Bambi

|| 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 ||

[dear-aubade]

Announcement: I will no longer be writing any smut! Please keep you inbox requests PG-13 ♡

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#bambi writes (original writing), #bambi babbles (inbox messages), #bambi reblogs (reblogs)

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All matching headers are made by me—please do not steal!

[dear-aubade]

just binged finding her edge… methinks that tumblr needs some more brayden elliot fics

[dear-aubade]

OMG UR BACK

I am yes!! Excited to be writing again, I'm sorry for going mia 😭

[gayeddies]

i miss fandom before ai. there was no risk of accidentally reading an ai generated fic based on stolen material. i don't want to stumble upon ai generated videos my ship kissing and see comments like "this is what ai should be used for". i don't want to see gifs of those ai generated kisses when i browse for fun reactions gifs of them. i don't want ai generated photos and definitely not ai generated art. i don't want ai to be part of my community and i definitely don't want to hear anything about anyone using it because they "can't write" or they "can't draw".

there's no valid excuse for anyone to use ai. use your imagination.

[dear-aubade]

WAITTTTTTT babe are you writing again???

I am!! I know I've been MIA for a bit, so I'm sorry about that. Unfortunately my Joel Miller era has ended, but I have a tonnnn of written content for other characters I need to edit and then I can post it all! Debating what character to start with first.

[dear-aubade]

Could you make a joel x reader smut where reader is picked up by Joel & Tess on a hunt one day and has been staying with them. After a while Tess notices Joel’s attraction to reader and gets jealous. Maybe reader & Tess get into a fight or Joel & Tess but either way it ends with reader underneath Joel😩Bonus points for age gap/innocence and dom!Joel

Heyyyy! Thank you so much for this ask, and I’m so sorry for the delay! Things have been crazy lately, I’m trying to get back into writing little by little :) Because this was getting a little long, I decided to turn it into two parts ♡ enjoy!

Useless Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x Innocent!Reader

Summary: You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue. You still didn’t know why they kept you around.

You weren’t supposed to be alive. Death had tried to come for you a long time ago, but unfortunately his plans were thwarted by a man named Joel Miller.

You don’t really ever remember having a home before now—or, not a traditional one, at least. The group you had previously been a part of was nomadic so you’d always been moving around and never stayed in the same place for more than a few weeks. You guys hadn’t had a specific destination in mind, you’d just sort of…wandered. It was pointless, and definitely stupid, but moving felt better than doing nothing. Part of you had still longed for some sort of stability, for some sort of permanence. At night you dreamt of a world where you’d have a garden with strawberries and carrots and a peach tree. Your house would have a wraparound porch. You’d paint your window shutters blue.

But that wasn’t possible in the world you lived in, so you always pushed those thoughts away and kept going.

Until that day.

Your group of wanderers had been staying in the abandoned city for about a week when the raiders came. It had been a quick job in the middle of the night—they’d killed half of your numbers before you’d even been fully awake. When lucidity had breached the wall of sleep in your mind, you grabbed your backpack and ran like a coward.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been shot until you’d gotten far enough away where you felt like you could breathe again and the adrenaline wore off. The bullet had lodged itself in your upper arm and within days it was a sweltering mess of infection. You’d taken refuge at the top of an old hotel and waited to die.

You didn’t really remember what had happened next, which was probably because of the delirium brought on by the fever. All you knew was that one day you were slouched against the peeling wallpaper, half-conscious, when you heard the voices. They’d been hushed, urgent, whispering back and forth to one another, and a short time later you were being lifted. Your head lolled against the man’s solid chest and you were out.

You’d woken up in Joel’s apartment a few days later, bullet wound cleaned and stitched up.

That had been two years ago.

“No.”

“Awe, please?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But I can help!”

“By doing what? Batting your lashes at any Clickers we come across?”

You huffed as you stared at Tess across the counter of your guys’ tiny kitchen. “I know how to use a gun.”

“Not while aiming at a moving target, you don’t.” Tess’ face was stonelike, lined with crevices around her eyes like carvings in marble. “You’re not coming. This supply run is a two-person job.”

“But—”

A deep voice from the corner of the room muttered your name. You turned to meet Joel’s gaze—he was sitting at the small wooden dining table staring at his hands, all callused from the hard labor required to survive in this new world. He looked up and the message in his eyes was clear: Leave it alone.

