Maya is the name. 22 years of age. Big Pedro Pascal fan. Long story short I accidentally kind of on purpose deleted my old account and I’m looking to just pick up where I left off I guess and hopefully you guys can help me do that and help me navigate this weird wacky and wonderful app. Thanks.
Guys I have yet another plea for help finding a fic.
It's The Last Of Us this time.
Joel is Ellie's bio dad (I think?) and raises her in Boston until he decides to leave (I don't remember the reason they decide to go). At some point Joel and Ellie get separated, and Joel has trained Ellie upon meeting strangers to ask for Tommy in Spanish. (Tomás Molinero ? Is the name my brain keeps telling me she asks for but it won't come up in searches.)
Yada yada she ends up in Wyoming alone and Jackson scouts find her and all she says is Tommy's name and he talks to her and the plot goes on from there.
Apologies I have not heard of the story you’re talking about but it sounds lovely and if reblogging helps it reach some people who do you know it, then I’m happy to help. By the way, does anyone have any good last of us Ellie and Joel recommendations? I’ve reread all the ones that I personally find good but I’m trying to find some new ones and I’m having difficulties. @ppcu-find-n-rec do you think you could help
I’ve read quite a few of your stories I frankly find them amazing and if you do miss writing and are thinking about coming back, I would love to read some of your stories. Especially if you are missing writing about Pedro Pascal. Just thought I’d share my appreciation. By the way, if you do decide to go back to writing and you would like some help fleshing out ideas or anything, I’d be more than happy to help.
Can you recommend sole angst fics where Ellie and Joel are not talking anymore and she is being mean. There’s this one fic A Man Called Joel (linked below) where he is suicidal because of the whole situation with Ellie - it’s currently on tbd. I cried reading that. Any good suggestions?
Yearling by @justagalwhowrites is a good one, not super heavy on the joel-ellie beef but its woven in really well and handled v naturally.
I honestly dont read a lot with that theme bc as much as I can understand Ellies feelings of having her autonomy taken(something i value deeply) as someone with a terrible relationship to her dad, I would've given anything for a dad who would defend me being openly queer.
I’m looking as well, I have a few recs, most of them are written by @boopernatural on a03, but they’re insanely good. But yeah if anyone else has some recommendations particularly like the one that you suggested where Joel is feeling really not good and it’s still a work in progress, please let me know because I really wanna know 
blurb - As Joel and Dr. Harris confront the deepest layers of his trauma, a breakthrough gives him the courage to face his parents with raw honesty. You, however, are pulled back into the world you fled: cocky men, sour drinks, and familiar power games. This time, you dig your heels in and start the journey to reclaim your throne.
warnings - Therapy talks about past abuse, past suicide attempt, emotional trauma dumping, and self-love. Discussions of military PTSD, undiagnosed depression, and lack of support for military veterans. Past/current issues with toxic men, misogyny, sexism, and toxic workplace environments.
Word Count: 14.9 k
April 18th, 1997
3,183 days after Flight AA8934’s departure
“Kiss me.”
The man blinked, placing a hand on his heart, almost offended.
“Why, I must not. You do not want it.”
The girl floated closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I do too.”
“You do not.”
“I do.”
“I am filthy.” He insisted. “You are kind. You are wonderful. You are… everything. And I am sure that you are more interested in my brother than me. You run around the castle with him more than I, even now at our age. You are confused, that's all.”
She gasped at that, and the noise echoed over the balcony that they both stood on. The moon lapped over them both, bathing both in silver light. The sound of the ocean beating against the shore was the only noise outside their voices.
“How could you say that? Filthy… unbelievable. You are the best man in all this land!”
He shook his head, “I am not.”
“You are.”
“Sweetheart,” He groaned, forehead dropping onto hers, “I have a child already, I have been married before. You do not want a man like me, with an old ring on his finger. You should want someone pure. And fresh.”
“Like your brother.”
“Yes, like my brother.”
The girl opened her eyes, looking straight at him. Understanding only that both of them would know passed in that stare, full of hope and love, even when he wouldn’t admit it.
“No.”
The man blinked once more, pulling away. “No?”
“No,” She insisted, smiling wide. She tilted her head, “I will not marry your brother. In fact, I shall throw him into this very ocean since you dare suggest that.”
“Now, that is not kind!”
“Well, I would fish him out right after!” The girl giggled at her plan, but her laughter died when she looked back at him, “I am saying that if he is no longer in the picture, then it must be you.”
“You would do that? You would… you would marry me?”
“Why is that such a bold idea for you? The idea that I want you?”
“Because… because…” The man looked pained, plagued with whatever his past must have been, “...because having you means I am wanted. That someone like I is worthy of love.”
The girl closed the distance between them, leaning in until their breaths mingled, “Then let me show you, not speak it.”
“Oh, my sweet heart…”
“My love…”
They both inched those last few spaces between their lips, and their eyes closed. Both their arms wrapped around the other’s body, and not an inch of fear or sadness existed in his face no longer.
Their lips parted, and—
PAUSED
“Well, that’s ‘nough for tonight.”
Joel yawned, lifting the remote high above his head as he stretched his back. Outside, the night showed its pitch-black wings, covering the house and all of Arlington in a sleepy slumber. One that he and his daughter weren’t falling for.
How many times he’s watched this movie, he couldn’t count. It was an old, 40’s movie about a princess and a prince. Not really his preferred type of media. Yet, his mama and brother loved it. Movie nights—when they got the chance—always started with this film. Joel knew exactly how it started and ended.
Now, his mama gave the film to Sarah, who decided that it must be watched before bedtime for the past three months. It was like a flashback, watching it in the late ‘70s to the late ‘90s. Lord, he was old.
Beside him, an offended gasp lit up from a girl who couldn’t be more shocked. Sarah, in her blue pajamas, leaped up from where she was lying down, tugging at Joel’s shirt with fervor.
“Daddy! Why did you stop it?” She whined straight into his ear.
Joel dropped the remote, wrapped his arm around her little torso, and pulled her close to brush her hair off her face. “‘Cause, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“But they were gonna kiss! You always stop it when they’re about to kiss.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe ‘cause it ain’t somethin’ someone of your age should be watchin’.”
Sarah let out another little gasp. “I’m old enough!”
“You’re eight, baby girl.”
“So? I’m gonna be ten soon. That’s the big girl numbers.” She reasoned, patting the side of his beard, “So, since I’m close, you should let me watch the rest of the movie.
Joel pretended to consider it, “Lemme think… alright. If you can do your extra math practice perfectly, then I’ll let you finish the movie. How ‘bout that?”
Was it cruel? Probably. Joel knew Sarah hated math with a passion. It wasn’t that she was bad at it—okay, maybe just a little—but it was a challenge for her. One that Joel was ninety-five percent sure he would win.
He liked those statistics.
Sarah scrunched her face, considering his proposition. Finally, when she came to her conclusion, she gave him a particularly hard smack where his jaw met his neck. Joel scoffed and opened his mouth, but she had already clambered off him and off to her room, muttering something to herself.
When she came back, she was lugging her backpack across the floor. Before Joel could tell her not to drag it and create holes, she reached the coffee table.
Opening it, she pulled out her pink folder and pencil pouch. From the folder, sheets of math sprang out, all her third-grade work fluttering around. She found her blank extra practice, got her pencil, and sat back on her knees.
Joel leaned closer, eyes wide.
“You’re… you’re seriously doin’ this?”
She didn’t respond, just nodding and biting the tip of her tongue in concentration. When he tried coming closer, she jutted her hand out and pointed her finger at him, wagging it to wordlessly tell him to back off.
“Fine, fine, we’ll see.” Joel grunted as he stood up, carefully stepping around her, “Gotta be perfect, that’s the deal. I got the key and everythin’.”
Sarah gave a soft hum, and Joel rolled his eyes and walked away. Making it into the kitchen, he flicked on the lights, squinting at the harsh light. He needed to find dimmer light bulbs to install. In the cupboards, he found a cup and filled it with water, taking long sips.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t have work tomorrow, he had clocked in too many overtime hours, and his manager had practically begged him to take a break. It damn sure wasn’t for his health or anything like that; rather, it was because they couldn’t afford to pay Joel that much.
Many would see this as a good thing, but really, Joel didn’t know what to do with so much time. Should he sleep in? No, his body had been trained to wake up at six every morning. Maybe he could splurge on a nice lunch? Well, mostly everything in damned Arlington was made with the foods he didn’t like. Like mushrooms.
So it really becomes a question of what he can do. He could take Sarah out of school early or something along those lines. Buy her some new shirts. He always loved dressing her up.
Or, since he had a bit of money saved up, he could… treat himself. That seemed nice. Fill up the truck with a good amount of gas, then drive to McDonald's, order whatever junk he wants, then sit on the driveway of his house and eat in peace.
Silence, him, and McDonald's seemed like a damn good combo.
He quickly finished his glass, cleaned it, and put it back where he found it. Joel could always plan later, it wasn’t that big of a deal.
Flicking off the lights and making it back to the living room, Sarah was right where he left her. Her pencil moved at a speed that he’d never seen before. Her curls that were still in her pigtails wiggled with the force she was putting into her entire body.
Joel snorted, and silently came behind her. From the quick mental math he did, she was getting everything right so far. Five, six, ten, all the same numbers his mind got to as she did.
Great.
As if she could sense his very presence, she turned her head up at him and grinned wide, her right top tooth missing. “I know. You’re mad I’m gonna win and you’ll lose.”
“Me? Lose?” Joel gasped, “Now that ain’t happenin’ and y’know it.”
“It will. You’re just… just delaying it.”
“Whoa, now that’s a big girl word. Where’d you learn that?”
Sarah shrugged, but he could see her smile form on her chubby cheeks, “Uncle Tommy.”
“Huh. Well, guess that’s a good thin’. Least he’s not teachin’ you anythin’ bad like… like murder, or death. Or curse words—”
“Oh, he teaches me all about curse words.” She said casually.
“Excuse me?”
Before Joel could ask anything further, Sarah put down her pencil with a click against the coffee table. She held out her paper in her small fist, and waved it around like he might miss it.
“I’m done.” Without a care in the world, she stood and came closer, taking his hand, opening it, and placing it in his palm.
“I ain’t! Whatch’a mean that Tommy’s been…” Joel cut himself off mid-ramble, his eyes flickering to her worksheet. Sure enough, every single damn question was right.
Sarah moved past him, then plopped herself back onto the couch with ease. She picked up the remote—not turning it on, she was still looking for Joel’s ‘okay’—and smiled smugly.
“You thought I wasn’t gonna get it right.” She kicked her legs against the cushions. “Well, you thought wrong! I win!”
“You… you sure did?” It didn’t mean to come out as a question, but he couldn’t help it. Wasn’t she just struggling with these sorts of concepts not too long ago? “I guess… I guess you got your TV—”
“Yay!” Sarah squealed. Even with her joy, she didn’t gloat, just patting the cushion next to her to tell him to join her, “Sit, Daddy. We gotta see what happens! I haven’t seen what’s happened past this.”
Despite his clear shock, Joel couldn’t help the belly full of laughter he got. So much so, it even shocked his daughter, who let out a little gasp.
Joel laughed and laughed and laughed some more. What was so funny, he’d never know. All he did know was that he scooped up his baby girl in his arms, and regardless of whatever she said, kissed her face silly. Then, he plopped her onto his lap, giving her room to be comfortable.
He planted one more fat smooch on her cheek, “You’re such a smart girl, y’know that? Daddy knew you could do it.”
Sarah had started to giggle, “I knew I could too.”
“Now,” Joel pointed a finger in front of her nose suddenly, all faux serious, “You promise not to be all squirmy and weird ‘bout this scene? They’re just—”
“Kissing! I know, that’s what I told you so much. But you never listened.”
“Hey, be glad I am now.”
“‘Cause I did good.”
Joel smiled wide, looking down at his entire world. “Yeah, you did.”
With that, Joel watched as Sarah clicked a button, and the movie started once more.
PLAY
—they met in that soft middle. He on her, and she on him. A perfect medium.
Neither of them inched their lips further into each other, just relishing in the feeling. The only thing that moved was their hands. Hands on her back that slid up to her hair, while her hands mapped over his broad shoulders.
It was only when her lashes fluttered open, and she pulled back, that either of them breathed. Even the ocean nearby silenced itself for her next words.
“It has only been you then, now, and forever.”
Once more, that pained look flashed across the man’s face. He took her wrist, pressing soft kisses there. “Oh, my heart. You wound me with those very words.”
“Do you not like to hear them?”
He shook his head against her skin like she had uttered the worst possible reality, “Never. It is just… I do not know how to be that good man. Yet, I have taken this kiss from you, and I have taken more.”
She didn’t reply to his words instantly. Instead, her brows furrowed in deep thought, mulling over his words. Her lips only parted, and for a moment it seemed as if she had nothing more to say.
How could she—of all the souls in this world—bring sense to a man and give him some worth? That wasn’t her job, only to love him.
She could, on the other hand, encourage him to change for not her, but himself.
“You haven’t taken anything,” She affirmed for him, “Only my heart, which is what you deserve. Do not look at me for worth. Rather, look upon yourself, and see all the good that is there.”
The man blinked, like he was hearing for the first time in his life. His lips paused, still against her skin but no longer pressing his love against her pulse point.
“How, tell me? I’ll listen to whatever you say.”
She merely shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. The woman cupped her lover's face.
“That, my love, is for you to find.”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
April 18th, 1997
3,183 days after Flight AA8934’s departure
Even from this distance, you could tell that this whole plot would annoy the ever-loving shit out of you.
Not that you could do much when one was called upon by the devil himself.
Even with it being close to eleven, that didn’t stop the heart of New York from being alive. Beating like a heart, noise and light throbbed and overcame you, even from inside the car. People of a wide variety walked along the streets. People in work clothes, people in club clothes, people in everyday clothes.
You could find a little of everyone in this cursed city. The rich, the poor. The dirty and the clean. The ugly and pretty. The ones who could figure out the games and those who couldn’t. People wore that sorta things on the simplest parts of them.
