany him as Beth had. Maybe he likes how infatuated she is with him, it certainly seems like that’s something he’d be into – being worshiped. Maybe he’s already offered her the little room at the top of the stairs. She can mend holes in clothes and cook much better than you ever could, maybe she’d suck his dick better than you too. You hate the way your insides churn even more at that thought.

He’s moved on, forgotten about you. He’s onto the next one. He doesn’t even look at you anymore.

Hank had his wife, Laurel, give you chores early on, doing some of the work that Beth used to do around the house. However, she quickly realized what Tess had already figured out, that you weren’t any good at that kind of stuff. Within a week you had exhausted her patience and she sent you out to the barn for Hank to find work for you.

You’re pretty sure Hank liked you, you’d always had nice conversations with him on Thursdays, relating to him that your grandparents had a farm and you’d grown up visiting it. You’d left out the part where the farm was no longer operational when you visited it and maybe Hank had been happy to have you and Beth switch rooms when he thought he was getting some kind of experienced farm worker. So Hank gave you plenty of work, as there was always a ton to do, and then left you unsupervised most of the day while he tended to the silo levels, the pasture fences, the sanitizing of the milk churns, and countless other tasks.

Two ranch hands – Danny and Diego – live at the house with the family and spend every day, all day, working with Hank to operate the farm. They help milk the cows and goats, tend to sick animals, help with feedings, take care of cleaning of the freestalls, and also pretty much do every single job that Hank assigns to you.

You think they felt bad for you, with your puffy face and red eyes, dragging yourself around the barn during that dark before dawn at the end of that first week. Feeling dejected and out of sorts, missing the familiarity of your old home, being useless at basic homestead chores – they kept catching you crying in any corner you could find to yourself. They started doing your work back then, and even though that was over two months ago, you still barely lift a finger. Hank never seems to notice, all he cares is that the work is done.

You don’t talk much, you just keep to yourself and pet the animals. For a while you thought they must think you were stupid, but it turns out they just wanted to get on your good side. One day early on, they asked if you’d told Tess or Joel about them, and not knowing what the answer should be, you’d muttered not yet, and ran away. It wasn’t until you walked into the barn one snowy morning weeks later and found them standing too close to each other that it even dawned on you what part of them they were asking about.

You knew Hank wouldn’t approve if he saw them behaving that way, if he knew what it implied. Maybe he’d already seen them, and a threat had been made. Hank was a conservative man, old fashioned and strict. You thought maybe the phrase small-minded might also apply, but Hank was kind to all of you, so you tried not to judge him too harshly. You weren’t entirely sure why Danny and Diego were worried about Tess or Joel finding out about their relationship, but you were pretty sure they wouldn’t give a shit.

Joel was probably fucking half the women in town, why would he care if two guys down the valley were fucking each other? You kept that tidbit to yourself, along with the stories that Tess used to tell you about her gay brother, so that Danny and Diego would keep helping you – keep doing all your work. That was probably a little fucked up, to hold it over their heads in a way, but it also kept your boots from being covered in cow shit from mucking stalls all morning and your fingers from freezing off while milking cows all afternoon. It also meant you got to hang out with baby goats, which was sometimes the only happiness you had.

–

It’s the last Sunday in March and you’re sitting in the middle of the pew, wedged between Amber and Diego, as Joel gets up to address the congregation. Before you can do your usual sinking down in the seat to make yourself less visible, you see Bianca out of the corner of your eye. Bianca is here! You haven’t seen her since she moved out of the house before Thanksgiving.

You’re so focused on trying to look around the people’s heads in front of you to see her that you aren’t fully listening to the announcement Joel is making. Everyone around you begins to stand up and applaud and it makes it impossible to see Bianca, so you stand as well, confused now what everyone is clapping for. Slowly the applause dies down and everyone is sitting back down, but trying to get a glimpse of your friend, you remain standing a little too long.

And that’s when you see it. The baby. A very small baby. A newborn baby. Joel is holding it and smiling and as everyone sits down he hands it back to Bianca. You forget you’re supposed to be sitting down and don’t notice that everyone else around you is already seated. You’re still standing there, staring at this baby. Bianca has a baby? Wait, is that Joel’s fucking baby?

Amber is tugging on your shirt sleeve but it’s too late, Joel has turned back to the crowd, and for the first time in ten weeks, he looks right at you. You can’t fucking move, you can’t look away. The two of you stare at each other for far too long and you notice people starting to look back and forth between you, a low murmur spreading over the mass. Amber starts pulling frantically on your arm and Hank’s voice booms from the end of the row, ordering you to sit down. You hear Tess hissing Joel’s name from the front row.

A cheshire cat grin creeps across his face and he finally breaks eye contact with you, turning to address the congregation once more. You sit, plopping down heavily in your seat. You think Hank and his wife are whispering about you and Amber is telling you how embarrassing that was, but you can’t hear anything over the thumping of your own heart and the ringing in your ears. Bianca was fucking pregnant… the whole time? The whole time. Bile rises in your throat. Only then does it dawn on you that Tess moved her out when she started to show. That’s why she was getting bigger. Saliva begins to flood your mouth.

Joel fucked every woman in that house. Jesus fucking Christ, you were so blind. Your stomach lurches. He must fuck Tess too. No wonder Tess wanted you out of there – you were taking up too much of his time, too much of his focus. That’s probably why she sent Bianca away too, looking at her pregnant belly would have been a reminder that Joel was fucking all those other people. Tess must be jealous, right? You don’t blame her. You’d be jealous too. Fuck, you are jealous. Still. Even now, after all this time.

You jump up out of your seat and scrabble over laps, ignoring Hank’s protests you exit the pew and dart out of the sanctuary. Once in the foyer you run into the nearest bathroom and retch into the sink, unable to make it to the toilet. Once the contents of your stomach have been emptied out, you splash your face with water and rinse your mouth out.