You looked down obediently and didn’t further the now-finished argument. You weren’t sure it had even really started.

When Joel and Tess allowed you to stay with them, you’d been surprised. You had expected for them to hand you over to FEDRA or kick you out after you were healed, or something of the sort. You didn’t expect for them to keep you around.

You still didn’t know why they did. You were useless compared to what Joel and Tess could do. You were never allowed to sneak out of the QZ with them on supply runs, or even go with them to any dropoffs that were happening in the QZ. You argued a few times with Tess about it, but the moment Joel spoke up and told you you weren’t going, you’d drop the issue.

That was another thing. Joel. That first week you’d been awake and recovering you had sort of had a permanent starry-eyed look to you and chastised yourself each time you got nervous around him, which was always. You’d only speak when spoken to, and when you did it was in a soft voice that didn’t match your roughed-up appearance. You’d thought that it would go away, that the only reason you were like this was because he’d been the one who had saved you. You’d thought the silly crush would have worn off eventually.

Oh how very wrong you were.

You were better about it now—you’d gotten more used to things. You didn’t talk quite so quiet anymore. You didn’t jump a little everytime he entered the room.

But your feelings lingered. There was still something that changed in you when you were around Joel. You couldn’t help but want to do what he said even if you disagreed with him sometimes. You weren’t sure why. Something about him appealed to a smaller, more primal part of your brain, filling you with need. You couldn’t count the number of times you had been in bed late at night with your knuckle in your mouth as you pleasured yourself thinking about him.

It wasn’t just a physical need, though. Sure, he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair, his thick biceps, his strong jaw. You remembered how he’d carried you out of the city in his unyielding arms with you resting against his solid torso. He’d lifted you so easily. A part of you ached to be held again, to be cared for.

You tried not to think about things like that. You knew he saw you as nothing more than a stupid, naive little girl.

“Glad we got that settled. Again,” Tess was saying, voice dripping with annoyance. She slid her gun into the waistband of her pants and looked at Joel. “Ready?”

He nodded and stood, then looked at you. “We’ll be back in about two days. Cover for us. Stay out of trouble. Don’t sign up for any labor jobs while we’re gone—”

“—and don’t be stupid,” you finished, knowing Joel’s little spiel by heart now. “I know.”

A muscle in his jaw feathered. “And make sure you eat while we’re gone.”

“Yes sir.”

You’d meant it as a joke—maybe even a bitter one—but then something flickered in Joel’s eyes and he stood there for a moment before nodding and heading out the door. Tess gave you a sideways glance before following. She shut the door behind her.

And then you were alone.

Your time in solitude wasn’t much different from you you lived when Tess and Joel were there. You organized your meager pantry. You took inventory of your supplies so you know what Joel and Tess took and so you could log whatever they brought back. You cleaned the gun Joel hadn’t taken.

The only thing you didn’t do was sign up for any of the jobs FEDRA had listed for people to uptake to earn ration cards. Joel didn’t like you doing things like that when he wasn’t around. Besides, he was always the one who picked for you, who said what you couldn’t and couldn’t do—he mostly had you write your name down for the more boring jobs like helping with the QZ’s main food supply inventory or distribution. You couldn’t remember Joel ever signing you up for any hard labor jobs.

Usually you might have been insulted that your role was essentially a glorified maid, but Joel had claimed your part was necessary. That was enough for you.

Currently you were attempting to slice a half-frozen loaf of bread you’d gotten from today’s ration pickup. FEDRA always froze rations when they could so that the food didn’t go bad as quickly, but usually by the time you were ready to use them they’d already been sitting in the pantry for a few days so they could defrost. However, you were completely out of bread now and you wanted a sandwich for dinner tonight, so you thought you’d try and slice off a couple pieces so they’d unfreeze quicker.

You wondered if you should slice off more so that dinner could be ready for Joel when he got back. And Tess, you quickly added in your mind. You weren’t sure exactly when they were going to return, but maybe it would be nice to have the bread thawed at least a little more by the time—

The knife slipped.

You dropped it with a yelp and it clattered to the floor right as ruby red blood started to bead on your skin where the blade had cut into you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you thought as tears pricked your eyes from the sting of it. You put pressure on it with a spare cloth and ran for the first aid cabinet, but hesitated when you saw the hydrogen peroxide.