Rich people were the worst at hiding it, too.
Their true intentions lay bare their faces and expressions when certain topics were brought up. They flashed their jewelry at a simple high-end charity event. How they acted with their loved ones, mentioning their accomplishments rather than who they were.
Simplitons, they all were.
Buffering, slobbering idiots who thought they had it all because their grandaddy happened to hit gold and now they reaped the rewards.
Yes, you worked with them. Yes, you built them up. You weren’t any better, not that you denied it. At least you came from nothing to something. At least you had the presence of their granddaddy, unlike them, who lounged around and couldn’t decipher simple terms and conditions before signing millions away.
You liked to think you were the exception.
From a distance, the buildings went from low and brick-lain to high and concrete pillars. The planes of glass reflected the lack of noisy traffic, now replaced with sleek cars that moved in neat rows. The noise went from angry to now pleasant honking, like there was a difference.
Even the people who passed by had changed. They all donned elegant silks and bags. Each one caught your eye from behind the car's tinted window.
Soon, the noise became the chatter of people, which became shouts and the clicking of cameras. You sneered and pulled your fur coat tighter around your body. Of course, he would want you to come out of your hole of a penthouse to do this sort of work.
Maybe he liked degrading you. Maybe he was a perv who got off on it. Whatever it was, you did what you did. Not for him—though he did get his cut—but rather, for the love of the game.
Your car came to a slow crawl, fitting into the long line of other black cars that paused at the carpet of paparazzi. Couples came out, waving at the flicking cameras and giving their best smiles. Calls for spins and grins came from every direction.
You crossed and uncrossed your legs, waiting for your turn. You tapped the side of your bag, in a nervous habit. Your poor Birkin, with strings pulled from how much you stressed you released on her. She was stuffed full, the clasp not even fully connecting anymore with how many papers and folders you had.
Three more cars until you grace this place. You ran your tongue over your teeth.
Two more cars until you almost ripped out his throat for distributing your peace. Your manicured nails tugged at your black tights.
One more car until you convince someone to give up millions. You pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill from your bag that was hidden in legal documents.
When your car came to a halt, you made no move to the door. Instead, you leaned forward and knocked on the divider. The man on the other side jumped in his seat, yet he still opened it and turned. He looked young, freckled, and shy at how intensely you were staring. His suit was scuffed and dirty, even though there were clear attempts at cleaning it.
“M-ma’am? We’re here like you asked—”
Your bill did the talking, pushing it toward his face with your pointer and middle finger clamped around it. “I want you back in twenty—no, fifteen behind this building. Do you understand?”
“But the event’s meant to last for at least another three hours! At least, that’s what Mr. Delaroche said—”
“I’m about to stuff this bill back into my bag if you don’t shut up and take it.”
The boy swallowed, but quickly snatched it from you. He marveled at it for two seconds before giving you a thumbs up and smiling wide.
You didn’t reply, already moving back to the car door. You didn’t give yourself a chance to breathe before clicking it open.
If the lights weren’t already smothering you, they reached a new level with how much they suddenly blinded you. It took you half a second—thanks only to practice—and your heeled feet already touched the plush carpet.
The voices all turned to you, and got louder and wilder. More desperate. The click, click, click of their cameras drowned you in a sea of light. You quickly lifted your hand over your face, and didn’t stop moving once you slammed the door behind you.
“Over here darling, give us a smile!”
“How do you feel about the most recent calls to market Ellsworth in West New York by the Delaroche Conglomerate?”
“Who was the man you were seen with last week?!”
“Look at the camera!”
“What’s your hair routine?!
No matter the question, you didn’t stop for a single one. You brushed by the people who came before you, letting the cameras leave them and trail behind you. You took the steps up quickly and made it to the front door of the large, grand building. A man opened it for you, and he bowed his head in greeting.
Unlike the calls from the outside, the inside was nothing like it. A complete one-eighty, really. The soft sounds of music playing started to overtake the calls of your name as you walked deeper inside.
Cream walls and dark floors surrounded you, as well as red accents that showed the event's colors. What it was, you didn’t even know. You were about to go to sleep anyway, not even scheduled for this. You didn’t have a chance to look up what it was even about.
People flittered past you as you made your way down the hallway into the main hall. Some of them just gave you quick glances. Some gawked and glared. Others tried to say hi, but all you gave quick smile that barely reached your eyes.
Through open doors, you were spilled into the hall. It was large with a high ceiling that domed over everything. Round, white, cloth-covered tables dotted the space, particularly beautiful flower arrangements.
No one sat at those tables, though. They all were either in pairs or in tight circles. The only people alone were the servers who walked around with expensive champagne and food no one would take… and well, you.
You moved to the left, staying close to the wall. Your eyes moved the most, looking over face after face.
No, not him
Definitely not that guy with the hair.
Ew, what the hell was he wearing?
Where the hell is this bastard—oh, there was your answer.
Standing in the center of a circle of people was a tall man. Taller than everyone in the room. It helped with his overall presence, yet it was only a factor. His hands moved with force, captivating those around him. Everyone surrounding him leaned into the words he was saying.
His blonde hair shone like gold, not the sickly yellow. His whole body screamed detail and control, with his suit being that particular shade of black he loved. His watch shone, glittering and catching your eye.
You thought about how rich folks held their true intentions in every part of them.
You then thought about how Jason Delaroche was the exception, just like you.
As you approached, it was like he had a sensor for just you, because he turned and flashed that million-dollar smile.
“There you are!” He clapped his hands, startling everyone now surrounding both of you, “And here I thought you got lost in traffic.”
You shook your head, “I wasn’t. It’s not easy putting yourself back together when you were just about to sleep.”
Jason pouted in sympathy, you knew wasn’t real, “Ah, and for that I’m sorry,” He looked at the crowd like their opinions held any weight in the conversation, “You know how important it is for her to look good. Makeup and all that lady stuff.”
Everyone laughed except you.
Your jaw ticked ever so slightly, and at the sight of it, Jason’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction. With a quick wave of his hand, the laughter died as soon as it started. “Now, leave us be. I’m sure my wonderful devil and I have things to discuss.”
And like his words were hypnotizing them, they all nodded, muttering about how they had other things to do at this event. They all walked away, heels and shoes stepping away, leaving you and Jason alone.
He smiled once more, “How are you? I swear, I had no intention of waking you up like that.”
“Right, and I enjoy talking to you. Let’s be honest with each other; no one else is around.”
Jason laughed, the noise booming, “Snarky at me, yet coming at my every whim.”
Your lip curled with disdain, “Are you going to tell me what the hell you want, or what? I don’t have time for your little charismatic games or whatever gets you off. You asked for the files on the Ellsworth, but I don’t know why. Can’t do much with that. So speak.”
For once, Jason’s mouth shut. That smile soured at your words, and his brows furrowed. For half a moment, it was like he wanted to put you in your place in front of all these people. He probably would get some pleasure out of it, too.
One of his only tells: talking back to the man.
The sleek, busience persona of his came to front, hiding whatever emotion he was feeling. He leaned a bit closer, his cologne suffocating. His hand nudged toward your bag.
“Ellsworth’s being a real bastard about us marketing him. Demanding the price be less and less, forgetting his place.” Jason’s jaw clenched, “It’s like he thinks he’s the prize in all this, when really, it’s us. It’s me.”
“That seems like a jerk-off contest to me. Not really my place.” You looked to your right, seeing a crowd of men in clean suits whispering to each other.
“Not really, no. But he needs to learn his damn place.”
“So do something about it?” You scoffed, “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Do what you do best.”
“Which is?”
You wanted him to say it. For him to know.
And from the way that smile crept back across his lips, he did.
“Make money, and remind everyone why they all want a piece of you.”
You didn’t need any other words. You could only locate the men you needed—that same group you were glancing at before—and run your tongue over your lips, tasting your lipstick.
Your heels carried you up and away from Jason and his instigation. Curse him and his ability to do that to you. He knew you craved that, that awe when people looked up at you. He’d learned how to weaponize it. And you would let him, because he gave you what you wanted.
Brushing through the tables, you soon made it to the tight-knit group. None of the men even noticed you. It took you clearing your throat for someone to turn around.
A nameless man with curly brown hair turned and physically took a step back, eyes wide.
Your smile came out large yet fake, “Well, that’s a hello if I’ve ever heard one. Room for one more?”
Rather than simpering and muttering curses underneath their breaths, they all eagerly thrust their hands out, practically fighting with each other to shake your hand.
You took each one, then catalogued each man. Harrison Cabot Rutherford and his steel company. Montgomery “Monty” Langston Jr.—the one with curly hair—and his daddy’s media group. Everett Beaumont and his three-generation trading business.
Finally, Prescott Ellsworth and his family’s real estate company. The ones who owned large chunks of land in every state on the East Coast. The one who was also giving Jason the biggest headache for the past two weeks.
You made sure to shake his hand extra hard in thanks.
When you found your place, you tightened your coat over your shoulders a bit tighter, wiping your hand against the fur. “I’m sure this event’s been going well. For the…”
“For the homeless animals.” Langston spoke up eagerly, “Poor things. Walking around the city, and just… seeing them eat scraps. It’s a good cause.
A stupid one, but you didn’t say that, “Just seeing them wander around, doing what animals do, doesn’t it just bring tears to your eyes?”
They all nodded as you granted them great knowledge. Beaumont spoke this time, “Really, I do think it's great. But our wives were the ones who found it truly interesting. They have a lot of time on their hands doing whatever they do. I’m sure you found this event riveting. Reason why you’re dressed up so nicely.”
Now, if you could honestly speak your mind, you would’ve laughed and told him your seven-figure job didn’t leave room for sad animals you were sure they didn’t care for. You also would’ve told him that his wife was probably thinking about fucking her pool boy more than this.
But of course, some information is meant for different times.
You bit your tongue and nodded, “That—and—work.”
“Ah, it’s all business with you.” Ellsworth tutted, like he was parenting his child, “You should really lay back on stuff like that. Enjoy yourself. Talk to the ladies. It’ll stop those terrible wrinkles from forming on your forehead, which would just be utterly horrible.”
Now you really tried not to say something, “How else do you men survive out here?”
Rutherford shook his head, “That’s because it's expected of us. You… you don’t have to. Makes you better than all those other women.”
Better? Better than those who did hard work, just in a way that was frowned upon. “If it makes you feel better, it’s Delaroche Conglomerate’s business I’m here for.”
Ellsworth froze for half a second, shock flickering on his face. He hid it quickly enough for the other men, but not you.
“Really?” He said, “Well, call him over. This talk should be done privately and between businessmen—”
“Mr. Delaroche is done with niceties, which he has given you for a month.” You interrupted. You quickly dug around in your Birkin, finding the folder you needed. “And it seems practical sense hasn’t made its way to you, so public humiliation is the only way.”
“Now, hold on—”
“From these papers, Delaroche’s marketing agency had given you a price tag of 120,000 dollars per month. A reasonable ask. However, with the unnecessary haggling my teams have experienced with yours, that price is now…” You flipped to another paper, “... 200,000 per month for the duration of one year.”
No noise other than Ellsworth squeaking. You closed the file with soft periscion and looked back up.
You knew you had him. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. His company had recently been discovered for gentrifying neighborhoods and pushing the natives out. The only way to save him is a full factory reset of his company's morals.
Of course, no one wanted to step up to the plate. It was too big a scandal to fix. Yet, you always loved a challenge, and Jason loved money. It was a win-win. But with their desperate calls to lower your rate, it had become more of a nuisance than a deal.
You clicked your tongue and stepped forward, ignoring the three other men and looking only at Ellsworth. “Listen, you need us. Not a want or a maybe, but a need. You know what will happen, do you?”
You stared at the beads of sweat popping up on his hairline at the pressure you applied.
“Do you really want a generational company to die with you? Of all people? Do you think that anyone in your family will forgive that? I think not.” You held out the file, “So do the right thing, the only thing you can do: sign the papers.”
Ellsworth’s hand came up, and shakily took them from you. You nodded with curtness, already stepping back.
“It was wonderful meeting you, gentlemen. Now, I have to go, if you’ll excuse me…” With that, you turned and left the circle.
Your heels brought that monotonous clicking that flooded your head. Despite your years and experience, your heart pounded. Deals always did that to you. Handling so much money, it threatened to drown you, was never easy.
You would never get used to it, never like the feeling like oil and water over your skin.
It wasn’t the person you were back in Texas.
She wouldn’t last a day out here.
They swallow her, and spit out someone they’d want quiet and submissive to their every will, which you would rather die than be—
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
You came to a halt. You had barely made it past the tables. The fur of your coat tickled your skin, skin that had suddenly grown a heat, not a chill.
Footsteps came up harsh behind you, “I said, who the fuck do you—”
“I told you my terms.” You whipped your head around, greeted by a red-faced Ellsworth. He was practically breathing on your face with how close he was, “I also told you what would happen to you and your company if you didn’t sign anything. If you can’t handle it, what am I to do?”
“You think you're great, don’t you?” He snarled, his words only meant for you, “Think cause you slept yourself up the ladder that your words hold any weight.”
“I don’t think my sex life has anything to do with this conversation.”
“Oh, but it does.” Ellsworth grinned like he said something clever. “See, cunts like you don’t get up this far without one of two things: money and sex. And guessing from how no one’s heard of you before ‘92, I’m guessing it's the latter.”
“Don’t—”
“You think you’re different. Think that having a pussy in a suit makes you any better than any wife. But let me tell you: some man will come, and he’ll be able to rein you in. Might take a couple of slaps and choice words, but he’ll teach you to shut up and watch how you talk to the ones who pay your check.” He pointed to himself. “Watch your mouth, sweetheart.”
Now, that ticked the safety off your tongue.
You weren’t anyone’s bitch. You weren’t anyone’s mother, anyone’s sister, and certainly anyone’s wife. Being boxed into a life that simply didn’t exist for you was sickening. It degraded every bit of work, blood, sweat, and tears you had put.
Not a single soul had that power over you. You weren’t going to cater to anyone. Not back in Arlington, and not here in New York City.