–

You hide in the bathroom until the service ends, listening as people pass by the door, telling Amber you’re fine and you’ll meet the family in the rec hall when she comes in to check on you. You wait until you don’t hear any more conversation or shuffling feet in the foyer to finally exit the bathroom. The entire building is empty except for one other person who is waiting outside the bathroom when you come out.

Joel.

Your boots squeak on the floor as you stop quickly in your tracks with the full weight of his attention on you now. You forgot how heavy it feels, locked in his gaze – an invisible weight pushing down on your body and trapping you where you stand. You can’t run away, you can’t even manage to look away. How does he still have this fucking effect on you? He stands before you, seemingly just a man, but taking up the whole room, monumental and intimidating. But in this moment, caught up in the flood of emotions you feel, you forget that you’re supposed to be afraid of him. You forget because the strongest thing you feel right now is anger.

“Is that your baby?” you snarl.

He scoffs and waits a beat, letting you anticipate his response. “That’s none of your goddamn business,” he replies – in a church – one corner of his mouth turning up.

“Fuck you.”

He cocks an eyebrow and takes a single step towards you, a reminder that you should be afraid of him. You gasp and take two steps backwards, colliding with the wall behind you, your head hitting it with a thump that echoes in the empty hall. He’s searching your face now, eyes pausing on your mouth. You’re reminded that the closet where he had you on your knees is only a few feet away. Your heart starts to race and you take rapid breaths, feeling the adrenaline begin to course through your veins.

No. He’s not gonna intimidate you. He’s going to fucking answer you.

“Who’s baby was that?” you ask again, louder this time. He looks surprised you’re still speaking. “Is that your fucking baby?”

“What do you care?” he snaps.

“I– I don’t,” you stammer.

Another scoff. He’s fucking laughing at you. Another smug grin. This son of a bitch.

“Well now,” he shakes his head slowly, “That really doesn’t seem like the truth.” He takes measured steps forward, closing in on you.

“It is,” you manage to squeak out, swallowing around the lump in your throat with an audible gulp. This is the least fucking convincing thing you’ve ever said. “I don’t care. I just wanna know–”

Tsk, he hums, interrupting you. “Sounds like a lie to me,” he shakes his head more and takes another step, nearly toe to toe with you now.

You do everything in your power to keep your chin up, to keep your eyes locked on his and your teeth gritted. You hate him. You miss him. You hate yourself.

“You’d know,” you spit. “All you do is lie.” You’re half insulting him, half reminding yourself.

“At least I’m good at it, sweetheart.”

–

The ride back to the farm is quiet. Laurel asks if you’re feeling okay but otherwise no one mentions the scene you and Joel made during the service. Once you get back you head to your room with Amber, both of you changing into less formal clothes to do your afternoon chores. You dress slowly, letting her finish first and leave you alone in the room.

You pull the backpack Tess had given you the night you came here out of the back of the closet. When she had handed it to you behind the skating rink, it was already packed with your clothes and any little trinkets you’d had in your room. She’d packed you a couple books but you noticed she hadn’t included the one Joel had given you on Christmas, the one you never read, the one you never even took to your room, the one you tried not to think about every time you saw it sitting on the mantle.

You had told her you would give Beth your room and she pulled this bag out of a wagon, ready to send you on your way. She was ready for you to go even if you weren’t, and so you went. That night. Without so much as a goodbye. You take that bag now and hold it by your legs, walking down the stairs to the basement as casually as possible.

When you come up from the basement, you run out to the barn to pretend to do your afternoon chores. Danny and Diego do anything you were expected to do and you spend time petting some of your favorite goats and hanging out in the hayloft. When the sun begins to set you rip a large piece of newspaper off the stack and climb down, sneaking out of the barn, down the lane, and to the creek.

It’s time to let go of another memory. Maybe your last one? This is a big one. You’ve been holding onto it, trying your best not to think of it, willing yourself to pass over it the way Joel’s eyes would pass over you on Sundays. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve been unwilling to let it go. Until now. Now it’s time.

You let yourself remember the night…

You’d already let him into your pants in the hallway after the meeting a few weeks prior, and you knew that fucking him was an eventuality. That week the meeting ended late and every other person shuffled out of the meeting hall before you had even finished putting the chairs away. Joel stood at the door, holding it open for the last farmer and his son, letting the cold, snowy air pour in as he said his goodbyes.

When he quietly closed the door, he turned to the open, empty room and looked you in the eyes. He reached over and flipped all the light switches, casting the room in sudden darkness. With no time for your eyes to adjust you were temporarily blind, hands immediately out at your front, searching, waiting for him to sneak up on you. Your nervous giggle is interrupted by the flick and hiss of a match and then he’s right there, only a couple feet in front of you, lighting a candle.

He leans over and sets it on the ground and then brings his match to a second candle. He repeats this process until there is a wide circle of what must be a dozen burning lights surrounding you both on the floor. He steps inside the circle, holds out his hand for yours, and you swear you can hear music when he pulls you in tight to his body and begins swaying back and forth with you.

This is new, being alone together like this. You’ve never been anywhere so quiet with him. At home it’s hardly ever quiet, and even when you do get time alone with him, it always seems to be interrupted. If you go home right now, he goes to his bedroom, you go to yours, and the night ends – but here, dancing in his arms amidst the flames, time slows down.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Joel,” you’d teased.

“Oh?”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you’d said, your head resting on his body.

He grazed his lips across your cheek, placing kisses as he moved them to your ear.

“Maybe this is what we’d do on our first date,” he’d whispered.

“Dinner and dancing?”

“Dancing and breakfast,” he corrects.

“Breakfast?”

“The next morning,” he smiles, and you do too, and then he kisses you.

That kiss held a million promises. It made you forget everything that happened before him. That was when you knew you were in love with him. The earth stood still and everything else faded away. The warm circle of light illuminated you both and made the rest of the room seem even darker. Nothing outside that circle mattered. You were the only two people on earth. You existed only for each other.