You really did not want to deal with the extra pain that would bring right now, so you decided to just clean the cut with water and bandage it. It wasn’t deep enough you’d need stitches, but the knife had gotten you pretty good still.

A sigh escaped your lips. Tess was right. If you couldn’t even cut bread without hurting yourself, how were you ever supposed to be competent enough to use a gun against a Clicker correctly?

“—s half your age, Joel!”

You blinked your eyes open, brow creased in disorientation. Was that Tess’ voice? You yawned and looked out the window of your room to see that it was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn.

“—s not like that.”

Joel’s voice had you wake up a little bit more. You removed the blanket from where it had been twisted around your legs and sat up in bed, now lucid enough to determine that Joel and Tess were out in the living room. When had they gotten back?

“Then tell me what it’s like.” Tess’ voice was like a blade to a whetstone.

Silence.

A scoff, then Tess continued. “Seriously? You’re not even going to try to defend yourself?”

“Can’t defend myself if I’ve done nothing wrong.” Joel’s words were muttered but intense. You could almost picture the muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Fine.” The single word was sharp. “I can’t deal with this anymore, Joel. Come find me when you’re ready to act like an adult.”

The sound of the front door opening and then slamming echoed even in the back room you were in.

You sat there for a few moments but didn’t hear any movement from Joel—not even a sigh or anything—so you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and crossed to peek out into the living room.

Joel was sitting on the couch, legs spread and arms folded as he stared off into space ahead of him, his jaw working ever so slightly. His backpack was on the floor near the couch, though Tess’ wasn’t. She must have taken it with her to…wherever she’d gone.

Your courage waned and you almost turned to head back into the room, but Joel’s head moved and his eyes fell on you, something changing in his expression.

“Hey,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit. “Didn’t think you’d be awake already.”

Caught, you stepped into the room fully and gave a shrug. “I’m a light sleeper.” But then, who wasn’t these days?

Your words caused an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both as you realized what it meant. He knew that you’d heard him and Tess, and you knew he knew.

“Where did Tess go?” Your voice was unsure.

“I don’t know.”

“Is she coming back?”

Joel sighed. “I don’t know. I…” He trailed off as his eyes caught on something near your hip. “What’s that?”

“What’s…?” You followed his gaze to the white bandage on your hand and you quickly hid it behind your back. “Oh it’s nothing, I was just being stupid—“

He stood. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I just…“ You left your sentence unfinished as he walked over to you and lifted your hand delicately in his large one, examining the bandage.

“You’re bleeding.”

You looked down to see a red spot seeping through. “Huh,” you said stupidly.

“Come on.” Without asking he gently took your wrist to pull you along to the kitchen. The tile was cold on your bare feet.

“Hop up on the counter.”

You frowned in confusion. “What are you—”

Joel’s hands landed on your ribcage and then he was lifting you up and back to sit you on the laminate. A gasp of surprise left your lips; that seemed to reach something inside Joel and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “Sorry,” he muttered, turning to open a cabinet near your head and extract the white box with a red cross on it.

“S’fine,” you whispered. You watched as he flipped the lid open and rummaged around.

“You clean it?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you. “With?”

“With water,” you mumbled. “Really, it’s fine. It’s not that—”

Your heart fell as he pulled the brown square bottle out and set it on the counter along with some more bandages. You were about to move to begin tending to your cut, but to your surprise Joel beat you to it. He lifted your wrist and started to peel back the bandage.

He was standing between your slightly-open legs, close enough so that he could work at a good angle. He was close enough where the scent of him invaded your senses and made you dizzy. This was probably the closest you’d ever been to him….ever.

Apart from when he’d carried you, of course, but you’d been half-unconscious at that point so you didn’t count it much.

“‘S gonna sting a bit,” he muttered. The cold press of the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cloth made you gasp. It bubbled and fizzed and bit into your skin, burrowing deep down into the cut.

You tried to blink your tears away discreetly, but one fell and streaked down your cheek. To your surprise, Joel didn’t say anything. All he did was hand a cloth to you without looking up from his work.

You let out a small surprised chuckle. “Thanks. Sorry.” You took the cloth with your free hand and dabbed at your eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” was all Joel said.

Despite what he said, you went on, voice slightly bitter. “Doubt Tess would appreciate seeing me cry over—”

“Don’t listen to what Tess says.” The tone in Joel’s voice signaled that the topic was dropped. He finished bandaging you, then stepped back and turned, headed for his room. “I’m gonna get some rest.”