In a decision that should’ve been smarter, you leaned toward him. Ellsworth’s disgusting collar covered you, but you shook its effects off you and opened your mouth.
“If we want to bring sex lives into this, then you won’t mind me mentioning Twelve Sycamore Court, Millbrook, Connecticut 06470.”
His face fell. You leaned in closer, eyes barely containing your hate.
“Or more specifically, your second family’s home.”
His eyes—like yours—held that hate, but laced deep into it was a fear that shook him.
“Want me to help you, but insult me? Fine, I’ll give it to you straight. I give you three years. Three years until your eldest daughter grows bored of living this life, and start asking where her daddy is all the time. She’ll go on the internet, post something stupid—because we know how kids are—and talk about you and how much she loves you.
“Then, some journalist sleuthing for a story will pick that thread up, follow it, and then find out. They’ll post it everywhere, and soon, the whole world will know that Prescott Ellsworth likes to fuck a woman that isn’t his pregnant wife, and even have kids with her. And nothing will save you from that. You might as well cushion the blow now, and take the fucking deal.”
Ellsworth didn’t respond. How could he? He knew it was the truth. Somewhere between his dick and brain, it would all catch up to him. The second wife with two kids would all come out and ruin it all. Sour the silver spoon he was born with.
You didn’t even grace him with any other comment. You took yourself out of his presence, leaving him behind.
A rage filled you, not the relief from before. Rage at Jason for calling you here, at your night being ruined. All you wanted was silence and eat shit food.
Silence, you, and McDonald's seemed like a damn good combo.
You moved quicker than you had all night, finding Jason. His usual crowd wasn’t there. He was instead fiddling with the flowers from one of the arrangements on the table nearby.
His radar picked you up, and he grinned when his eyes met yours.
“I’m guessing by your lovely face that it went all well—”
Your finger found the center of his chest, and you poked and twisted it.
“You ever call me out this late for petty shit like this, I’ll personally destroy you.”
“Promise?”
“Fuck off, Jason.” You sneered, removing your finger, wiping it on your coat, and walking away. “Take care of your wife instead.”
“Michelle’s fine! You visit soon, though, alright? All she does is ask about you and your work.”
Whatever retort you would’ve given him would not be appropriate for this setting. So, you merely took yourself out of the hall and back down the hallway, not bothered if you accidentally shouldered people.
You couldn’t even think straight. You hated these pigs called ‘men’. You knew real men. Honest men. Good men. Your dad and Raymond had been that for you. They weren’t perfect, but anything was these so-called ‘men’ who liked to use you, then be threatened by whatever was between your legs.
Because how dare a pussy be on a better level than a dick?
Quickly, you slipped into the unused halls of the building, eventually finding the doors that screamed EXIT. You pushed them open, and found the cool air of the back alleys waiting.
And also waiting in the tight space, that familiar black car.
Your driver stood fiddling with his thumbs as he sat on the hood of the car. He was smoking, smoke curling around his face. You didn’t hide your disgust.
You made your way down the steps, not bothering to step around the grim. The door slamming behind you jolted the boy, making him drop his cigarette.
“You actually only took fifteen minutes. Well…” He checked his watch, “... sixteen minutes. Which is still, actually crazy. How—”
You waved him off. “Take me home in ten, and you’ll get another hundred.”
The boy looked overjoyed. He stepped on the stub and rushed to you, opening the door.
“Whatever you wish, ma’am.”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
This was a comfortable couch. A couch that he was happy to sink into.
Joel found comfort there. Normally, he would never have couched hoped, but he paid for this couch, so technically, he could do whatever he wanted.
For an hour every day, Joel would have the pleasure of slipping out of work or home to lounge here with no questions. He didn’t have any issues, only the fact that the majority of his legs hung off the side because it was so small.
Yet, that didn’t matter. He was belly down on the couch, keeping his face hidden into a grey pillow with his eyes shut. It was nice and quiet, and oh so nice here. It was almost natural that he fell asleep here. Multiple times in fact.
And with him lying here again, he could sleep here again.
“Did you come here for silence again, Joel? That’s alright, but I would like to know.”
Joel groaned into the pillow and dared to look up.
Dr. Harris sat in his usual chair, legs crossed over themselves with a look that he couldn’t read. It was sympathetic and curious, but it was clear he was toeing around the issue. Joel shook his head.
“Ain’t nothin’ wron’ with me.”
“No issue? Then why have you been coming in every day for an appointment and just sitting on my couch, in silence, might I add.”
Joel hated that question and grumbled to show his disapproval. Dr. Harris wasn’t phased by it at all, in fact, Joel’s silence only made him lean forward. Joel learned that Dr. Harris liked his silence more than anything because he couldn’t keep up with it without cracking.
It worked because Joel was turning his head and propping himself up on his elbows.
“I’m fine.”
“Right.”
“Don’t believe me.”
“Do you want me to be honest or act like a professional?”
“Be honest.”
“I think this is the most down I’ve seen you. Ever.”
Joel went back to smothering himself on the pillow. “Great.”
“And the least talkative. Which is saying something, since you usually crack under the pressure and—”
“Alright, alright.” Joel relented, pushing himself up to sit. Creases from the pillow marked his face, “I ain’t happy. You happy with that?”
“Perfectly pleasant. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really, no.”
“That’s fine, we don’t have to.”
“Wonderful.”
Joel went back to turning away. He fluffed up the pillow and gathered it to be placed underneath his head. But, he never lowered himself to rest. He stared at the lines, tracing the stitching with his eyes as he lost himself in the motion.
His eyes flickered up to Dr. Harris, who hadn’t stopped smiling or watching him. It made him squirm and blister with uncomfortable feelings.
“My girlfriend broke up with me.”
Dr. Harris’ eyes softened, “I’m so sorry Joel. That can’t be easy.”
Joel laid back down on the couch, swinging his legs to rest over the arm rest. He threaded his fingers through each other and laid them on his chest. The ceiling and him matched stares. “It ain’t.”
“I’m sure of it. Breakups force us to hyper-analyze ourselves and pick at things we didn’t even realize we were insecure about.”
Joel scoffed, “Sure does. Don’t think… don’t think I’ve cried as much as this.”
“Would you tell me about it?”
“Where do I start?”
“Is it a lot of history?”
“Try twenty-one years of it.”
“You’ve been dating the same girl for twenty-one years?”
“What?” Joel looked at a side-ways Dr. Harris, “No, no. I’ve… I’ve known her since childhood. She’s my brother’s best friend. And plus, her daddy and mine used to serve together and then built their families in the same town.”
“With that math… you’ve loved her since fifteen.”
“Give or take.”
“That’s a long time. Yet, from what you’ve told me about yourself, you got married, had your daughter… how long had you been dating her?”
“Only a couple of months.”
“Ah… I see.”
Joel squinted, then curled his lips into a snarl, “It’s more than that. I… I got history with her not just ‘cause of how she’s tied to my family. When I was datin’ Kaia, when it was bad, she was there for me. Emotionally, at least. I broke up with Kaia in the start of summer, but she was there for the months that I was stuck.”
“She seems wonderful. What’s her name?”
Joel told him, “She’s wonderful, Harris. This woman, Jesus Christ, she’s somethin’ else. Growin’ up, I thought I hated her. I couldn’t stand her and thought she was the worst girl to exist. Turns out—I actually wanted her more than anythin’.”
“But you only dated her now?”
“Well… yeah.”
Dr. Harris nodded, looking down at his notepad in his lap, “Why didn’t you pursue her beforehand? I’m sure you would’ve been married at least fifteen years.”
Joel hated that fact. He already knew the time he had lost without you. The time he was losing now. It didn’t help that Dr. Harris was putting that into the air, “It was my fault. I was—still am—weak.”
“Weak?”
“Yeah. Y’know, when you love someone to the point where it feels like your souls were made out of the same shit, just put in different bodies? That’s how I feel. Someone who knows you the best. Someone who can make you laugh ‘til you double over, make every moment worth livin’ for… but also someone y’know how to hurt the best, because it’s just that understandin’.”
For a moment, Dr. Harris didn’t speak. Only the rustle of his clothes as he shifted his legs.
“I’m guessing, from the way you’ve been acting, she broke up with you?”
Joel didn’t respond, only confirming Dr. Harris’s suspicions.
“And how does that make you—”
“Shitty.” Joel blurted out, his hand rubbing over his chest, “I feel sad and shitty and… and it’s my fault. She always begged me to be open with her, but I got scared. How much more open can I be with one person ‘fore they turn away?
“I miss her. I miss the way she looked at me like I was actually smart and not a fool. I miss the way she slept in my bed, and clung onto me ‘til I couldn’t breath. I miss the way she bossed me ‘round at work, but I listened ‘cause the most brilliant woman was talkin’ to me.
“Now, she told her daddy, and he told my dad and mama and my brother and his wife. They all act now as if nothin’ happened. Her daddy won’t speak to me, and they all looked at me with this pity. I hate it, it makes me feel…”
“Alone?”
“Yes. I feel fuckin’ alone.”
Silence rang throughout the room before Dr. Harris spoke again.
“When’s the last time you felt that alone?”
He didn’t respond.
“This is a safe place Joel—”
“I don’t…”
“—and it's also a place where you have the power. We do not have to talk about it.”
Joel closed his eyes, trying to hide the heat flooding his face in embarrassment. “I don’t wanna talk ‘bout that.”
Dr. Harris tilted his head to the side, “Alright. Let’s try something else. You can pick.”
“What I want to talk ‘bout?”
“Yes, anything you want.”
With that, Joel lifted himself to sit down straight. He leaned over his knees, elbows pressed against the joints. He thought for a second before speaking again.
“You talked ‘bout… confessin’ my sins our first appointment.”
“‘Confessing sins’ is pretty extreme. I think I meant being honest with your loved ones.”
“Well, I didn’t listen to you. I only said some crappy shit like I hate mushrooms to my Mama. Other than that… I’m the least honest man possible.”
“What’re you keeping secret?”
Joel laughed humorlessly, “Where do I start. Um… oh, well, of course there’s my… attempt, back in Arlington. No one knows that. ‘Cept for…”
“For?”
“My girl—I mean, my ex.”
“It seems like you put a lot of trust into her hands, in the past and the present. Your abuse, your attempt, you being trapped. A lot of emotional weight.”
“I carried that weight for the majority of my life. It… it felt nice, havin’ someone who I can tell that to. Like with you, but I don’t pay her.”
Dr. Harris didn’t respond to his bad joke, only thudding the cap of his pen against his notebook in an irritating rhythm. He seemed to be deep in thought, from what Joel saw.
When he finally stopped, his face was almost sad, almost pained.
“Joel, be honest with me, have you ever thought about how she felt being told all this?”
Joel blinked, “Um… sad, probably. Why?”
Dr. Harris sighed at that answer. He put his notebook and pen down on the little table beside him, then switched his leg over the other, and finally, threaded his fingers over his knee.
“I’m going to put you into a situation. Do you have any best friends?”
“No.”
“Any friends.”
“...not really. My work buddies, but I pay ‘em so it ain’t much of a friendship.”
“Then your brother. You love him, right?”
“Yes, ‘course I love Tommy,” He furrowed his brows at the question, “What’re you gettin’ at?”
“I’m saying, what if it was Tommy who went through what you went through?” Dr. Harris’ eyes bore into Joel’s very soul, “He was the one abused, he was the one who was baby trapped, he was the one who married his abuser out of obligation to a child he already loved. What if he were the one in Arlington attempting to hurt himself? What if he who kept it for years? And what if you were the only person who knew years later?”
If it were him, Joel, in your position? Well, the answer was simple enough:
“I’d never tell anyone.”
“Of course. Trust is important. What else?”
“I’d do anythin’ for him. Everythin’ for my brother. ‘Specially if he came to me with that? My whole life would be makin’ sure he was okay. Him, his baby. Makin’ sure his abuser never hurt him ‘gain.” Joel’s mind slipped into a reality where that happened, and his face grew hot at the thought, “I’d even hurt ‘em.”
“But wouldn’t that consume you? Your every thought, your every waking moment? After years of going through that, he probably has his own habits and defense mechanisms, so he’s learned to live with it. But wouldn’t it still worry you that your brother pretended to be fine to everyone else, but broke only in front of you?”
“It’d be all I’d think ‘bout.”
“So then, your girlfriend must’ve felt and done the same thing.”
Joel’s mouth went dry, unable to answer. You… you had done that.
All you had done with Kaia, hitting her, blackmailing her, it was all for him. Even when you had preached to him about it, it never truly hit him. For him, someone would fight that hard? You had, for years, really.
Since your childhood, you had been his protector. Being Tommy’s best friend and not even liking Joel didn’t stop you from wanting to save him.
Save Joel from whatever was coming for him.
He felt sick.
Joel looked up at Dr. Harris, and a choked noise let his throat.
Hadn’t he also done the same with Tommy later when you were gone for New York? Sure, he hadn’t been honest with his brother, but he told him to take care of Sarah after he died. Who does that?
He had been putting the heaviest parts of himself on others who didn’t know how to deal with it, without even knowing.
Before him, the sound of something sliding against wood forced him to look up. Dr. Harris’ face was still sad, but with a soft smile.
“I’m not saying,” He started, “That telling people that stuff is bad, but putting all that onto one person is… a lot. It’s a strain on their own psyche, with how much they care.”
“L-lord, I did that years ago. It’s why she left then, and now… again?” He shook his head, “What’s wron’ with me?”
“Nothing.” Dr. Harris emphasized. “Joel, you need to see this, but you are a victim. You might not be able to accept that, or want that, but it’s true. You do things to protect yourself that might be frowned upon. And others don’t get that because, well, they don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t want to be a victim!” Joel’s neck went taut with how hard his jaw was clenching. He looked up at Dr. Harris desperately, “Don’t you see what this does to me? How do others view me?”
“How else would they view you?”
“T-that I couldn’t say no! That I couldn’t control my thoughts and stop myself from… from trying to kill myself! No one would understand. The love of my life didn’t, so no one else would.”