He must have known it, at that moment, he must have been able to tell. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Your body went limp in his arms and you let every last trace of doubt and fear leave your body, submitting to your desire for him. Submitting to his desire for you. All pretense of dancing was given up and your passionate kisses became deeper.

He held you tight and slowly began to remove your clothing, calling you baby and whispering adorations to you in the flickering glow of the candlelight. Holding your breasts in his massive hands, he dipped his head to your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. He sucked the bud past his teeth and lightly bit down, soothing it with the flat of his tongue while you dragged your nails across his scalp, mewling at his ministrations.

It wasn’t until he finally got you completely naked that you’d realized he was still fully dressed. You kept trying to touch the front of his pants like you’d done before but he wouldn’t let anything but your pleasure be the focus. He let you grind yourself on him, his hands grabbing your ass, pushing you on his thigh, using his body for friction as you continued to makeout, but he wouldn’t let you give his cock any attention.

He slowly sunk you both down to the cold linoleum floor and at last began to unbutton his shirt. He shucked his flannel down his arms, leaving his undershirt on, and spread it out on the floor beside you. Using his hands to guide you, he positioned you on your hands and knees overtop his shirt.

You remember the feel of the soft green flannel under your knees, the cold air hitting the wetness that had smeared down your inner thighs, his burning hot hands running down your back to grab and spread your ass, and the gentle kisses he placed all over you. You could barely make out the quiet things he was saying he was going to do to you, it almost felt like he was talking to himself.

I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. I’m gonna take care of you. Let me taste you, baby.

You had your head turned, watching him, until he bent down and began licking you. You closed your eyes as your face went red-hot with embarrassment that another person was seeing you like this, had his mouth on you there. You’d had boys put their mouth on your pussy before but never like this. Never with your most intimate parts spread wide and on display, a face buried in them and devouring you.

The boys before had laid you on your back and bobbed their head up and down, taking halting, tentative licks. You had waited for it to feel like it was supposed to, watching them fumbling in your folds only to give up mere minutes later, moving along to chase their own pleasure as if what they just did was anything close to what you wanted. Giving you just a glimpse of what it could be but never delivering what you needed, as if the act itself was perfunctory, just a means to an end. This was different.

Joel wasn’t tentative and he wasn’t fumbling. Joel knew exactly what he was doing, knew right where and how to touch you. Almost immediately your shame turned to pleasure as he lapped at you gently, swollen and extra-sensitive in anticipation as you were. This was what it was supposed to feel like. This is how a man was supposed to touch you. You began to moan and he pulled his face back a little, kissing and nuzzling your ass cheeks while bringing his hands to spread you again.

So fucking beautiful, you are so fucking beautiful here. Look how wet you are for me, baby. Can you feel this? Can you feel it? Do you know how beautiful you are?

You couldn’t even bring yourself to tell him to stop calling you beautiful because the next thing he did was slowly slide two fingers into your gushing hole. The sting of the stretch was eased by the pleasure of the fullness, his thick fingers taking up so much space inside you, pushing on your walls. You felt wetness practically flowing out of you and you thought it must be dripping down his hand. Before you could feel any embarrassment his fingers began to shift out and back in, and you immediately thought about how good his cock would feel filling you up like this, making you moan long and loud.

Yes baby, let me hear you, tell me how it feels. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need.

You managed to blabber something about needing him to touch you there, somehow still too shy - despite your current condition – to say the word clit to him. You didn’t have to, he knew what you needed. He pulled his fingers out and you heard him shuffle around and when you worked up the courage to look backwards you saw his knees sticking up behind you. Oh shit. You looked down, underneath you instead. He’d positioned himself laying on his back, face up, directly under your cunt. You had never had anyone do this to you.

Come on baby, sit back. No, shhhh, it’s alright. Just lower yourself down a little, just like that baby. I need to eat this pussy. I need you, please.

He guided you down by your hips until his lips made contact with your core. You were too scared to put your full weight on him so you remained leaned forward a bit on your hands, hovering just above his head with shaking thighs, despite his incessant pulling on your ass downward and moaning into your wet heat. His lips closed around your sensitive bud and you felt him begin to gently suck on it.

You couldn’t believe he was doing this. You were dizzy with desire. Never in your life had anyone had their mouth on you like this, like they were making out with your cunt. You alternated between feverishly throwing your head back and lowering your chin to your chest to greedily take in the sight of him ravenously eating you. You had never felt such blinding pleasure at the hands of another and you couldn’t stop yourself from wailing in ecstasy. You watched him pull away from you to take deep, gulping breaths, licking his lips of your wetness spread all over the lower half of his face.

Sit down baby, you can sit on my face. Just relax, I’m gonna make you feel so good. I know what you need, baby. I’m gonna take care of you. You taste so good, so fuckin’ sweet. This pussy was made for me.

You were trying not to sit down on his face, trying not to suffocate him, trying not to think about what a fucking mess he was making of you and you of himself. When he slowly pushed his thick fingers back inside your wet clutch, any and all thoughts left your head completely. He increased the suction of his mouth on your clit and began to flick the tip of his tongue up and down, maintaining a steady tempo of stimulating your clit and fucking you on his fingers.

The pace he set was bringing you closer to your release – for the first time in your life you were able to push everything else out of your mind and focus on your own pleasure. You sat back on your knees a bit more, putting more weight onto him and letting his hands hold you at your hips. You reached between your legs to run your fingers through his hair, wanting to give him a fraction of the intimacy he was giving you. You could hardly believe it. This was how sex was supposed to feel. This is why people liked it so much. This is why it meant so much. You had never felt anything close to this. This was everything.

Never faltering in his movements, never breaking his rhythm, he carried you higher and higher, finally cresting over your peak. Head thrown back and gripping his hair in your fists, fireworks burst behind your eyes as his name poured out of your mouth. You let him guide your hips in slow, smooth movements across his face, riding out the waves of your climax.