And there he left you, sitting on the countertop with a newly-mended cut, utterly perplexed.

——

Stay tuned for Part 2!

[dear-aubade]

Tainted prayers part 4? 🎀

Glad you like the fic enough to request another part! I will get to it at some point, right now I have a decent amount of requests in my inbox for drabbles/oneshots that I want to get to first. But I will eventually be back to Tainted Prayers, don’t worry!

Also for those who have requested and haven’t seen their asks answered for awhile—I promise I haven’t abandoned them! I’m actively working on them, I just want to make sure the content I’m producing for you is high quality and not rushed :) so that’s why it may be taking some extra time.

[virginreprise]

there’s not a day that goes by where i don’t think about joel miller.

[heartsofbeskar]

doesnt my job understand i have a blooming fanfiction writing career to work on

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers Pt. 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

← PART TWO

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

Your name.

It had been swirling around his head for days—a beautiful collection of syllables that seemed to sing their own little song when they rolled off Joel’s tongue.

That first day with you hadn’t yielded much progress. In fact, the days afterwards hadn’t really either. It was the same each day—he’d enter your tiny room and sit in the chair across from your bed. He’d ask you simple questions: How are you doin’? Was lunch okay today? Did you sleep alright?

You’d answer them in short little sentences, as if terrified your voice would be stolen should you use it too much. You said you were fine—you always did, but even though your answer to his last question would be a little hum and then a nod, the evidence was plain on your face. Your little cheeks looked hollow, your hair tousled, your eyes drooping.

The only time you seemed to relax was when he read to you, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because there was no pressure for you to respond and you were able to simply sit there. Maybe you enjoyed listening to God’s word. Maybe it was because you liked the way his voice sounded. He wouldn’t have given any thought to that last one usually, but….well, it was the very topic that prompted you to use your darling voice in one of your sessions with him.

Joel still remembered the surprise he felt when, out of nowhere, you’d spoken up in the middle of his reading.

“Do you always talk like that?” you had asked in a voice so sweet it made Joel want to clutch his chest.

He replied, “Talk like what?”

“Talk with that voice,” you’d said. “You say things like ‘yer’ instead of ‘your,’ or ‘beginnin’’ instead of ‘beginning.’” You tried to mimic his way of speaking as best you could.

He cocked his head. “Do I really sound like that?” He hadn’t thought his accent was that thick. Maybe it was just that way when he got lost in reading.

And then—God help him—you smiled. It was a shy little one, barely even there, but it was a smile nonetheless. “No, you don’t sound exactly like that—I’m bad at copying it. But…it’s similar.”

Joel couldn’t help the grin that had split his face. “I was raised in Texas on my grandfather’s farm,” he explained.

Your eyes seemed to brighten. “A farm?”

Joel nodded. “You ever been to one before?”

You shook your head.

“Well, s’not as exciting as it sounds—it’s pretty dirty. And the horse stables smell even worse.”

You sat up a little. “Horses?”

Joel paused, his eyes flicking over the way your hands had stopped fidgeting. “Yes,” he said slowly. “We had four of ‘em.”

“What were their names?”

“Well, one of ‘em was named Rocky.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Short for Rocket Launcher.”

You blinked, then started giggling. If that wasn’t the most angelic sound he’d ever heard…

“Seriously?” You asked, the dimple in your left cheek showing. “Don’t tell me you were the one who named him.”

Joel chuckled. “M’afraid the mind of an eight-year-old boy isn’t all that creative.”

You laughed again, a sound like tinkling bells. Joel wanted to bottle up that laugh and hold it close to his chest, tucked beneath his ribcage and right next to his heart where it would be safe.

“Did you ride them a lot?” You asked. “The horses?”

Joel shrugged. “Every once in awhile. Usually there wasn’t time—too much to be done around the farm. My grandfather was very much a ‘work hard so you can work harder,’ sort of man.”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

A corner of Joel’s mouth twitched up. “To him it was.”

“Well then you must have been bored out of your mind. I know I would have been.”

Joel shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t have been the same for you. I’d’ve made sure that your only job would be to sit there and look pretty.”

Something changed in your gaze then—your pupils got a little wide, your cheeks a little pink. Joel watched as the flush bloomed on your skin. The sight of it made him ache.

Then you looked down and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” you whispered. “I won’t be visiting your farm anytime soon.”