“She left because of what you did, not because of your past. She did not leave you because you experienced sexual assault. She did not leave you because you attempted. She left because she felt hurt that you lied when she felt like she was the only person who understood you. All that emotional weight, only to realize there was more.”
Joel could barely see anything with how his tears were blurring everything. His mustache quivered.
“I love her.”
“I know. It’s clear you still do.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His breath shook with honesty, “All I’ve wanted is for someone to look at me and pick me. I want someone to look at me, kiss me, and tell me that I am what they need. Despite who I am, what I’ve gone through, what I’ve done, they’ll stay and want me.”
Another tear slipped.
“I just want someone to want me.”
Dr. Harris didn’t reply. What could he say that Joel didn’t already know, that he was just suppressing for years? It would just be a pointless cycle with no change.
Joel was very, very tired of this cycle.
“How bad do you want that?”
He looked up.
“What?”
Dr. Harris leaned forward, “How bad, do you want to be wanted?”
“More than anything.”
“Then, you’re looking at the wrong place and person to funnel that want.”
Joel’s brows furrowed, and he sniffled as he asked again: “What?”
“I’m saying…” With sudden gusto, Dr. Harris suddenly moved his hand at a hyper speed. “... that you should take your want to be wanted, and build a different support system. One that doesn’t require one person to hold you up.”
“Like what? A dog?”
Dr. Harris didn’t seem to catch onto Joel’s lame excuse of a joke, “Sure. But I’m saying, from what I’ve heard, your family are good people, and they—”
“Absolutely not.” Joel shut down the idea, already with drawing himself. He even physically pulled back, pressing his back to the couch, “My folks can’t know.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause, y’know how much shit they’ve gone through? My daddy was in the army. My mama did her best and raised me and Tommy, separated from her family. How would they feel knowin’ all this happened to me?”
“Then, does your want for your loved one’s comfort trump your want to be wanted?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know you do, Joel. From the moment I met you, I knew you wanted something more than the duty you’ve placed upon yourself. It’s okay to be greedy. It’s natural to be selfish. It’s okay to be those things, as long as no one gets hurt.”
“And… and if I were to tell my folks ‘bout what I’ve gone through, they won’t get hurt? They won’t hate me?”
“Why would they hate you?”
Joel swallowed, “‘Cause it took me so long to even mention anythin’ regardin’ it. All they know ‘bout Kaia is how she was mean, I knocked her up, and then she left. The details, they don’t need to know. And if they did… they’d never recover. They love every inch of me, and how could they live with themselves knowin’ not only was I bein’ hurt, I was hurtin’ myself.”
“And since they love you, they’ll hold you even tighter and see—their son fought and was brave.”
Joel choked, “I ain’t brave.”
“Yes, you are. You’re a brave man, Joel. Without anyone’s help, you pulled yourself back from the edge. You—by yourself—raised a little girl into a wonderful woman. On your own, you made something of yourself despite how the world treated you. If that isn’t brave… then I don’t know what is.”
Dr. Harris looked sad then, as if in that moment, he saw Joel for all he was: a child.
A knobby knee, awkwardly tall and gangly kid who always looked to his folks for his answers. He only wanted to make those around him smile and was willing to put himself down for it.
Joel shook his head, like he was trying to deny it, but those words cracked something in his very soul.
Could anyone believe it?
He remembered those stupid words you made him say in front of the mirror, how pointless they felt because he had been reciting them to make you happy. Now, could they be real?
He was brave, wasn’t he? To move forward in a life that handed him shitty cards.
He was kind, wasn’t he? He always helped his family at the drop of a hat, no matter where or when or how.
He was beautiful, wasn’t he? His muddy brown hair was actually a gorgeous oak color, while his smile was toothy instead of awkward.
So, why did it take so long for him to realize it?
Joel took that and then buried his face in his palms… so that he could cry.
He cried loudly in that stupid office, at the fact that he had denied himself the warmth of looking at oneself and feeling good. He could feel it now, though.
Joel could see it in the child that was him, who suddenly clambered into his lap and looped his arms around his neck, his small body barely having any weight because he was so innocent.
Joel could see it in the teenager that was him, who awkwardly bumped shoulders with him, yet didn’t pull away and instead leaned his head closer to Joel’s
Joel could see it in the man that was him, who was crying just as hard as he was, but his hand was holding Joel’s, a gun in the other that was gripped loosely with no intent anymore.
And Joel could see it in the old grandpa that was him, who now smiled softly and cupped his face, and whispered the words: ‘Everythin’ will be alright, just see.’
It was like every version of Joel—past, present, future—had come to him to show him that he was a creature made of love.
If all these flawed, sad versions of him could, then his folks would.
Wiping his eyes, Joel dared look back at Dr. Harris. He had gone back to leaning in his chair, but for the first time, Joel saw a sheen of tears in the man’s eyes.
Dr. Harris opened his mouth to say something, but Joel beat him to it:
“I want my folks.”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
Keep your eyes open.
“And then, when we expand our reach to more of the middle-class demographic, we should be able to increase profit.”
Three more hours
Hums echoed throughout the room, “How do you suggest it then?”
“Well, I’d say we create a new subscription. Cheaper, less access to our website.”
“Price gouging?”
“If you want to call it that.”
Three more hours, and you’d be able to sit by yourself in your office and work till midnight again.
Just push through.
The tap, tap of someone straightening their papers into a neat stack against the wooden table throbbed against your mind. Someone else took a noisy sip of their coffee.
“They’ll take it, of course.” A man’s voice to your left called out, fingers thudding against the armrests of his chairs, “They want to be included, so they’ll take whatever poor sample we give them.”
Another man boomed out with laughter, “Desperation is always the best, and exactly what this company should capitalize on. Do you agree?”
You needed to be alone right now. You needed to breathe, and you couldn’t do so in this tight fucking suit and boardroom—
Your name was called, and you snapped out of your trance.
Across the long table that stretched down the conference room, seven men stared you down where you sat at the head. They all watched your blank expression turn back into concentration.
Sunlight pierced your skin, the heat of it burning you despite it being mid-November. The noises from the city below were cut off by thick, impenetrable windows, leaving you trapped in this sleek, modern boardroom with men who looked like they suddenly wanted your wisdom.
You cleared your throat and flipped through the files before you—the ones you hadn’t touched since you had sat down for this meeting—and tried to catch up the best you could. “I’m sorry, I got distracted. Could you repeat that?”
You pretended not to hear the impatient scoff from that very man on your left. A man with black hair further down the table rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back into his seat.
You bit your tongue.
One man—tanned skin, brown hair—cleared his throat and spoke, “Of course. Were we just discussing the recent Redlocks situation? With how they’re struggling with tapping into the upper class, and we were suggesting—”
“That they open up to the middle class,” You murmured. At least you had been conscience for that part. You crossed your legs. “Subscription-based services always worked well with them. I don’t understand all the fuss.”
“That’s the thing: they open their market up to the middle class, and it loses all the prestige the rich want. What Upper East lady wants to be seen using the same service as…. well, an ordinary one.”
“What is this amazing service?” You waved your hand.
“Luxury concierge and experience network,” He explained, “They have their annual fee of around fifteen thousand, and their members get exclusive access to everything they could want. Last-minute seats at Le Cirque or Per Se.”
You picked up your pen and wrote something down, “I remember them. Word of mouth sort of thing, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course. Any advertising would ruin their reputation.”
“But from what I’m getting, things aren’t looking good.”
Another man piped up, hand raised to catch your attention, “Until people just stopped needing them. Why use an ‘elite’ service when your name is enough? That’s why they're trying to open up to the middle class.”
You could picture their dilemma, the numbers, the percentages like blaring neon signs. Every possible decrease in revenue, every loss of a dedicated customer.
It would destroy them.
How do you save something that is going out of style? How do you cater to those who refuse to mix and mingle with those below them, as well as encourage the new money of the world?
You looked up, finishing writing all your thoughts down. No one spoke while you mulled over all this information; no one dared to break that train of thought.
Finally, you clicked your pen closed, then interlocked your fingers, nails painfully digging into your skin.
“How about a reward system?”
Mutters immediately flew amongst the men. Of course, not a single one dared actually try to talk to you. They instead stuck to their pack before one of them dared to speak for all.
“How so?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” You weren’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m saying, if we still have the tiers as you both were mentioning, then there would be that class separation the rich want. But we all know the middle class wants what the rich want. So, we create a reward system.”
The man to your right lifted his finger, “Like those clothing stores. Get points and unlock the items the company gives you.”
You nodded, “Those exclusive restaurants? Those galas, those cars? You get them once you stay loyal to the company for a while, but only for a bit. Then, you're back to zero once your points are used up, and you're locked behind your paywall.”
There was a beat of silence before they once more turned into one another, discussing vigorously. You sat at the head alone, just watching.
It was pathetic.
This was one of the most basic strategies in marketing. Paywalls and exclusive items were taught on day one. Why this blubbering, supposingly ‘ivy graduates’ couldn’t get it, was beyond you.
No wonder you were dissociating. This was some of the most boring shit you’d been seated for.
Part of you wanted to be back in the galas, yet everything was out of season. Only when December and the end of the fourth quarter rolled around would any of the real, corrupt businessmen pop their heads out. It was like winter called them out of their gaudy holes, really for you to catch them and twist their money outta of them.
You licked your teeth, suddenly craving it.
Oh, you really hadn’t changed—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
All conversation died right then, and there, now all heads turned to the two oak doors where the noise came from. There was a pause before they started again, a bit faster.
“Come in.” You called out loud, craning your head to look.
There was another pause before the bust open with a force that made them clang against the walls. A woman clambered inside, breathing hard, and most ridiculous of all, she had your phone clutched in her hand.
She had deep and dark hair, with tightly coiled hair that was in a singular bun on the back of her head. She wore a pencil shirt and a button-down, which was terribly tucked in. Her legs were wobbly and turned slightly into each other.
Her face was one of almost near terror. Her eyes flickered over the whole room, at every face glaring at her. She swallowed and turned back to you, nervously waving your phone around.
“S-sorry to interrupt, but um… you have a call? I think. I mean, it rang, but I didn’t really know, but I know I’m supposed to give it to you!”
Before you could even get a word out, one of the men sneered, “And who are you supposed to be? Don’t you see we’re busy?”
“I’m Emma! Emma Collins, I’m… I’m her secretary?” Emma pointed to you.
Lord, you completely forgot you had one.
When you used to work in New York, you barely used the team you had, especially your secretary. Why would you rely on someone else when you were perfectly fine on your own?
You stood suddenly and flicked your hand at her. Emma blinked at your outstretched hand, then your phone. The dots connected in that moment. She squeaked and rushed to you, putting your phone in your hand.
You flicked it open, thumbing through to get to your missed calls. “Get my things, Emma. I’m heading back to my office.”
You barely glanced back at the sudden uproar of men who called your name, who were demanding that this meeting needed to be finished.
“We just started to get to a solution! Y-you can’t leave now.” One of them called.
You stopped at the archway of the doorway, finally looking back.
“I can, and will. This time, come to me with something better than this shit. It’s elementary, and something I made up in five seconds. Figure it out, and I want it on my desk before you clock out.”
With that, you turned away, heels somehow clicking against the carpet. Emma’s small noises and squeaks came scrambling behind you, papers rustling as she fixed herself up.
You focused on your phone, looking through your call log.
Not your dad, not Lorraine or Raymond. Not Tommy, so who…
You stopped before the elevator in a quick movement, nearly causing Emma to run into you.
[ONE MISSED CALL FROM: SARAH MILLER]
Without any hesitation, you pressed her contact and pressed the phone against your ear.
It rang once, before she picked up. You pressed the button of the elevator to go up.
“Hello?” Her voice was soft and sweet, only a bit distorted, but exactly how you remembered it.
You couldn’t help the smile that sprouted against your lips, “Hi, Sarah. Are you okay? You never call me during the day—”
“Oh, no. No no, I’m fine. I just… just wanted to call. Is that a crime now?”
“Of course not. Sorry I missed your call before. I was just in a meeting.”
Sarah’s tone tilted up, “Do you need to get back to that? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything important.”
You let out the most genuine laugh you had had since your day started. The elevator dinged and let out a woosh as they opened. You stepped into the glass case, Emma trailing close, and pressed the twenty-fifth floor, “Nothing exciting really. Another day with… inexperienced children.”
She winced, “That bad?”
“I’m being kind, which is very hard for me to do,” You fake pouted, even though she couldn’t see it, “When you’re older, I’ll tell you all my real thoughts.”
“Deal.” She giggled.
You relished in that noise. Hearing from Sarah had become less of a rarity and more of something you expected in your day-to-day life. At least five times a week, you’d get a call from her, asking about your day, what you saw.
At first, you couldn’t help but be suspicious. Was this some plot between her and her dad to get you to talk to him? But you soon realized that she never brought Joel up. In fact, she avoided anything relating him.
You appreciated that and her a lot.
The doors of the elevator slid open, and you stepped out easily. “Well, what’s this call for? Aren’t you at school right now?”
“Technically, yeah?”
“Sarah?”
“Hey! Don’t use that tone with me. Aren’t you happy that I’m gracing you with my presence?”
“Very,” You turned down the hallway that led to your office. “But I like it better when you’re passing and paying attention to your teachers.”
“I’m in the bathroom right now. Took the pass and I’m… holed in the big stall.”
Turning around, you held out your hand and took the now neatly arranged file. Emma handed it to you with a weary smile.
For once, you returned a smile to someone you worked with. It seemed to brighten her entire face. Emma’s cheeks gained dimples from how hard her grin pressed into her face. You nodded to her smaller office nearby, and she gave you a thumbs-up before striding away.
Now, you were alone to step into your dark office. It was new and sleek and completely everything you liked in your space. It was the corner of the building, meaning the windows made up a whole corner. The whole city showed itself to you with pride, and you returned the feeling.
“You still there?” Sarah’s voice came back.
You nodded to no one, plopping into your chair, tossing your file onto your desk, and sighing. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Still here, baby girl.”