With muffled groans he continued to eat you through your orgasm, grabbing handfuls of your ass and reaching up to pinch your nipples until his insatiable attention became overwhelming and started to sting, causing you to shrink away from his touch. He pulled back then, gently turned you on your back – still on top of his flannel – and you leaned back on your elbows as he moved back to your cunt, gently lapping up your release.

You couldn’t believe how good it still felt, his hot tongue gently rasping against your swollen lips, his wet breath panting across your core. He was still moaning into you, the vibrations a pleasant sensation as he licked up everything you could give him. He placed kisses on your inner thighs and over your mound before rising to help you up and get back into your clothes. It wasn’t until the next day that you’d realized Joel must have left your underwear somewhere scattered on the floor and had blushed, hoping that whoever found them later wouldn’t know it was you who’d lost them.

You did so good, baby, that was so good. You were so beautiful. You tasted so good. So good, baby.

You briefly noticed there was a wet stain on the front of his pants but you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you. He locked up and then carried you back to the house that night, your legs were complete jello. You were pretty sure Tess was still up when you got back but you couldn’t think about the state she saw you in, all you could think about was him. He’d put you down on the porch at your insistence but he still had to help you up the stairs to your room. You’d fallen into bed and were asleep within minutes.

That was the night you knew you were all-in. You gave yourself over to him completely. Even though you didn’t have sex, you knew you would have. You would have done anything for him, let him do anything to you. You would have let him ruin you. You were ready to give up every part of you, and knew you would have sex with him soon, knew that it was inevitable. That was the night you placed your heart into his massive hands and left it with him so that he could mangle it to pieces and leave you a broken person.

But even that’s not a fair assessment, is it? That’s not a correct memory. You were always a broken person. He didn’t cause it and he never could have fixed it. There was something inside you that was irreparable. It was never his job to fulfill your needy fantasies. You can be mad at him for lying to you but you need to face your own part in this. You did this to yourself. You put yourself in this position.

The only solution is to remove yourself from the equation. You don’t belong here, you never did. You probably don’t really belong anywhere. You’re not meant to be with him. He can’t fucking save you. You have to save yourself. You have to find your own way. You have to leave. You have to leave.

You focus on the feel of the delicate, aged paper in your hands, the soft squeaking noises it makes as you push it into your palm, the way you push it back and forth in your hands to get it as small as possible. Then you hold it in between your thumb and forefinger, hold your arm out over the water, and drop it in. You watch as the ball is quickly overtaken by moisture, pulled under the surface, and carried away on the current.

–

In the dimming light of dusk you can see inside the farmhouse quite well. Lit by lanterns, you see Laurel through the kitchen window, working with Amber to fix dinner as Hank sits in his chair in the living room reading his bible. You turn your head and see the two ranch hands in the far field, herding the goats into their shed for the night. No one is looking for you.

You pick up your backpack from the ground and secure it over your shoulders, walking down the lane for the last time, never to return.

🖤

Thank you so so so much to my amazing editor, @papipascalispunk, for helping me with this series, even when you're sick and high on cold medicine 🫂You're the fucking A-1 steak sauce.

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 1 day

Text

Tess, you fucking legend.

Fuck you Joel, fuck you fuck you fuck you :D

Devotion 🖤 II. Predator or Prey? (Ch 6)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

⚠️PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE SERIES WARNINGS, ESPECIALLY: possessiveness, manipulation, Joel gets mean, Joel gets verbally and physically abusive.⚠️

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

II. Predator or Prey?

CH 6 (5.8k) It’s two weeks into the New Year and you’ve been spending every day plotting and planning how to keep away from Joel. It’s not easy, especially since you don’t even have a bedroom door to keep his wandering eyes from staring at you while you get ready in the mornings, as he stands in the hallway in overbearing silence. Your task was made even tougher when Tess said he wouldn’t allow you to leave the house anymore for your daily chores.

You’re stuck inside this dusty old prison all day, awaiting his return. The day might go as usual and he’ll threaten to force feed you at meal time. Maybe it will be another glorious day of him digging bruises into your arms or throwing you against walls. What if he really changed things up and grunted all sorts of fucked up things in your ear while you brushed your teeth? Oh wait, he already does that.

As snarky as you try to be about it – lamenting your life as you drape yourself over the couch, passing the hours in silence and slowly going mad – the whole situation really stresses you out. You weigh your feelings of safety and security in this community with the vicious and unpredictable behavior you’ve been enduring in this house. Is it still worth it to stay here? Are you better off in The Valley or would you be better off out there, alone in the wilderness? You’re on edge all the time, never sure what’s going to set him off. You spend so much time thinking about him, every moment you’re awake really, just so you can try to avoid him as much as possible.

He used to be on your mind all the time, thinking about his body on yours, the warmth of his skin under your hands. You’d fantasize about a future with him and what that might be like, letting him protect you and take care of you. Now you think about if you’re always going to be this hurt by his duplicity, feel this raw about his deception. Deep down, in a place you don’t like to acknowledge, you still wonder if there’s any future for the two of you. You push that thought away to compose a plan for how to stay out of his way when he gets home for the day.

And yet, every night at dinner you sit right next to him, unable to escape, watching out of your peripheral vision as he stares you down with a hateful look in his eyes. There was a time when you thought that the scariest thing he could do was touch you without your permission. But now he touches you every day – with open palms and closed fists, clutching fingers and rough grips. You never even considered these kinds of touches as an option from the man who used to be so gentle and tender with you. That man is gone.

This day, however, looks like it might turn out alright when Sasha and Tess return shortly before sunset from a scavenging trip they made to a family lodge situated on a rocky outcropping a few hours hike west of The Valley. They pile their haul on the dining room table, emptying out packs and bags they came back with stuffed full, and a stack of books catches your eye.

“Who are these for?”