That had been a few days ago, and your words had stuck with him. It made something dark and ugly rise up in him, something he had to shove back down and shut away in a box with seven locks. It was blasphemous. Doubting God was sinful.

And yet the question remained.

How could you be a Ten?

It didn’t make any sense. You were just about the sweetest little thing Joel had ever laid eyes on. You looked like you belonged in a white and pink lace dress with your hair pulled back with a butterfly clip, watering strawberries in a garden in the afternoon sunlight.

Surely your blood couldn’t be anything darker than the lightest pink. Surely it couldn’t.

And yet your file said it was. There was no arguing there. But if that were true, if a person as sweet-hearted as you had blood that reflected the exact opposite, then that would mean the Blood Scale system was a sham.

That was a dangerous train of thought, one that made Joel feel as though the ground was crumbling beneath his very feet. He tended to stay away from that part of his mind.

And yet sometimes late at night the question repeated, swirling in his brain so fast it made him dizzy.

How could you be a Ten?

You weren’t alive on Outbreak Day. By the time you were born, enough time had passed since then that the Blood Scale had already been widely recognized across the world. You were four when you saw your first commercial on TV: a regular public service announcement reminding to ‘call this number if you or your family have or have thought to have had an encounter with a Ten.’

By the time you were learning about it in school, the history was already common knowledge. Rankings One through Ten determined purity, reflected by the color of one’s blood. No one knew what had caused it to come about. Some said it was an evolutionary change, your species’ way of adapting to protect itself, to single out the good from the bad on a genetic level. Some said that it was a curse from God. Others said it was a gift from Him.

What they didn’t teach in school was about the before—a time when blood wasn’t colored, when everyone had the same bright red within their skin. Aunt Bea liked telling you stories about it when she wasn’t choking on cigarette smoke or swimming in liquor.

You wondered if Joel had similar stories. He was older than Aunt Bea, and surely his were better than hers, especially if he had lived on a farm with horses….

And he said that all you’d have to do was sit there and look pretty. He’d called you pretty. Maybe it was silly to get this giddy over a simple word, but it helped lift your spirits more than you would ever know. Here in this place you felt dirty. Empty. But Joel looked past the boxy scrubs and the eyebags.

A hand prodded you forward, drawing you out of your reverie. “Keep walking.”

You nearly stumbled, but luckily kept your balance as you continued your pace along the corridor.

Today was supposed to be your first day in the dining hall, and Joseph and Maria were your escorts for the day. Apparently the workers here kept new patients in their rooms for a couple weeks to determine how insane they really were. If they were alright enough to interact with others, they’d have the privilege of not dining alone with the other only-sort-of-crazy members here.

Yay you.

It was something, at least. The situation was bittersweet. On one hand, you’d get to see other people. You had been struggling lately, what with your only dining companions being your four white walls, white bed, white chair, and white floor. Sometimes you pretended that Father Miller was there in the corner reading the Bible to you in that rich, rumbling bass of a voice.

On the other hand, you were kind of sort of absolutely terrified. Everyone inside Silver Lake Asylum was supposed to be criminally insane. Could you really deal with that for forty-five minutes? What if a fight broke out? What if the only thing the guards cared about was making sure you stayed in the asylum, not what physical state you were in?

I’m supposed to be the worst of them as a Ten, you thought to yourself. If I can handle myself, then surely I can handle the others.

You kept that thought with you almost as a shield as Joseph swiped his keycard and opened the dining hall door.

[dear-aubade]

My inbox is always open, but please stay courteous and kind ♡

ALL OF THE CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR WILL BE AGED UP TO BE 18 OR OLDER IF THEY ARE NOT ALREADY (ex: in Obx S1 John B is supposed to be 16 even though the actor is much older. Should someone request a fic of John B it will be a given that he is aged up to 18 instead).

I only write fem!readers. I apologize, but this is just what I am comfortable writing. Please do not ask about dom!readers or male!readers.

I can write fluff, angst, etc—all you have to do is ask!

I do not write smut!!

My character list is not all inclusive, so if there’s a character you want me to write about that is in one of the listed fandoms but whose name is not written there, please ask!

Please try to include a specific train of thought/concept when requesting writing for a character (it makes it easier to get inspiration that way instead of just asking “Hey, can you write a Clark Kent drabble?”).