There’s a pause before Sarah spoke again: “If you need me to go, I can. I’ll just call you later tonight—”
“No, no, you’re fine. I’m just exhausted. I’m not used to this work, haven’t been for months.”
“I get it. That’s how I feel when we try a new scorer formation. Like, I know how to do the skills, but applying them to something else… yeah, no thanks.”
“I’m glad someone gets me out here.” You huffed, stretching your legs. Your back arched as you stretched. When you came back down, you glanced down at your nails and pivoted the conversation, “How’s everyone? Maria still pregnant?”
“Very. She had her “celebrating-the-baby-isn’t-a-Christmas-baby” party just a while ago. Everyone—at least, from Uncle Tommy’s side—was there.”
You didn’t ask who else was most definitely there. “Well, I’m sure the food was great.”
“I didn’t go.”
You blinked, “Huh?”
“Yeah, I had scorrer things, like always. But thank god I didn’t. It was hell?”
“Don’t tell me Maria went into labor.” You joked.
“I actually was shocked she didn’t.” Sarah paused, trying to find the words and if this was right to say, “My dad… and Uncle Clyde fought.”
If it was possible to physically feel your heart fall through your stomach and out of your ass, this would be the time. You lurched forward, gripping the edge of your table.
“E-excuse me?! Fought! My dad! A-and yours?!”
“I heard something got thrown at my dad by Uncle Tommy. It was nasty. Granddad and Uncle Clyde aren’t talking; it’s a whole thing.”
You were gone for this long, and chaos erupted, “I-I… I don’t even have any words—”
“Trust me, no one does. It’s like everyone’s sitting on pins and needles, you know? And its a whole thing, and I think they’re talking about it tonight cause I’ve been banned out of the house.”
“Seriously?” You rubbed your temples, feeling a migraine growing right then and there.
“Seriously.” Sarah solemnly repeated, “Dad said I had to go to Ellie’s after school cause Grandad and Grandmama are coming over. I asked if I could just stay in my room, but he said—and I quote—‘this is grown folk’s talk’. Like, whatever that means.”
You bit the edge of your nail now, the polish tasting strange, “I’m just… just shocked. This is a shit ton of information at once.”
“Now you know how I feel. Keep in mind, I wasn’t even there. I’m never there when interesting things happen.”
“Consider it a blessing, it gets draining.”
Sarah hummed into your ear, “Yeah, well, at least we’re in the same boat of ‘sloppy seconds.’ Last to hear anything.”
“Cheers.” You laughed once more.
“But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love that about us, how you treat me like a grown-up. I love that about you.”
Your heart thudded dangerously close to gleeful. You swallowed and licked your lips.
“Well, I love that about you, too.”
Sarah didn’t respond to you, and for a second, you thought the call might have disconnected. But before you could pull your phone away to check, Sarah’s voice came flooding back.
“Jeez, I’ll just say it: I love you.”
You didn’t respond immediately. Words had died on your tongue.
Sarah Miller loved you. She didn’t have to. You were the aunt who barely saw her grow up. You were her dad’s ex. You had no place.
Yet, that didn’t stop your smile from returning.
“Yeah, I love you too, baby girl.”
❛ ━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━ ❜
“Joel, you can’t be livin’ like this! Your livin’ room is a mess!”
Against his better judgment, Joel let his mama rush around his house, fussing over every little thing she could set her eyes on. Joel could admit that his living room wasn’t in its best state. Clothes hung along the back of his couch, with a half-full laundry basket propped up against it. He knew that grated her nerves worse than anything else.
From the dining table, Joel caught glances of his dad placing plates of comfort food, muttering to himself.
Despite his best efforts on trying to ease his folks into this information he was putting on them, they had turned it into a small family gathering. Sure, it was only Joel, his dad, and mama, but there was added pressure of good food and them trying to softly comfort Joel.
After the terrible encounter with Clyde, no one had heard from the man. It was as if he slipped into that house with Aspen and locked everyone else out.
No call from Tommy or their mama did the trick. Even Maria coming by with Kevin and knocking on his door led to silence.
Joel’s dad, on the other hand, made no effort. Whatever had been exchanged between them in that room had clearly left a stain on their relationship. Joel could tell from how his dad bristled when his mama mentioned his best friend.
Joel looked back at his mama, who was folding laundry. He cursed underneath his breath and came to her side, plucking the clothes from her hands.
“Mama, you’re ‘posed to be havin’ dinner with me, not… not cleanin’ up.” Joel folded the shirt the rest of the way and put it on the pile she started.
She gasped as if she was offended, “How can I not dote over you? ‘Specially with everythin’ goin’ on, with you all alone now… oh baby boy, you need help more than ever.”
He shook his head, physically removing the idea of you. If he thought about that, nothing would ever get done.
“You can help me by enjoyin’ yourself. You deserve it.”
“From doin’ what?” She asked.
Joel kept his real answer to himself. That even though he wanted to tell his folks, he still felt a stab of guilt. He smothered it, though, and smiled.
“You go get comfortable.” Was all he said, “That’s what you can do for me.”
For a moment, his mama studied him. He worried he would notice the sweat beading on his forehead or how his hands clenched and unclenched.
But if she saw anything, she didn’t comment.
All she did was smile and pinch his cheek, and place a fat kiss there, “My great boy. Thank you.” She turned on her heel, and went down the hall. Probably to fuss over something out of his gaze, but at least it wouldn’t be on his radar.
Right, one parent controlled, now the other one…
Joel rushed to the dining table to his dad, who was now studying the arrangement of the plates, something he never did. His dad had his hands propped on his hips in concentration. Joel swore he didn’t even hear him until he saw his dad’s head jerk ever-so slightly toward him.
“What’cha bring to eat son? Kinda outta the blue, this whole thin’.”
How exactly do you casually bring up in conversation that ‘Hey, one time, long ago, I tried to end my life. But I survived and never told anyone, but I’m here now, so don’t freak out and let's all hug and love each other!’
Yeah, fat chance.
Instead, Joel rounded closer to his dad. “Just want somethin’ nice after… well… you remember.”
It was clear the man did, because his dad groaned like the very memory, “Let’s not sour this meal by talkin’ ‘bout that. Whatever happened happened. We can’t change anythin’.”
“But… but I feel bad.”
“You really shouldn’t, you were the one attacked after all.”
Joel breathed hard through his teeth, “So? I was the one who pushed Clyde there. If I hadn’t, then we’d be all fine. Sure, it’d be hella awkward, but never this bad—”
“Listen to me Joel: ignore Clyde. Bastard wouldn’t know how to stop pushin’ his own feelin’s onto others if it could save life.” His dad grumbled.
Joel watched the A/C brush his dad’s silver hair around, and he pressed his lips together tight, “His feelin’s?”
“I’ve known him longer than your mama. Means I know what’s goin’ on in his head.”
“Which is?”
“Hate. Jealously. Self-loathin’.”
Joel blinked, “Clyde doesn’t hate us.”
“No, he hates the idea of us, but he loves us as people. Joel, you need to realize, we had to good. Clyde might’ve been able to hide it well, but he was just as stuck as you with Kaia, just with someone who loved him just as much.”
“He’s not like Kaia and me. Avis never hurt him. Avis never… never did terrible thin’s.”
“Always bein’ second to—no matter what you did—a bar would break anyone down. But he’s stubborn, and doesn’t know when to quit.” Joel watched as his dad huffed, “And he loves her. Joel, you have to understand, he saved her once and decided that was his life’s duty.”
It was true, even he knew that. From an early age, Joel had vivid memories of Clyde leaving gatherings early, or all together just dropping a crying, five-year-old little girl on their porch steps for his mama to herd inside and take care of.
“He had her, though. He had a kid, why didn’t he just focus on her?”
“He’s stubborn and needed a purpose. People like us… we need a purpose.”
“Military?”
“Exactly,” His dad nodded “We kill, we hurt, we maim for those we love, thinkin’ it’ll brin’ us glory. No one gives a fuck. Y’know how many men I know lost arms and legs, yet the government gives ‘em nothin’? Y’know how much shit is fucked up in our head, yet we’re forced to act like nothin’ happened ‘cause that would ruin the whole image?”
“I remember you some of ‘em visitin’. When I was a kid.”
“And do y’know where they are now?”
Joel shook his head.
“Just know I didn’t become ‘em. And the only way I didn’t, was by givin’ myself a mission.” His dad then turned his eyes to him, and they softened in a way they barely ever did, “You, your mama, and Tommy are my mission. Kevin, the lil’ baby Maria’s carin’, and Sarah are my mission. It’s the only way I ever kept myself sane.”
“So then, what’s Clyde’s mission now?”
At the name of his best friend, his dad’s expression fell.
“His baby girl. That’s all he has left.”
Joel swallowed and threaded his fingers together. Memories of his childhood flashed inside his mind. Of how your daddy doted on you. Of how at every single party or dinner, it was just you and your daddy, even when you were young. It didn’t click to him then—hell, it didn’t when he gotten older—but he always knew you and him were a unit.
A unit that was broken. Because of him.
“Don’t blame yourself Joel,” His dad murmured, as if reading his mind, “You go quiet, and I know you’re thinkin’ too damn hard.”
“How can’t I? I lied to her, I broke her heart.”
“And I get that. But, Clyde was wron’ for throwin’ shit at you, for bein’ an ass. He’s a grown ass man. I get he’s hurtin’. Lord knows I know it better than most. Yet, that don’t make it right.”
Joel blinked. He never expected his dad to be so honest about Clyde. “I thought you liked him.”
“‘Course I do. But I’m his best friend, not his follower. I can call bullshit. I have ‘fore, just… never to this level”
“Are you guys still talkin’?” Joel questioned.
The sharp inhale and thin lines his dad’s lips pressed into told him more than words ever word. “I ain’t heard from him since Tommy’s house.”
“Jesus, that was a week and a half ago. Did you check up on him? Y’know he needs someone lookin’ after him, ‘speically after his surgery.”
“Tommy and your mama have tried, but he don’t want it. What can I do?” His dad ran his fingers over the wood of Joel’s table, “I can’t force sense into a man. All I can do is defend you. My son.”
“Even if I’m in the wron’?”
“Oh, I can call you out for that,” His dad’s eyes flashed up at him, “Lyin’ ain’t somethin’ that’ll help anyone. ‘Specially that. But… but I’m willin’ to push that aside. Clyde will always be second to you, your brother, and your mama.”
“That can’t be a good thin’.”
“It is. Just how it works between us. I’m sure that in Clyde’s mind, I come second to his kid. I understand that, and see I’m still in second place. Meanin’... I’m the second most important thin’ in his life, just like he is in mine. ”
He couldn’t help but watch his dad. His dad barely spoke any words, and even when he did, they were dry and unhappy and truly lacked any humor. Yet, he spoke with such knowledge and tenderness about a relationship Joel barely knew.
“You still care for him?”
His dad’s brows furrowed like that was a stupid question, “‘Course I do. This… this is just a spat between friends. Little bit more prickly, but still, we’re friends.”
“Don’t seem like it…”
“Joel, listen to me.” His dad’s hands found his shoulders, and clamped tight, “If I could tell you every important, definin’ moment between us both, we’d be here for hours. He’s the brother I’d never had, and the memories we share are bloody.”
“How much?”
“How much…?” His dad repeated, voice low. His eyes went distant for a moment before he spoke again, “When we were first deployed, we were given seventy-two hours to survive on our own, and we thought, ‘We’d be fine. We trained for this. Sweated hours and hours in a day over the course of months. This was nothin’.’ Boy, we were wron’.
“There was this mental strain they never taught. Seein’ your food supply run dry, seein’ your men fall and then be expected to kill others… it puts a lot on you. At some point, it was only me, Clyde, and another man. Young guy, he was. We three had made it to hour seventy. We had become a trio, of sorts.”
Joel never heard of anyone else close to his dad like this. Joel didn’t speak and let his dad continue.
“After a certain point, our water ran out. Y’know the feelin’ of sand on your tongue, not even your spit existin’ cause their’s no water? It drives a man insane…” His dad looked down and squeezed his eyes shut, reliving his past, “... it broke him down too.
“I watched as a boy three years younger take a gun and blow his brains out in front of me. I remember not bein’ able to move, and seein’ him dead. The only man who moved was Clyde. He picked me up and got me to survive those last two hours. Without him, I would’ve died there too.”
A gun.
A man falling into the ground in front of his dad, dead, years ago.
A shiver Joel hated ran through his spine.
“Clyde… did that for you?” Shock ran its course throughout Joel’s bloodstream, “Why haven’t I heard anythin’ ‘bout this?”
“‘Cause it’s lonely.” His dad hissed, “Livin’ with those thoughts. I couldn’t just tell you either; you and your brother were babies. I only had Clyde, and sometimes your mama. But even then… I kept it the hardest parts from her. Clyde, at the end of the day, was the only one who got it. Got me. You’ve never had to understand that loneliness, Joel, and I’m glad of it.”
Loneliness
The word that had described every inch of his life until recently. He felt lonely all the time. In fact, he forced himself to be lonely, too. He knew those ten letters better than anyone.
He used to believe he deserved it more than anything.
Now, what he deserved…
Now, what he wanted…
“I do.”
The words were painfully simple, painfully honest in a way Joel never allowed himself to be outside of you and the four walls of Dr. Harris’ room. His dad’s eyes shot up from their weary state, suddenly sharp.
“I do,” Joel repeated. “It’s like… like a hole in your chest, right? No matter how much love you put into it, no matter how many memories and shit you shove down it, it just… it just swallows and leaves you with nothin’. And y’think it’s your fault, but… how can it be when it was put there by someone or somethin’ else?
“And sometimes, that loneliness pushed you away. Makes it impossible to eat or talk or live because if the hole eats it, then what’s the point of doin’ anythin’? What’s the point of seein’ the love in front of you when y’know you ain’t gonna feel it. It’d just be easier to…”
“Joel…” His dad’s voice wavered. No, shook. Completely, like a tree losing its footing on the hill, “... W-what’re you sayin’?”