“Anyone,” Sasha answers while sorting the clothes by size into neatly folded piles. “There were a bunch in a makeshift library up there but most of the collection was damaged by water and mildew. There were only a few we could salvage.”

You stand still, staring at the books, not wanting to pilfer something that Tess and Sasha worked hard to collect for the entire Valley. Tess sees you hesitating and pushes the stack towards you.

“Go ahead, look through ‘em and read any you want,” she shrugs. “When you’re done we can put ‘em back in the community library.”

You lift the first book up, going through the stack slowly, not recognizing any titles. The first two are young adult books, their covers adorned with pennants for their high school team and smiling teens talking on the phone. The third is the 1994 National Electric Code Handbook and the fourth is a non-fiction book on the Native American tribes that once inhabited New England. But the fifth one makes you stop in your tracks.

The fifth book is your favorite book.

You turn it over in your hands, its dust jacket long since removed. The faded red hardcover is soft with wear, but the simple tree in gold foil on the front is still gleaming. The Secret Garden. Your eyes begin to sting as you recall the places your imagination used to take you to when you read this story, wishing as a child that you had a secret garden of your own to find, hide away in, and restore to glory. You kind of wish you had one now.

“You read that one?” Sasha calls over her growing piles.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “It’s my favorite book.” You look up and meet her face, tears in your eyes. But she’s not looking at you. She’s looking past you, face solemn. Your smile disappears as you slowly turn around, already knowing what you’re going to see. You don’t look at his face. You don’t meet his eyes. You take trembling breaths as your eyes fall on the center of his chest, less than a foot distance between you. Joel.

Favorite book you’d said. Just like that. Offered it up like the most casual thing in the world. But would you tell him when he asked? Of course not. He gave you so much. He gave you food and shelter. He told you about himself – shit, he even told you about Sarah. But you wouldn’t tell him about a stupid fucking book, wouldn’t give him your fucking name, even after all this time. Wouldn’t give him what he needed.

You. He needed you.

You withholding little bitch.

He grabs the book out of your hands, turning it to read the title on the spine.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You don’t.

He doesn’t ask again. He lifts the book to your eye line, grabbing a chunk of pages in his right hand and yanking them out of the spine. He holds his hand up and releases the pages, letting them flutter to the ground, single sheets and some clusters still bound together covering your socked feet. The tears collecting at your waterline spill over and you let out a quiet whimper. He shoves the carcass of the book back into your hands and walks out of the room, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Tess follows him, pushing open the closing door of his office behind him.

“Why’d you do that to her?” she asks, stepping into the darkening room, the short winter day having just seen the sun set.

“Don’t give her any more books,” he snaps, ignoring her question.

“You made her cry–”

“Oh boo-fuckin’-hoo, she’s always cryin’.” Her eyes are adjusting to the dark and she sees him moving across the room.

“Joel–”

“No more books,” he shouts, turning to stomp back to where she stands. “She has a fuckin’ book and it’s out there sittin’ on the mantle,” he points at the wall, momentarily acknowledging the book he pretends he hasn’t seen remain untouched since Christmas, everytime he walks through the goddamn room.

Tess holds her hands up in defeat and backs out of the room, leaving him alone to pace and grumble to himself. She decides to make a plan that night, determined to find a way to snap Joel out of it and keep you safe in the meantime.

–

Alone again, Joel feels himself thickening in his pants and he wants to scream, wants to put his fist through the wall. He wants to shake you and slap you and squeeze you and make you look at him like you did before. You won’t look at him at all. Why won’t you fucking look at him?

There’s no moon in the night sky so even with multiple windows in this room it remains quite dark. He rounds his desk, bumping his hip into the corner as he throws himself into his chair. He pulls open a bottom desk drawer and withdraws an item he’s kept hidden under a pile of maps: a pair of your underwear. He remembers the night he took them, the week before everything went to shit. Before you looked at him like everyone else. Before you broke yourself open for him. Before his true self was revealed to you.

Before you hated him.

He shucks his jeans open and reaches into his pants, his dick already hard. He spits into his hand and begins stroking up and down, bringing your underwear to his face and taking deep inhales, setting a fast pace. As he takes whiffs, he opens his mouth, letting the heady scent of you permeate all his senses, rolling his eyes back into his head. He thinks about that night he pulled these down your legs, how you looked on all fours bared open for him and the way you rolled your hips, moaning his name. He thinks about what you tasted like when you came on his face.

He hisses, squeezing hard at the base of his shaft, suddenly aware that he’s about to come much too quickly. He slams the underwear down on the desk, cursing that he lets you affect him like this. He’s barely touched himself these past weeks, getting too angry every time he thinks about you and how badly he wants you, how you won’t give him what he wants. He’s neglected the aching hardness he awakes with each morning and ignored the other women knocking on his bedroom door at night, knowing it isn’t you on the other side. You won’t give him what he needs.

He wraps his hand around his shaft and resumes stroking, slowly this time, staring at the underwear he’d stuck in his back pocket after you begged him to take them off and keened when his mouth touched you. His eyes have adjusted to the dim room and he thinks he can see a stain on the gusset, reaching forward to brush his thumb along the fabric. His calloused finger scrapes across the dried remnants of your arousal and he groans loudly, squeezing his cock firmly again, willing himself not to come yet.

He watches his hand continue slow movements on his length, rolling his fingers along the underside of his head, over the tip, gathering the precum there to swirl and spread on his downward strokes. Why the fuck does he let you do this to him? Why does he let you get in his fucking head? He can’t control himself, he’s losing his goddamn mind. He should go back out there and grab you by the hair, drag you in here, and remind you how lucky you are to be here.

He looks over at the couch he used to sit with you on. He should throw you over that couch, pull your pants down past your ass and fuck you from behind. He’d grab the books he’d read to you off the shelf and smack your ass with them, listen to you cry out and whimper, hear your growing wetness as his cock pounds your perfect, willing pussy. He’d make you grovel for his forgiveness, make you beg him to let you come. He’d make you thank him for your Christmas gift. He’d make you fucking look at him.