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers: Part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

← PART ONE | PART THREE →

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

You were led down a long hallway with beige water-damaged walls. The tiles were freezing beneath your feet, each step bringing your toes closer and closer to becoming icicles. You shivered, pulling the sweatshirt closer around your neck to try and block out the cold.

There were two people leading you—one a man with close-cropped carrot hair and the other a woman with dark skin and hazelnut irises. They sort of looked like the eyes of the nice man from before, the one who’d collected you from the bus. You didn’t know where he’d gone. Soon after he’d led you inside he’d been summoned away for some sort of other task that needed attending to.

You clenched your hands to stop them from shaking. You’d heard of this place, of course. Everyone had. Silver Lake Asylum was supposed to be a home for the insane, the wild, those that weren’t human enough to function on their own. Those who had been kissed by the devil instead of blessed by God.

You didn’t think you were insane, but…well, crazy people never thought they were crazy, right? You’d been told you were. Aunt Bea had said so, and after that night….

The orange-haired man opened a metal door to your right and you winced at the high-pitched squeal the hinges let out.

You froze.

“Let’s go,” the man said, prodding you forward.

You nearly stumbled, shaking your head. “No, no I can’t, I—”

He pushed you forward again, this time into the room. Showers lined the walls with water-stained silver handholds; rust clung to some of the drains embedded in the ceramic tile floors.

Your vision started to blur with tears as you shook your head more violently. “Please don’t—I—”

Memories assaulted you, ones of you huddled and shivering beneath a frozen stream of water with purple lips, the smell of mold on porcelain making you gag…

You were suddenly shaken. Shocked out of your daze, you looked up to find the woman gripping your shoulders, her brow creased. When your gaze met hers her face relaxed.

“She’s fine,” she said to the man without looking at you. His nose was wrinkled as if disgusted by your tears.

“Let’s just…get her a bucket and washcloth or something instead,” he muttered. He seemed almost uncomfortable by your display. His boots were swift as he exited the room.

Twenty minutes later you were as clean as you could be without a proper shower, dressed in white scrubs with a brown-orange stain on the hem of one of the sleeves. Your toes were no longer frozen—you’d been given white socks with sticky texturing on the bottom to keep you from slipping.

Your room was bland. White walls, white floor, white sheets. There was a single chair in the corner of the room facing the bed, also white. There was no window and there were bars covering the light fixture—most likely to prevent any patients from breaking the glass bulb and using the jagged shards as a weapon, either against others or themselves.

Despite being warmer than before, you hadn’t stopped shivering. Was this supposed to be your new life? Never feeling the sunlight on your skin again? Never seeing the sky? Tremors wracked your body and you felt another wave of panic, followed by a smaller flare of self-disgust. You were pathetic. How many times had you broken down today? How many times had tears clouded your vision, had fear fuzzed your mind? How many times—

There was a quiet beep and your door opened. An unfamiliar man walked through (but then again, wasn’t everyone unfamiliar these days?).

He had strawberry blond hair that receded from a round, wrinkled forehead—wrinkles far too deep for someone middle-aged. His chin was pointed, his nose even more so.

The skin crinkled around his blue eyes as he gave you a friendly smile. “Well hello there,” he said, shutting the door behind him. The lock clicked.

You didn’t respond and your eyes followed him as he sat down in the white chair across from you. He was dressed in a simple button down and slacks.

He studied you for a moment before extending a hand. “I’m Bishop David, the head of this institution.”

You didn’t shake his hand.

Bishop David nodded as he pulled it back and gave an understanding smile. “I hope you’ve settled in alright, though I heard you gave Joseph and Maria some trouble at the showers.”

At this, you squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t like water,” you whispered.

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we all have things that irk us, don’t we?”

You didn’t respond.

“Quiet, aren’t you?” He cocked his head and his eyes took on a strange look, as if he were trying to look through you. He clasped his hands. “You were brought here for a very serious reason, you know. Your aunt—she was a good woman.”

You looked down.

“And a good woman’s judgment should be trusted, shouldn’t it?” He leaned forward a bit.

He spoke your name.

You looked up.

“You’re unclean,” he said softly. “You’ve been touched by the devil, been shunned by God. Your aunt was wise to hand you over. You shouldn’t be ungrateful for your circumstances.”

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“We’re going to help you,” he said intently. “But to do that, you need to admit to yourself first that you are tainted. Your soul is evil. You must understand that.”