Joel couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes shut, unable to look. The grip of his daddy’s hands suddenly tightened, and pulled him forward so much that it forced him to take a step.
“I understand you.” He confessed, “But… but I understand that man you lost with Clyde more. More than I should. More than… more than anyone should.”
“Please, please speak plainly. I-I don’t like this riddle, and I don’t like what answer my head’s findin’—”
“I tried hurting myself, Daddy.”
Those five words stayed between them, only for both of them to hold and turn over. Words that had been a secret for so long, they creaked with age and disuse.
Joel tried to hide his face, but even his body was forcing him to be honest. His eyes dared to open and look up at his dad.
All he saw was pain. Pain and a fear that never once crossed his dad’s features in all thirty-six years Joel had been alive. His dad shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake off this information, this truth.
“No—no, no, no, that ain’t— that ain’t true. Tell me you’re jokin’. Please, baby boy, tell me your…”
But when Joel couldn’t respond, a crack formed in his dad’s breath.
Tears, thick and heavy, came flooding into Joel’s senses. He promised himself he would be strong for his folks, not crumble like this. But seeing the man who had stood strong for so long suddenly unable to.
Joel shook his head and pressed closer than before, “It was years ago. Sarah was so young, a-and it was when you, Mama, and Tommy were takin’ her to her that daddy-daughter dance I was skippin’.”
“I remember that.” His dad’s hands suddenly cupped Joel’s face. “I remember. You were so… so withdrawn. Barely speakin’ to us, barely interactin’. You were gonna—”
“I was tryin’ to push you guys out. I was tryin’ to be alone so I couldn’t hurt you when I would—”
“Don’t say it—don’t say it—please, please—”
“Daddy, I tried to take my life that night.”
And this time, there was no pause when Raymond Miller broke down.
Joel’s face was shoved deep into his dad’s shoulder, unable to breathe. He couldn’t even fight back, with his dad’s hands gripped and held, and in a moment, they both sank down into the floor. Joel clung back onto his dad, because what else was there to do? Nothing had been this solid for him since you.
The wood dug into his knees, and he tried to lift himself to help his dad, but his strong muscles circled and helped him there. Nothing existed beside the heat and the trickle of tears that disappeared down his face and into the fabric.
Sobs were the only thing he heard. Not his own, but rather, his dad. His dad, who had this heart of steel, Joel looked up to more than anything, was suddenly cracking.
“No!” He sobbed into Joel’s hair, trying to press Joel into his very soul, “Not my—my boy! W-why my boy?!”
Joel tried to tell him it was his own doing, but he was melting. Melting and becoming silent in this second.
He liked it.
His senses muddled away, noises distorting and stretching. The climbed away yet slammed into him at the same time.
Was this what freedom felt like?
Free from a secret so heavy it crushed his wings. Was this Joel flying for the first time?
In this newfound state, he didn’t hear his mama rushing over. He didn’t hear her yelling and begging her husband what was wrong. He didn’t hear his dad’s heart breaking as he told her. He didn’t hear her scream, and then her own body pressed against him.
He didn’t feel her hands on his head. He didn’t feel his dad begging the Lord what he had done to curse his son. He didn’t feel his mama begging and asking Joel if it was true, and when he didn’t respond and only looked at her, did she know.
They rocked their boy, their eldest son, against them.
Raymond and Lorraine Miller held a part of their world they almost lost without even knowing it.
And in that grasp, in those arms, Joel felt something rise in his chest.
Not a dread or a guilt or a bad feeling.
No, Joel felt an understanding.
Joel felt a safety.
Joel felt so, so safe.
Ah, the Miller family. Learning every day that one of their family members (Joel) has a new trauma he hid out of shame.
If you get a ★★★★★ in your inbox, it means your moot appreciates you and your efforts in the community!!!!! Send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love 🧡✨
Apologies for the late reply, but thank you so much that is very very sweet. Much much appreciated and right back at you. By the way, absolutely love your Pedro Pascal stories
My goodness it's been a minute! Hello, tumblr, wonderful to see you again 🤗
Description: When a hike doesn't go quite as planned you're forced to seek shelter for the night, only the little cabin isn't empty when you reach it.
Warnings: Marcus Pike x Female Reader, reader is defined as female but has no physical descriptions at all, mention of the bear vs. man thing, smut, minor angst.
Author's Note: This is something of a request from my good friend @bilibiche although I've altered the setting from winter to autumn because it just came easier to me right now, oddly enough. Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like it, love!
Word Count: 4720
Author's Masterlist
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Wednesday 12:38 PM
”Can I ask you a serious question?” one of your newer colleagues wonders while you’re having lunch together.
“I thought all your questions were serious…” you say with a critically raised brow, because this particular guy is of the less than goofy sort, and it bothers you how it feels like he’s labelled you as flimsy, or lax, just because you approve of a little light-hearted fun now and then.
“Well, yeah, but like serious as in; life or death.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that, but sure, ask away.”
“Okay. Why would you risk your life just to walk to the top of a mountain?”
You can’t help but smile a little at his apparent lack of insight into how the world works, but you soon turn serious again since it’s not really a fun topic.
“I hike because the woods are peaceful and make me feel strong and at ease with myself. And if some wild animal does decide to try and eat me, I actually have a much better chance of scaring off a bear or puma, than a man.”
He looks slightly confused by that.
“Sure, but… the leading cause of death for female hikers worldwide is drowning or falling, not encountering either men or animals.”
“And the leading cause of death for women worldwide is cardiovascular disease, but you don’t see us leading healthier lives just because we know that,” you counter, and he tilts his head with curious interest.
“So, you equate the risk of hiking to the risk of dropping dead from an unknown disease?”
Instead of trying to explain to him that you never actually weigh the dangers of anything you do, since that would just put you off of doing anything, ever, you decide to give him a comparison he might understand.
“I look at it this way: When going to a club, or on a date, is even more dangerous to my overall health than being alone in the woods, why shouldn’t I walk to the top of a mountain?”
Thursday 07:41 AM
The drive was long, especially when you’d decided to get started before dawn to get the most out of the daylight hours, but now that you’re on the trail, the fatigue has vanished and not even the light drizzle and grey skies are able to dampen your mood.
You’ve only walked this trail once before, and you’re planning on exploring a different section of it this time, which is supposedly a bit more challenging as you get closer to the top, so it somehow feels like the mountain is still completely new to you.
In terms of height, the mountain is a small one, only about a thousand feet, but the base of it stretches for about ten miles in every direction, making it massive all the same. And the view from the peak is amazing since nothing else in the area comes close to the same height.
It boasts impressive cliffs where erosion and the occasional earthquake has cracked the stone and generated immense landslides, and since rain is pretty consistent around here, some of those cliffs have become breathtaking waterfalls.
The woodlands are thousands of years old, untouched save for the narrow trail which is kept clear by the many hundreds of feet which tread on it every year. It’s illegal to cut down trees or start fires, or just do anything which negatively impacts the natural state of the forest, like leave garbage or dig any hole bigger than what might be needed to bury your natural waste.
And to help people keep to these rules, a volunteer group has built little cabins on regular intervals along the trails, where hikers can take shelter in case of bad weather or if they get injured.
Each cabin has basic survival equipment like chopped wood and lighting tools, jugs of fresh water, first aid kits, candles and blankets. And there’s a wood-burning stove in all of them.
You’ve never needed to use one, but you’ve familiarized yourself with them anyway.
Thursday 11:24 AM
The weather improves all through the morning, first with the stopping of the rain and then gradually becoming less cloudy, until the entire sky is suddenly bright blue above you, just in time for your lunch-stop.
You’ve gotten high enough by now that the trees are much fewer and further apart, and there are large sections of bared rock in between, some of them chiselled smooth by millennia of rainfall and snow, and others covered in soft moss.
You don’t stay for long, both to avoid getting chilled by the autumn air, but also because your timeframe is limited. It takes roughly six hours to get to the top, and then between five and six hours back down, depending on how slippery it is, and that’s about as much daylight as there is for the time of year, so there isn’t much left over for you to sit around. Not if you wanna avoid having to stay the night.
There’s a sleeping bag designed for arctic survival in the bottom of your backpack, and protein bars as emergency food if you should need it, so you are prepared to spend the night on the mountain if it becomes necessary, but you’d prefer not to.
Which is why, just as you reach the top and notice another shift in the weather, you start to feel a bit anxious.
You take a few pictures up there and give yourself a moment to just sit and catch your breath, but the looming black clouds on the horizon won’t let you fully relax.
It looks incredibly dramatic, the contrast of the soft-looking woodlands with their colourful fall leaves against the dark pine needles, all caressed by bright midday sunlight, against the darkness of the incoming storm and the shadow it casts over the landscape further to the east.
That weather system is going to swallow up the sun soon, and if it lingers, which it looks like it probably will just going by the size of it, you’re not gonna have another six hours of daylight. You might not even have half that.
Thursday 16:18 PM
The rain comes down so hard that even your baseball cap isn’t enough to let you have full vision in front of you, and although it isn’t fully dark yet, your flashlight is your only hope of seeing where the hell you’re putting your feet, not to mention where the trail is.
You’d hoped to make it down to where you’d parked your car, but it’s taken you twice as long to walk down as it did going up, so you still have at least four hours left, and it’ll be pitch black and way too dangerous to keep moving long before then.
So, when you reach the next cabin, you decide to call it a day.
But as you approach the unassuming little wooden structure, you can see faint lights through the one small window in the door.
There’s no electricity out here, so it’s not like someone could’ve accidentally left the lights on when they left, unless a hiker forgot to blow out a candle, which seems unlikely. Even the rookies on this trail know better than to jeopardize their own or someone else’s chances of survival by burning down a cabin.
So, in conclusion, there’s another hiker here, and you haven’t seen a soul along the trails so you have no idea who this person might be. But you also can’t keep going to the next one, because it’s more than an hour’s walk away.
Suddenly your conversation with George pops up in your head again, and you find yourself weighing the risk of sleeping in a cabin with a stranger, compared to the risk of walking in the pouring rain in complete darkness on a trail you’re not really familiar with.
“Shit…” you mutter to yourself, before slowly approaching the cabin.
You knock on the door, since it seems rude to just walk in, even though whoever’s occupying the tiny house doesn’t have any more of a claim to it than you do.
It takes a few seconds, during which you don’t hear anything at all from inside, until the door swings inward and a tall man comes into view before you.
He’s wearing wool underclothing, the figure-hugging kind designed to keep people warm and dry closest to the skin to prevent hypothermia, so he’s probably not a rookie.
“Hi,” you half-shout over the thunder of the rain, thinking you probably look like a drenched cat, while this guy looks more like a movie star than anyone you’ve ever met.
“Hi. Come on in,” he offers with a smile, and you only hesitate for a second because this man’s smile is as disarming as a cat’s purr.
“Thank you.”
Once inside you take off your pack and then get started on your soaked outer layer of clothing, while he politely closes the door for you and then moves over to the stove where he’s apparently in the middle of boiling some water.
“That’s some monsoon level rain,” he chats while he works. “How long have you been out there?”
“Yeah. Uh, since 7:30 this morning. I could tell from the peak that it was gonna come in fast, so I tried to keep up the pace, but the trail was still wet from the morning drizzle.”
“I came from the south trail and there was a lot of fog down there this morning, so I decided to wait and get a later start, but then I got stuck in this instead. It wasn’t on any of the forecasts, as far as I know.”
“No, it wasn’t. I chose this week specifically because the worst of the autumn rains have hit two weeks later for the past five years,” you share, since he’s being very kind and keeping his eyes on what he’s doing while you strip down to your underwear and then put on a dry set of underclothes, almost identical to his.
“Same. I’ve been coming here around this time every year for almost a decade now.”
“If you came from the south and you decided to stop here you must be doing the circle trail, right?” you ask, curious now that you’ve begun to feel comfortable around him.
There are three trails that lead from the bottom to the top of the mountain from three different directions, each one difficult in its own way, from steepness, to long stretches where the trail is impossible to see, to marshlands and tricky seas of rounded boulders that like to shift under your feet.
But the circle trail takes you along all of them while also bringing you around the entire base of the mountain. It’s the hardest one and it takes a minimum of three days to complete.
“That’s right. Is this your first time here?” he wonders while you take your sleeping bag out of your pack and use it as a cushion when you take a seat closer to the stove, facing him.
“Second, but I love this mountain.”
“You’re not a rookie, though,” he observes. “You’ve got all the right gear. I noticed the bear spray on your shoulder strap, and the stiletto on the other one.”
“Honestly, I carry those mostly in case I need to protect myself from people,” you admit, to which he smiles again.
“I figured. And you’re right to do so.
I know you don’t really have any reason to believe me, but I promise you won’t get any trouble from me.”
You just nod in return, and he refocuses on the stove, where his water is now steaming hot, so he pours it into a thermos and then reaches for his wood-carved cup and what looks like a packet of dehydrated soup.
“You want one?” he asks when he sees you looking at the cup.
Initially, you’re about to decline because you have your own emergency food with you and he clearly has a long way to go before he’s leaving the mountain, so you should let him keep his nutrition.
But you don’t have anything you can heat up with you, except for plain water, and while you’re not exactly cold, the prospect of warm soup after a long day of walking sounds too good to pass up.
“Do you have enough to spare?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m ex-military, I know how to stay alive even if I run out of food,” he offers, and then just hands you a packet. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
You give him your name after thanking him for the soup, but while you dig out your own cup, you decide to let your growing curiosity take over.
“So, what’s a former military man with good manners doing all alone in the wilderness on a random Thursday afternoon?”
“That’s possibly the most subtle way anyone’s ever asked me if I’m single,” he chuckles, and the humour brings a playful glimmer to his eyes.
“Don’t forget the subtle hint to unemployment as well,” you smile in return while stirring the soup, and a warm laughter rocks him back a little where he sits.
“That’s right. You’re good, I like it.
Well, I’m actually really crap at taking vacations, so my boss has made it a tradition to kick me out of the office around this time of year. And since I don’t know how to exist without a purpose, I spend that time out here, which should tell you everything you might wanna know about my relationship status, reminding myself how big the world is and how easily it can crush me.”