That’s what he’d do.

He’d grab your face and make you look him in his eyes while you came, feeling the spasming walls of your cunt around him. He’d keep fucking into you, listening to you wail through your orgasm, watching your eyes roll back and your face go slack. He’d make you watch his cock disappearing inside you, covered with your creamy arousal as he hits that perfect spot deep inside you. The place he earned. The place you refuse to give him. He grabs the underwear off the desk and wraps them around his length, increasing his pace again.

The only sounds in the room are his panting breaths and the thumps of his fist hitting his pelvis with force as he pumps himself over and over. His head is thrown back when he feels the familiar tension in his balls and he brings his chin to his chest to watch his release darken the fabric covering his cockhead. He pulls your underwear off him with one hand and continues to jerk himself with the other, pressing himself down, aiming it so the white ropes pumping out of him cover the stolen garment. His breath hitches in his throat with short, desperate gasps as he squeezes the last of his climax into the cloth.

He clenches his hand around the underwear, letting his spend press between his fingers and run down his fist, dripping onto his denim-covered knees. What a fucking waste. Your denial, your refusal, your goddamn obstinance. Look where it gets him – coming into his hand like a pitiful virgin, as if he can’t get a woman of his own to fuck him. How dare you treat him like this, withhold yourself from him, have him resorting to these degrading acts.

You seem to forget how good you have it in the safety of his dominion, protected under his watchful eye. Maybe you forgot how ugly the world is out there, how cruel people can be. How many people in this world would kill to be in your place? How many women here in The Valley wish they were you, fortunate enough to be the object of his desire? You’re so fucking ungrateful. You need a lesson in how to behave, how to be more appreciative of him. You need to learn some loyalty.

–

The following Thursday you’re facing the front door, bundling up your coat for the walk to the meeting and waiting for Joel to come out of his office to walk with you since you’re not allowed to leave the house without him. You hear the door open but don’t look back until you hear an unexpected noise in the form of a female voice. Kerri is walking with him through the living room. They were in his office together.

It’s fine, you don’t care. You’re not jealous. You have no claim over him. He’s not yours. You don’t want him. He does whatever he wants and you can’t control it. So let him have it his way, you don’t care.

You catch him staring at you out of the corner of your eye but you don’t dare turn your head. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Behind you, you think you hear Kerri getting her coat and shoes on as well. Tess is wiping down the dinner table and sees the group of you gathered at the door.

“Kerri, where are you goin’, hon?”

“She’s coming to the meeting with me,” Joel answers for her. He said me, not us. Like you weren’t even there. You let a scowl take over your face. He’s being such an asshole. Tess doesn’t question him, probably for the best. You hear him huff out a laugh.

You look his way and see the smug grin on his face as he opens the front door and motions for you to go out of it. You don’t let it bother you. It’s fine that he’s bringing Kerri to this meeting even though Thursdays are supposed to be your meeting nights. It’s fine that they walk hand-in-hand behind you on the walk to and from the meeting. It’s also fine that he ordered her to sit in your usual seat next to him at the meeting and for you to sit on the other side of the room instead.

He doesn’t try to put his hands on you, he doesn’t chase you up the stairs. It’s fine. It’s what you wanted. You’re glad for it. So then why do you feel like your insides are on fire and you’re fighting the urge to spill them all over the ground? Back at the house Joel and Kerri head towards his office so you go to the kitchen to get some water and get away from them.

Moments later they’re coming into the kitchen and you hate the way your stomach rolls at the sight of them. Out of the corner of your eye you see her reach into the cupboard for a glass and you watch him push her against the counter, pressing himself into her ass. You just know he’s digging his erection into her. He used to do that to you. You used to like it.

A shiver goes through your body and you almost drop your glass, but as you recover you see in your peripheral vision that he’s watching you. Is he doing this to get a reaction from you? Is he waiting for you to cry again? You won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Goodnight, Kerri,” you say as you turn quickly and head out of the kitchen.

He grabs you before you can even make it through the dining room.

“Not gonna say goodnight to me?” He digs his fingers into the tender underside of your upper arm.

You hiss quietly in pain.

“You should know better than to be so rude,” he spits, bringing his face within inches of your own. “Seems like I need to teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

He lifts his other hand and swats your ass, laughing when you yelp in surprise.

“Well, I’m gonna go to bed,” Kerri says in the doorway.

She might as well be invisible for how Joel completely ignores her while he swats at you a few more times, mumbling how you’re such an ungrateful little cunt in your ear. You try to wriggle away and push him back but his grip only tightens. You’re reminded of a blood pressure cuff, the pressure and pain with which his hand cinches around you.

Has he been playing this charade with Kerri all night just to get a rise out of you? Was he always like this? You thought he was a good man; compassionate, hospitable, affectionate, genuine. Did he only show you enough of himself to lure you, to make you trust him? Was he lying the whole time about his true intentions? Were you really that gullible? God… he’s so fucking manipulative.

You don’t know what you’re thinking but the throbbing in your arm has your free hand scrabbling to get away and before you can measure the consequences of your actions, your open hand slaps across his face. Joel relaxess his grip on your arm immediately, the shock evident on his face, but before you can wrench yourself completely free of his hold, he throws you across the top of the table.

You come crashing down over the other edge, your limbs flailing and knocking over a chair on the way down. Before you can steady yourself enough to stand up on your own, he’s come around the table and put his hands on you again, lifting and shoving you against the front wall. Each hand grips your arm above the elbow, bracing your shoulder blades hard against the wall. His face comes to your neck and you feel him inhaling, feel his moist breath huffing against you, feel his stubble scraping you, feel his tongue dragging along you.

“Why the fuck are you making such a big deal of this bullshit, baby?” he coos. “The world ended. None of that old nonsense matters anymore.” He moves one hand up to your jaw, gripping your face hard.