“Wow, you’re just a big bag of sunshine, aren’t you…” You say it with a smile, but the ironic tone is unmistakeable. Still, he just chuckles again.
“Alright, look, I know it sounds kinda negative, but it’s really the opposite. I’ve been in wars, seen people’s lives be destroyed by hurricanes, pulled animals out of mudslides, dug skiers out of avalanches. I’ve seen survival where it should’ve been impossible, so when I come out here, it reminds me that no matter how bad a situation I might find myself in, there’s always hope.
Knowing I’m small and fragile doesn’t make me feel any less alive. It makes me feel like every step is a victory.”
Having no words to offer in return to something so unexpectedly profound, you end up just staring at him, suddenly wanting to know absolutely everything about this man.
“And the good manners I got from my mother,” he finishes with a wink, making you laugh.
Thursday 22:19 PM
You spent the entire evening talking and getting to know each other, but eventually your curiosity gave way to fatigue, forcing you to accept that no matter how interesting this man is, you’ll have to part ways in the morning, so you might as well get some rest.
Learning that he’s an FBI-agent was a bit of a shock, since he looks like he belongs in Hollywood, but it’s done nothing to dull your attraction to him. And you are attracted to him. Way too much for someone you just met.
The rain is still hammering the metal roof and the fire crackles in the stove as you try and create a comfortable sleeping place with nothing but the blankets as mattrasses on the wood floor, although the padding of your respective sleeping bags helps a bit.
“I love the sound of the rain,” he quietly ponders after you’ve both settled in.
“It’s like it harmonizes with the background noise of your mind and creates a melody only you can hear,” you chime in, and hear him turn his head towards you.
You’re both on your backs right next to each other, so you turn your head as well, meeting his brown eyes, turned black by the darkness of the cabin now that you’re no longer by the fire.
“Exactly,” he whispers, and a peculiar look sneaks into the frame of his features.
Something you can’t name but somehow know in your soul all the same. And the longer you meet his gaze, the clearer that expression becomes.
Until you realize that his response isn’t just referring to the rain, but to the harmony that each of you have instilled in the other, by just existing in the same space.
He’s telling you that he feels it too. How the two of you just… fit.
So, with a nervous inhale setting a thousand butterflies lose in your stomach, you roll onto your side and gently press your lips to his, silently begging him not to pull away, not to reject you when you’re taking a chance. Pouring all your hope into the perception you’ve created of him as a good man. A man worth that chance, even if just for tonight.
He meets your lips with soft desire, the most welcoming sensation anyone can offer, and you let all guards and barriers fall.
The sleeping bags are rearranged to accommodate you both together, then the clothes are discarded without hurry or fanfare, because this isn’t two people merely wanting a release, but seeking a connection.
He settles down on top of you and you pull his sleeping bag over his back, then you lay there just looking at each other while your bodies warm one another.
“Of all the things I imagined might happen on this hike, this wasn’t one of them,” he whispers, and at first you think he’s just being sweet, but then he continues. “Which is my way of saying I don’t have any protection with me.”
Surprised that he’s even thought of it, you need a few seconds to decide how to respond.
“Same. But I still want to.”
He nods in agreement, letting his fingers trace your jawline.
“Would you trust me to pull out?”
You hold his gaze for a long moment, seeking any kind of crack in his gentlemanly character, and when you can’t find it, you have your answer.
“Yes.”
The next kiss is deeper, filled with craving and lust but still so warm and harmonious. You’re both still seeking connection, figuring out how to fit together entirely without tension, and it isn’t until you feel yourselves relax into one another that he finally unites your bodies.
He pushes himself inside and you both seem to enter a new dimension in your shared pleasure, somehow knowing what the other feels without words.
You settle your hands on his lower back, letting one slowly slide up to the nape of his neck, making him shiver, and he scrapes his teeth against your shoulder in return, generating the same response in you.
His hips are firm but rolling with each push to give you more friction, and every time you shift yourself to alter the angle between you, he follows your lead, letting you show him what you need.
And when the pressure builds and the need takes over, you’re already so attuned to each other that it happens organically.
But then, just as you’re about to fall into the rapture, you feel him tense. Holding back, to let you come before he has to pull out, but in doing so, he breaks the harmony.
“Don’t,” you whisper through strained breaths, tightening your arms around him. “Stay.”
He doesn’t question it, he wants it just as much as you do, and the moment the tension eases, you’re suddenly falling together, and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced before this moment.
Every time his muscles curl, your body responds, and vice versa, until you’re both so drained that your bodies won’t move at all anymore.
Friday 06:11 AM
The dusky light of dawn wakes you, and Marcus is the first thing you think of.
He’s still there, having only just managed to lift his torso off you before he passed out last night, but his arm is resting heavy over your stomach and his legs are still entwined with yours while he sleeps soundly, nestled against you.
For a few minutes you just watch him sleep, wishing that time would stop today and let you stay here with him, but then he stirs.
You don’t say anything even when he eventually opens his eyes and smiles at you. You just keep looking at him, and he quickly figures out why.
“You’ll see me again, honey,” he promises in a husky morning voice, and you want to believe him.
But life has taught you not to expect you’ll get to keep the amazing. It always seems to come and go according to someone else’s will, never listening to what you want or need.
So, you close your eyes and try to burn the image of him into the backs of your eyelids.
A kiss graces your lips then, and in his touch the promise seems so real.
“We should pack up,” you hear yourself say, even though that’s the opposite of what you want.
He lets go of you when you sit up, and a part of you wishes he’d forced you to stay with him, even though that would only prolong the inevitable.
You each pack in silence. There’s no fire this morning, because then one of you would have to stay until it burned out, which means that breakfast is simple and quick.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says when you’re pulling your pack on, “I’ve done it myself so many times, trying to cut ties before I get hurt, but I’m not gonna let you do it to me.”
“Marcus… I want to keep you,” you admit once you’ve clipped all the straps into place. “I didn’t even know it was possible to feel this connected to another person, of course I wanna see you again.”
“Then why are you trying to say goodbye to me?” he understandably wonders, and you sigh deeply, looking for the words.
“Because connection is hard. Relationships are hard. And I’m soft…
You look at me and you see this strong woman out here all alone, ready to take on anything, but underneath all that, I’m just scared,” you explain, somehow feeling smaller while you watch him quietly absorb and consider his reply.
“We all are.” He says it so simply, and yet the words sound so heavy.
Resting your hands against your hips, you lower your gaze to the floor and try to silence your fears for a minute.
“And what if we work?” you question, watching him as he tries to follow your logic.
You can see the moment it clicks. The moment he realizes what you’re really saying.
Because in the end, it isn’t this moment that’s going to solve anything.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“But that’s the thing… I finally have my life figured out. I finally have the house I’ve scraped and saved for my entire life, the job that makes me happy and lets me live the way I want to, the true friends that I can depend on for anyth-…“
“And yet, you’re still alone,” he gently cuts you off, and the look in his eyes is so sad it makes your chest tighten. “Because you’re scared. Just like I am.”
You step out of the cabin without another word, setting a careful pace on the slippery track, still saturated with water even though the rain has stopped, and the sun is about to rise to a mostly clear sky.
He doesn’t have your number, nor do you have his. Walking away means ending this relationship before it’s even begun, but somehow it feels like the easier path. Still, every step taking you closer to your car makes your feet feel a little bit heavier.
The woods deepen, growing wilder with the lower altitude, until you need to keep your arms up in front of your face to keep the branches from scratching it.
You emerge from the path onto the road exactly where you’d entered it yesterday, and your car is right there waiting for you.
The drive home feels longer than any journey you’ve ever taken.
Friday 10:32 AM
Your house somehow looks lonelier than before. Even the flowers in your garden seem to have lost some of their colour and the chirping of the birds sounds hollow to your ears.
And all this is because of him. Because for a few hours, you experienced true harmony, and now nothing could ever compare.
Part of you regrets ever meeting him, and another part regrets walking away. But it’s done.
The rest of the day is endless and too short at the same time, spent in a haze of confusion while you do the laundry, cook, clean up the kitchen, shower and try to watch something on TV. All while Marcus fills every corner of your mind, every second that passes.
When you eventually fall asleep it’s with an anxious restlessness which has you twisting and turning, waking up every thirty minutes, and dreaming strange things in between.
Monday 07:46 AM
“I thought you said the hikes make you feel better…”
“Huh?”
“When I asked you why you’d risk your life to walk up a mountain you said it was because it makes you feel better,” George reminds you at the breakfast break, but you still have no idea why he’s bringing this up.
“Yeah. What’s your point?”
“Only that you look more like you’re feeling worse.”
“Thanks a lot…” you scoff. “It wasn’t a great hike.”
“How come?”
“It rained most of the time.”
“And here I thought all you outdoorsy people didn’t mind rain.”
“It just wasn’t a great hike, okay,” you snap at him, not at all interested in talking about this with him, or anyone else, for that matter.
“Alright, I’m sorry I asked.”
He’s quiet for a while after that, scrolling on his phone like everyone else in the break room. But just a few minutes before your break is over, he suddenly looks up from his device with a very puzzled wrinkle between his brows.
“Uh, who the fuck is Marcus Pike?”
You literally drop your own phone onto the table and just stare at your colleague with absolute shock. And when he doesn’t get a response, he glances back down at his phone and then looks back up at you, even more confused.
“Why is he asking about you? How the hell does he know we work together? How did he even get my number? Who is this guy?”
“He’s… an FBI-agent,” you finally reply, and George turns a shade paler.
“Why does an FBI-agent wanna talk to you? And why would he go through me?”
“My number isn’t that easy to find, I guess he decided to take a shortcut.”
“Again, why?”
You’re not remotely interested in sharing the details of your meeting with Marcus with your coworker, so you counter with a question instead.
“What exactly is he asking?”
“He just texted me asking if I could pass the phone to the woman sitting across from me. Wait… How does he know where in the room we are?”
“Because your idea of phone security is sharing your data with absolutely everyone,” you admonish, then snatch the device from his hand.
The moment you see the message, a call comes through from an unknown number, so you take a breath and then pick up the call before you can change your mind.
“Hi,” he answers, identical to the way he did when he answered the door at the cabin, and it immediately makes a lovely warmth spread through you.
“Agent Pike. This is unexpected,” you reply, highly aware that you’re in a room full of people who are all listening.
“You’re surprisingly hard to find, honey. But once I figured out where you work, your address was a piece of cake,” he confidently announces, and there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his confidence is about more than a victory over a technical limitation.
“Where are you, right now?”
There’s a soft laughter on the other end, and right then, you can hear birds in the background. The same chirps you always hear from the trees around your house.
Nice! I love Marcus pike and I’ve missed you and your stories! Wonderful job and I will definitely be reading more of your stories again, new and old. Btw, I read your lonely castle series a while ago, LOVE IT SO MUCH!! Just wanted to say that and that this is lovely, not my usual jam but really good.
Why is this happening to me? I have school and things to do and I need to study and instead I’m looking at this and dying?!?!!?! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!? THANK YOU!!!! I LOVE YOU AND I HATE YOU!!!!!
Hi! If you’re taking requests then can I please ask for you to write a Joel x Reader one where Joel and Reader have been dating for a long time and are now finally happily living in Jackson (with Ellie), and it was all going fine until Joel’s PTSD is randomly triggered and he accidentally hurts Reader when she touches him as a way to check on him and offer him comfort like she normally would do during one of his panic attacks?
Like maybe they’re at a family bbq (with Tommy and his wife) or the bar or even at their own home when something — whether it be a certain sound, smell, word, etc. — triggers him to the point where he is totally out of it and gets startled when Reader touches him, causing him to slightly hurt her by grabbing her wrist or whatnot because he mistakes her as a threat. Once he snaps out of his PTSD episode, he immediately feels horrible and regretful despite how much Reader tries to assure him that she’s okay and it wasn’t his fault. But it’s not enough; he starts to distant himself out of fear that he’d potentially hurt her again and out of fear that he’d finally done something enough that’ll make her want to leave him. Reader catches on though and then does her best to make Joel realize that she doesn’t blame him for what happened, she’ll always be there for him — through the good, bad, and ugly —, and she’ll never leave him because he’s the love of her life. Just basically a whole lot of hurt and comfort (with a hint of angst and fluff) lol.
(Ah, I’m so sorry that this ended up being such an annoyingly long and detailed ask! I was struggling with how to express my idea in words, and just ended up rambling… I hope it’s okay! 😭 Please feel free to change anything — you’re incredibly talented, so I completely trust your wherever your creativity takes you if you choose to write this).
Anyway! Thank you so much for writing and sharing all of your stories — your writing is truly outstanding and really just your account as a whole is one of my absolute favorites! 🫶🏻
AN | Please, this is so cute but sad, but there’s also a happy ending 💕
Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings | Language, Mentions of PTSD
Word Count | 2.8k
Masterlist | Joel, Main
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Think you made enough food?” you felt Joel’s arm at the small of your back as you set up the desserts you had made. You turned to him and pretended to huff before playfully swatting his hand away, “I think you’ve got enough for the whole of Jackson.”
“I never hear you complaining, Joel Miller,” you grabbed one of the chocolate cookies you’d made and took a bite before offering half to him. He playfully bit it out of your hand, causing you to giggle at him, “no manners, Mr. Miller. None at all!”
“I,” he mumbled through a mouth of cookie, “am a perfect gentleman, darlin’.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” you uncovered the rest of the baked goods you’d prepared and marveled at your handiwork, “this is a family barbeque but you know that basically means everyone will be here since we’re all basically one big, weird family. Hence, I made plenty.”
“What’s a smart woman like you doing with a fool like me?” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in a for a sweet kiss, practically beaming when you pulled back, “baby.”
"Don't baby me, Miller," you planted a playful, sloppy kiss on his cheek, "go on and help your brother with the barbecue so we can actually eat."
"Fine," he clutched at his heart as he scoffed before making his way over to Tommy. You couldn't help but watch him go, shaking your head in amusement. This man.