“It matters to me,” you squeak through gritted teeth.

“All that matters to you is me, you understand?” He holds you so firmly that you can’t open your mouth to speak or even shake your head in response. “This is all that matters.” He begins to place gentle kisses along your pulse point, in opposition to the crushing embrace he’s got you in.

Eventually he loosens his grip on your jaw and, without hesitation, you take your free arm and place it over his sternum, shoving him backwards as hard as you can. Shock is quickly replaced by anger on his face. You hold your hands out in front of you, distracting him enough to stop his advancing aggression. You gather courage from somewhere deep inside you, lashing out for his callous disregard of you all night followed by this gaslighting manipulation.

“I’m so tired of you spouting your bullshit dogma just to try and get me to fuck you,” you seethe.

He raises his hand like he’s going to slap you but when you hold your head up, somehow managing not to flinch, he doesn’t follow through. Instead he lowers his hand to shove a single finger in your face.

“You think I want to fuck you?,” he bellows, “I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to think about you every fucking second of every fucking day.” He reaches forward and grabs the flesh at your hips. You side-step out of his clutch and take a few steps towards the stairs before he grabs you by the wrist and holds it tight. “Do you see how fucking weak you make me?”

You walk backwards, trying to put distance between you but his wrap around your wrist is firm.

“You’re hurting me, Joel,” you mutter. He doesn’t let go.

“Look at me,” he orders. “Fucking look at me, goddamnit.”

You don’t.

Something inside him snaps. He yanks you closer with the hand around your wrist and pulls your body against his so that his chest is to your back, snaking his arms around you and cinching them tight. He scrapes his stubble hard along your neck and buries his nose in your hair, taking several deep inhales and groaning in between breaths.

His lower arm bands across your hips, digging into your soft flesh there while his other arm loosens and moves its way up your front. He grabs one of your breasts tight in his hand and presses his erection against your backside. You’re constricted tight, arms trapped as well, and unable to move away from him. You manage a breathy exhale of his name, meant to serve as a plea, but it can barely be heard.

“You can’t get away from me,” he growls in your ear. “You can never get away from me.”

He goes back to holding you with both arms, wrapped so tight that he knows it’s probably hurting you. You’re clearly struggling to breathe and even your feeble wriggling feels futile. Then he looks down and notices your struggling movements have shifted your sweater to expose the top of your shoulder. He recalls the mark he once sucked into your skin there, and the way it stayed on you for weeks. You need another reminder of who you belong to.

He moves his mouth to that same spot, baring his teeth, and bites into your flesh. Hard.

He barely hears your screaming over the pounding of his pulse in his ears, his own ragged and panting breaths, his drawn out, animalistic moan. Suddenly there’s tugging on his arms and he looks up to see Tess’ wide eyes staring at him, mouth moving. She must be saying something but he can’t make it out. Someone is yanking at his shirtsleeve on his other side and when he turns his head, teeth bared in a snarl, he sees Kerri recoil in horror.

Tess punches at his arms, claws at his neck, and tugs on his hair, finally managing to get him to loosen his arms enough to free you. She yanks you away from him and as she pulls you up the stairs you see him watching you from the bottom, eyes black, hair a mess, your blood dripping down the corners of his mouth. Tess drags you down the hall into her room, locking the door behind her. She puts a chair under the doorknob and tends to your wound with a first aid kit stashed under her bed.

She lets you sleep in her room that night. Joel doesn’t come for you.

–

The next evening you’re standing in the shadows behind the old ice skating rink, which is used as makeshift stables during The Valley’s Friday evening events. It’s off the main road, set back in the woods a bit, but you have a pretty good view of the town square from here. You can see people coming and going, see Joel shaking hands with them all, nodding while they talk to him but looking over their heads, probably searching for you.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” You nearly jump out of your skin at Tess’ words. You didn’t even hear her coming. “I told you to wait inside.”

“It smells like horseshit in there. Besides, I’ve got this,” you say pointing to the knit scarf around your neck.

She just nods, knowing you have a scarf because she’s the one who put it on you. She helped you get cleaned and dressed for tonight since you spent all day in her room hiding from Joel. She looks you over once you’re all dressed and then you both look at the bandage she has taped at your shoulder, peeking out from under your shirt collar. She grabs the scarf out of her drawer and circled it around you several times, tucking the ends into your coat.

“Do you know Beth?” Tess asks abruptly.

“Beth?”

“Yeah, Beth,” she continues. “Short brown hair, she lives with Hank Mansfield’s family, down at the dairy farm.”

“Oh, Beth. Yeah, she comes with Hank to the Thursday night meetings,” you nod.

“Exactly. She used to be a seamstress,” Tess adds. “Did you know that?”

“No, I don’t think we’ve talked much.” You know you haven’t talked much because you spent most of the Thursday meetings staring at Joel’s lips and waiting for them to be planted on yours.

“She makes all her own clothes. She’s been helping the Mansfield’s too. I think she could help here in town if she lived closer.”

“Yeah I bet,” you reply.

“I was thinkin’, maybe you and her could trade rooms,” Tess answers your unspoken question.

“Trade rooms?”

“Yeah… she could have your room and you could go help out at the farm.”

“The fa–” you begin to question when her meaning hits you like a fist to the gut. You turn to look at her, a pinching pain behind your eyes, panic obvious on your face. “You want me to leave?”

“No, of course I don’t want that,” Tess immediately replies in a soothing voice. “I just think Beth could really help out here in town, but she’d need a room. And I thought maybe you might be willing to give yours up.”

“Give it up? I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you don’t have to live in that house if you don’t want to,” she nods towards the big house you share on the other side of the square. “It’s your choice. You can live anywhere you want.”

That doesn’t seem true. You don’t live at Joel’s house because you chose it. You live there because he invited you. He asked you. He chose you. You didn’t feel like you could say no and you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t let you choose somewhere else, especially not now.

“I don’t think he’d–,”

“No, it’s not his choice,” she interrupts you and repeats, “It’s your choice.”

“It is?”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “You could give Beth your room so she’d be able to help us here in town and you’d get a room at the Mansfield’s. You’d be able to help milk the cows. I hear a couple of them are pregnant, so there’d be babies this spring – get yourself a little change of scenery….”

Tess doesn’t want to seem like she’s overselling it but she really hopes the promise of baby animals tips this in her favor. She hopes that she’s getting the message across without having to say the actual words. I need to take you away from him, PJ. He’s going to keep hurting you, PJ. I’m trying to save you, PJ. She wants you to think that this was your idea, but mostly she needs you to agree to this. Right now.

“It’s far away though, isn’t it?” you say, staring in the direction of the town square now, where Joel is no doubt shirking his duties and obsessively searching for you.

“It’s far enough,” she replies, letting the implication remain unspoken.

“I– I think he’d be mad,” you whisper.

“It’s not up to him. It’s up to you,” she nods, a soft smile on her face when you meet her eyes again. Please, she pleads silently. “What do you want, PJ? Do you want to help me out? Give Beth your room?”

A long moment of silence passes, breaking eye contact and looking down at your feet shuffling them several times before looking back at Tess, a hint of sadness in your eyes, a touch of defeat.

“I– I could do that, yeah.”

“Great! That’s great,” Tess exhales, unable to mask her relief. She quickly reels back her emotions and expresses simple and stoic gratitude, as if it’s a run-of-the-mill thing that’s just been agreed to – no big deal. “Thank you PJ, that’s really nice of you.”

–

Joel stands next to Sasha, her cold hand clutched in his warm one, looking around the square. He’s waiting for everyone else to meet them in front of the bakery so they can all walk home together. He sees Tess coming down the sidewalk, walking towards him with someone who isn’t you. You must be with Rosie and Kerri.

“Joel, you remember Beth, right?” Tess asks him when she comes to a halt at his side, “Lives with the Mansfield’s out at the dairy farm?”

“Of course,” he nods his head, barely looking in their direction. “Hank’s daughter. Hi, Beth.”

“She’s not Hank’s daughter,” Tess corrects. Joel finally looks at them, giving Tess most of his attention and Beth a quick glance. “Beth has just been livin’ at the farm since she came into town with Olivier and his wife, from the Montreal Safe Zone?”

“Oh, sure,” Joel says, as if this isn’t brand new information, “That’s what I meant.” And his attention is diverted once again, scanning the park across the street, looking at the departing crowds from the night of fun festivities.

“She’s a seamstress, did you know that?”

Joel doesn’t even bother responding this time. Why would he know that Beth was a fuckin’ seamstress? Why would he have ever talked about that with Beth? He doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Beth about anything at all. Why would he fuckin’ care? He vaguely hears Tess saying something about staying with us a while and he hums in acknowledgement. Why is Tess bothering him with all this stupid fuckin’ information? He’s obviously busy looking for you.

His head on a swivel he sees Rosie and Kerri approaching from the other side of town. Wait, where are you? You were supposed to be with…

With Tess. You were with Tess. He turns to look Tess square in the eyes now. She has his full attention.

“Where is she?” he fumes.

“Like I way saying, Beth is a seamstress and she needed a room–”

“Who?” Joel sputters, not comprehending the words coming out of her mouth.

“Beth,” Tess repeats, motioning to the woman standing silently beside her. Beth waves awkwardly.

Joel whips himself around and takes off towards the house, dragging Sasha alongside him, not even fully realizing her hand is still clutched tight in his. He bursts in the door and lets go of Sasha, taking the stairs two at a time and entering the small, darkened room at the top of the stairs with no door. The sheets and blanket are fresh and crisp, the bed is neatly made. Five hangars swing empty from the curtain rod at the window, a half moon shining behind some scattered clouds and casting dim light through the sheer curtains.

He touches the empty bedside table. It used to be covered with books, leaves, and rocks you found interesting in shape or color. Things you collected when you walked together. Things you collected when you walked alone, after you stopped looking at him. Things that proved you were still here. That you were still his. Now they’re gone. You’re gone. Tess took you away.

He comes down the stairs slowly, Sasha standing just inside the dining room rubbing her wrist, the other women coming in the door. Tess stands at the bottom of the stairs with that girl whos’ not you at her side – Beth.

“What the fuck did you do?” Joel seethes. He reaches the last step and looks across the living room, his eye catching on the spine of the book he gave on Christmas, sitting on the fireplace mantle. It’s still here. You’re not.

“Beth needed–” Tess is cut off by a palm striking across her face.

She can’t say she wasn’t expecting a bad reaction from him, but she would have braced herself better if she knew it was coming right then. The slap sends her tipping sideways and she thinks she might even fall down except that Joel grabs the front of her shirt with both hands, keeping her from landing on the ground. He barks for everyone to go to bed and Tess watches Beth’s horrified face as Sasha takes her hand and pulls her up the stairs.

Tess knows he’s not done. She knows he’s going to keep going, keep hitting her, keep blaming her. She’s going to look like she got kicked by a horse tomorrow but it was worth it. He’s not hitting you. She can take it. She’s taken it before, from men with quick tempers. Joel will get his venom out tonight and tomorrow he’ll be remorseful and apologetic. Soon enough he’ll detox from you and eventually he’ll emerge from the haze, able to see clearly again. He’ll get his head on straight and be able to deal with things rationally.

At least that’s what she hopes. Everything depends on her being right. If he keeps going down the path he’s on now, she thinks this whole place – and everyone in it – is doomed.

🖤

Thank you to my amazing editor, @papipascalispunk, for helping me with this series, and for both fully understanding and appreciating my direction with these two. 🫂You work so hard (for free) and I appreciate everything you do.

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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