-
The world might have been different from how it once used to be, but one of the things that never changed was the love of fireworks. Jimmy and Sandra had somehow managed to come up with a cache of them on one of their last trips out of Jackson.
Naturally, the brilliant idea that they could be used at the barbecue was proposed and it wasn't hard to convince the younger Miller brother to go ahead with it. Under controlled circumstances, it would all be fine.
And realistically it should have been fine…you had no reason to think that it wouldn't be. But life didn't seem to agree with you and had a completely different idea.
You were standing with Ellie, your arms wrapped around her shoulders and you hugged onto her, waiting to see all the pretty fireworks. It hit you then and there - Ellie had never seen fireworks before! The idea in and of itself seemed wild.
Her entire face was lit up from her big smile and the sparkling lights as the two of you watched the ones Tommy had set off.
"Pretty cool, huh?" You pressed a kiss to the top of her head before realizing that something, or someone rather, was missing, "I'm going to go and find Joel. I'll be right back!"
Ellie was so distracted that she didn't even take much note of you leaving. It only took a few minutes before you found him near the back of the house, picking at something from one of the tables, or so you thought anyway.
"Babe?" You weren't sure if he could hear you over the clambering of the crowd and the fireworks; he didn't turn around. You walked closer to him and reached for him, "Joel?"
And then it happened all at once; he turned around and grabbed your wrist, twisting your arm at a painful angle and causing you to cry out. His eyes were dark but there was nothing there, just an empty hollowness.
“Joel!” you tried to pull out of his tight grip but that only made things more painful. He wasn’t letting go and you didn’t know what to do - he clearly wasn’t him right now. You struggled with him for a few moments before you heard someone running up and yelling at Joel to stop.
You looked up and felt a wave of relief wash over your body when you realized it was Tommy. If there was anyone that could help in this situation, it would be him. Tommy managed to pry Joel’s hands off you, the sheer force causing you to stumble backwards and fall onto your butt.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Tommy’s hands were on Joel’s shoulders as he tried to get him to snap out of his trance. You’d never seen him like this and it was as scary as it was heartbreaking. You didn’t fully know what was going on but you had a fairly good guess, “Joel, this isn’t real, it’s just a memory. You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re at home with us.”
That seemed to quell him even if it was the slightest bit and he shook his head, almost as if he was trying to shake whatever was going on off.
“Breathe in and out slowly,” Tommy had a calming effect on your boyfriend who seemed to relax, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly, “look around, we’re at home, we’re safe.”
Tommy took a few steps back and looked at you, an apologetic expression on his face. You swallowed the lump in your throat and as he held out his hand to help you to up and to your feet. Once you were back up, you looked over at Joel to find looking between you and Tommy,
“Joel?” your voice almost cracked as you subconsciously at your sore wrist and sore. His eyes darted to the sore area that was already red and starting to swell.
His jaw clenched as he let out a long sigh, hanging in head in exhaustion and shame, “I’m…I’m okay.”
Tommy hesitated for a moment before gently wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “let me take you and Ellie home.”
“But-”
“Please?” he asked softly, offering you a pointed look. You realized what he was trying to convey and nodded before letting him lead you away, “I’ll be right back, big brother.”
You cast one last look at Joel but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your heart broke a little bit, but you kept repeating to yourself that everything would be alright. This was just a small bump in the road.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
When you woke up the following morning, you found yourself alone in bed, Joel’s side still made up and cold. He hadn’t come to bed. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes before putting on your slippers and padding down the hall. You poked your head into Ellie’s bedroom and found the girl fast asleep still; at least she was getting some rest.
You decided to start a pot of coffee and made your way to the kitchen; when you stepped inside you found him sitting at the table and staring at his hands. You relaxed ever so slightly when you realized he was home…but something was definitely still going on.
“Joel?” you’d been so quiet that he hadn’t heard you come in, but his head snapped up and looked at you, “h-hey, my love.”
He inhaled shakily before looking you over, his entire face turning into a grimace at the angry haze of bruising on your arm. You realized what he was looking at and moved to tuck your arm behind your back.
“I hurt you,” was all he managed to see before you could see that his eyes were glistening with tears. You took a few steps closer and shook your head fervently, but he recoiled from you, “I did that to you.”
“No,” the fact that he tried to shy away from you didn’t stop you from getting closer, “you didn’t hurt me - that wasn’t you.”
“It was me,” gingerly, he reached for your hand and pulled out your arm so he could look it over properly. In between the marks you could see the fingerprints etched in there, “if it wasn’t me, who did this to you?”
“Baby-”
“I hurt you,” he repeated, “all because I couldn’t handle the sound of some fuckin’ fireworks.”
“Stop,” you crouched down so you could look up at him since he refused to do so, “please. It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t blame you for this. No one should - it was an unfortunate thing but it’s over and done with this and this bruising will heal and go away. But I am never going away, and if you think this one little thing will do that, then you don’t know me very well.”
“I had no control over what happened,” he was willing to concede at least that much, “and that’s what scares me. What if it happens again? What if it gets even worse the next time? What if-”
“Joel,” you reached up and put your hand on his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek, “you can’t think like that. It’s not healthy….just because it happened once doesn’t mean it will happen again. And, if for some reason it does, we’ll take it one day at a time.”
He reached up and gently removed your hand from his face, causing you to frown deeply, “I can’t trust myself around you. If anything ever happened to you or to Ellie, I would never forgive myself.”
“Joel-”
“I need some air,” he stood up and gently brushed past you, walking outside and into the backyard. You remained rooted in your spot, but sighed heavily, blinking back the tears that threatened to well up.
Things would be okay, you knew they would…they had to be. Right? Right.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Joel was still with you, but you could slowly see him growing more and more distant as the days wore on. Despite your reassurances that you were okay, and you still loved him more than anything, it was like he became a shell of his former self. And it wasn’t just with you, which was a bit of reassurance that it wasn’t just you, but it was with everyone. You wished there was something you could do that would easily get him back to his former self. Just as your arm grew better and less bruised, he continued to pull away and create a barrier between the two of you.
One late night, as you laid in bed reading due to your inability to sleep, Joel came in and slowly closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. When he cleared his throat, you looked up and saw a serious expression on his face. He looked just as tired as you felt.
“What’s up?” you asked softly as you closed your book and gently set it to the side. He remained silent for a few moments, clearly searching for the right words. Once a few moments of tense silence passed he finally looked at you, "hmm?"
"I've been thinkin'," he shoved his hands into pockets. You sat up straighter and tried to push down the nagging feeling that was already forming in your tummy, "and I think it's best…I should go."
"Go?" You parroted, not fully understanding what he was talking about, "what do you mean, Joel?"
"Go," he waved his hand around, "I don't think I should be here with you and Ellie anymore."
"Oh. Oh," you frowned at him, "so you're just going to up and leave."
"Baby, I - it's not like that," he insisted softly but you weren't just about to let him go. Not that easily, "this is what's best."
You scoffed at him, not even bothering to hide your disappointment, "that's what's best, huh? For who? For who is it best? You?"
"Best for everyone."
"Well that is just a straight up lie," you got out of bed and walked over to him, crossing your arms over his chest, "its not what's best for me at all. Or Ellie."
"Baby," it was softer and much more gentle, and almost resigned in a way.
"Listen - this time I need you to listen to me," you stood in front of him, firm and tall, "this has been going on for weeks now and I'm not just going to let you keep continuing on like this."
"I just…I wouldn't forgive myself if I ever did anything to you or hurt you in any way possible," you could see his Adam's apple bobbing, "its already hard enough knowing that I did."
"Look," you pulled back the sleeve of your sweater and held up your arm. When he refused to acknowledge what you were doing you kept a cool and even tone, "look at me."
Reluctantly he allowed himself to look at your arm, at the place he had once hurt you. Your arm was back to normal and no remnants of what had once happened. He wrapped his fingers gingerly around your wrist as he tenderly turned your arm to get a better look at it.
"There's nothing there," you pointed out softly, "and it doesn't hurt at all. I don't think about it anymore and I don't…I never blamed you and I was never scared of you."
"You're saying that now…but what if it happens again?" You could see the genuine concern in his eyes as you reached up and gently touched his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, something he'd denied himself for what seemed like an eternity by that point.
"If it does, we'll figure it out," you meant every word you said and you hoped he knew that, "Joel, life isn't always easy and it's not always fun. But just because one hard or bad thing happened doesn't mean I'm just going to walk away. That's not who we are and that's not what we do. I'm with you forever and nothing is going to change that."
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, in search of the right thing to say. Instead of verbalizing all that he was feeling, he bowed his head and pressed his forehead to yours.
"If it was me that happened to and I hurt you, would you want me to just leave?" You asked softly and you could feel the shake of his head.
"Of course not," he insisted, "it wouldn't…it would have been an accident."
"Exactly," you whispered, "how do you think I feel about you? I'm not going to let you just go. Not without a fight."
"Really?"
"Of course," you took his face in your hands and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, "I love you, silly man. Nothing is ever going to change that. We'll be together through the good and the bad, through thick and thin. All of it."
And that was what seemed to break him. You could hear him sniffle lightly before a few tears rolled down his cheek. You gently brushed them away before making a small sound of reassurance at him.
"I love you, baby," he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his warm, soft body. You felt him relax into your touch as you looped your arms around his shoulders and tucked yourself into his body as best as possible. You could tell that he needed this just as much as you did; he was practically melting into your body, "so much."
"I love you," it was a sentiment whispered in his ear so only he could hear it,"so, so much my love."
"When I hurt you I just…I got so worried."
"It's understandable," you insisted, "anyone would feel that way. But I want you to also understand that I love you and that nothing is ever going to change that."
"I know," a huff of laughter escaped him, "I've always known that."
"Good," you gave him the beaming smile that he still managed to fall in with over and over again, "because I've always known that you love me too. I can't promise everything, but I can promise you one thing."
"What's that?" He trailed his fingers against your jaw.
"That we'll always be together," you pressed kisses to both of his cheeks, "and we'll get through anything. And that I will always love you."
"That's three things," he teased, a glimpse of his true self coming though.
"Joel!" You were laughing though and he loved that sound, "get the sentiment though."
One of my favorite Joel Miller stories ever. This doesn’t show up in the master list of Joel Miller on your page though which is kind of strange, but either way, I freaking love this one. I’m a sucker for Joel getting down on himself and this takes a lot of boxes for me. If you’re still taking requests for Pedro Pascal characters, do let me know because I’ve got a lot of ideas that are formed and ones that haven’t even formed yet in my brain that I’d love to pick your brain about. But either way, this story is freaking amazing and please keep up with the writing on the Pedro characters.
Do you still take requests? And that being said do you take requests for Pedrito himself or only his characters? And would you write about Javier Peña or Joel Miller? 😭🤧🤩😍
Still back to things and I do really want to write still, but can't make any promises on how long it will take. But I'll gladly take requests 😉
As for your questions. I won't write for Pedro, but I'm pretty comfy with some of his characters. I'll love to write some Joel. Javier I haven't tried yet either, but hey. I could try 😄
I'm glad to back and to talk to yoh again, my friend 🩷🩷
Duly noted. I’ve read a few of your stories and I really really like them. I will definitely be requesting some Pedro character request for you. My imagination is wild though, so if any requests aren’t up your alley, just let me know.
Max Phillips and Dave York hatefucking. Or really anyone hatefucking Max, lmao!
As I always say, you hold the nuclear codes to my pussy. The immediate thots I had with this one
Dave likes that he can be as rough as he wants. He can choke Max and slap him and push him down onto the floor with a firm hand between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t have to worry about leaving marks or inflicting lasting damage. Max takes it all in stride. The sick fuck likes it when Dave gets unhinged. He goads him into it, frankly.
Max gets under Dave’s skin with infuriating accuracy. He knows Dave holds disgust for the unnatural creature that Max is. He also knows it turns him on to be fucking somebody - or something - he knows he shouldn’t. It was always so amusing that a human with such a morally ambiguous at best life felt entitled to judge others for their own paths, and Max found a way to needle him about it nearly every time they met up.
It didn’t have to be complicated, either. Dave shoving Max onto the bed and spitting at him don’t fucking talk and to just let him take what he wanted. Max arching and presenting himself with suspicious cooperation. Dave is too pent up to care. He just wants to work out some aggression and tension without having to really sit with the truth of just where he derives that pleasure from. He sets a punishing rhythm and is on the edge of release, and Max chooses that time precisely to look over his shoulder and make eye contact. A sadistic smirk blooms and fangs are bared, and Dave comes right then and there, looking into the face of the monster he detests and craves.
There’s no pretense about the arrangement. There’s no tenderness. There’s no expectations of a relationship.
The closest they’ve ever come to true intimacy was when Dave’s lust-addled brain prompted him to ask Max to bite him just this once. Max was so overcome with his own want that he didn’t even make a snide remark about it. He hissed in pained pleasure at the thought of it and was on Dave’s neck before he could talk himself out of it. It was a euphoric release for them both with groans and whines spilling out.
Once the high had worn off, Dave was disgusted with himself for giving into the darkest depths of his want. He should have more control and respect for himself than that.
And Max at first felt a smug victory for having driven Dave so mad with desire that he’d actually asked Max to bite him. But that quickly faded into self-contempt when he considered that he rarely engaged in feeding during a sexual encounter unless it was with an equal or a long kept familiar. It blurred the line of feeding to survive and feeding as an act of giving and receiving pleasure. He never wanted to share something like that with Dave.
The next time they fuck, Dave shoves Max’s face into the pillows so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye, and Max is grateful for the barrier.
I am once again asking for help to find a fic where joel and ellie are in jackson and joel gets a migraine and something about getting skunk spray and tommy having to hoze him down, I cannot find it for the life of me.
Hey guys, this post was made a while back by my good friend @tlou-obsessed and I really wanna help her find this story. So if any of you have any ideas on what the name of the story is, that would be great. We both would love to find the story again and check it out. Also if you have any other good recommendations for some Joel and Ellie stories involving Joel whump, let me know in the comments. Thanks everybody!!
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
origamiaround
prguitarman
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gummygunk