You didn’t say anything. Tears welled on your lashes.

Bishop David let out a small exhale and stood. “I expected denial, but none as strong as this. The devil is working hard on you.” He gave you a small smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to help.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Days passed. The asylum staff didn’t give you a calendar, nor did you ask for one. What was the point? You weren’t getting out of here anytime soon. You didn’t deserve to.

The routine was the same each day. In the morning you’d wake to a plate of cheese and bread set on your bedside table for breakfast. Lunch was beef jerky and crackers, and dinner was soup. At night the lights would shut off, leaving you in pitch blackness.

Nights were always the hardest. You couldn’t sleep, not when you could practically feel the darkness pressing in on you from all sides, like it was strangling you. You’d wrap yourself in your blanket and curl into a ball to try and hide, but how could you escape something that was everywhere all at once?

You could practically feel yourself wasting away; not just your body, but your mind as well. You had no one to talk to, nothing to do. The only time you saw the outside of your cell was when you were led to the restroom by an armed guard.

Today you were sat criss-cross on your thin mattress, picking at the crust of your bread, getting ready for another day of staring at the wall with empty eyes when you heard a small beep.

Your door opened a moment later and in stepped him.

He didn’t look any different than he did on the day he’d collected you from the bus. Square face, tired eyes, Roman nose. His beard was flecked with gray, same as his brown hair along the temples. He was dressed the same as he was before—black button down, black slacks, black shoes. The only thing that wasn’t dark was the white of his clerical collar.

“Mornin’,” he said in his deep, rumbling bass of a voice.

“Good morning,” you said softly. You watched as his dark silhouette moved to take a seat in the white chair, a spill of ink against paper.

He was holding a thick leather bound book in his hand. “You, uh, get settled in alright?”

You shrugged.

“Bishop David told me he came to see you. Said you were…on the quieter side.”

“I didn’t have anything to say to him.”

The man’s thick brow furrowed and he seemed to study you for a moment before he shook his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind. “Well, I’m Father Miller. I’m going to be helping you in your reformation.”

You gave him your name as well, but it was more for the sake of formality. Did this man really think he could help you? You were bad—you were unclean.

“What’s that?” You asked, nodding to the book in his hands.

“Oh, this? S’the Bible.”

Of course. You shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“Are you going to read to me?”

Father Miller nodded. “Is—“

“Why?”

He cocked his head. “What d’you mean, ‘why?’ Do you not want me to?”

“No, I just…” You fidgeted. “Do you really think it will help me?” What good would hearing such holy words do if you were already damned?

“Bishop David says it will, and I…I trust him.”

Your eyes flicked down as Father Miller’s large hands opened the book.

“S’this alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly so soft and honey sweet it made you want to hear it again. You nodded.

Father Miller’s eyes fell to the book in his hands.

And he began to read.

[dear-aubade]

Tainted Prayers

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Asylum AU

Notes: Religious themes, cultists, topics may be sensitive to readers

Hope you guys enjoy! I've taken some creative liberties (this is an AU after all) with adding in some of my own worldbuilding. I'd love to make a part 2 if there's interest!

Edit: PART TWO is up!

Every time Joel smelled that metallic tang curling beneath his nose, he tried to think of his grandfather’s farm. 

Old Grandpa Charlie had been one of those men who never did seem to lose their youth, even with age. He’d been robust, spry. There had been quite a few times when Joel had been out helping him clip the horses’ hooves or shear the sheep when his grandpa would suddenly halt what he was doing. He’d sniff the air, then turn to Joel with a twinkle in his eye.

“Smell that, boy?” he’d ask. “It’ll be rainin’ soon.”

The first time it had happened, Joel had made a frown of confusion so deep it was almost comical on his eight-year-old face. “But there ain’t a cloud in the sky—”

“That don’t matter.” The old man tapped the side of his crooked nose. “You can smell it, see. Smells like metal in the air.”

Sure enough, the next day there had been a downpour. 

It helped Joel to look back on such memories. Sometimes, if he pretended hard enough he was back on that farm, he could imagine that the metallic stench permeating the air was due to a coming rainfall rather than the blood spilled on the asylum floor. 

The poor woman stuck cleaning the mess met his eyes before he could avert them. She gave him a small, strained smile. “Father Miller,” she greeted.

He nodded back, stomach twisting. He didn’t stop walking. 

The woman went back to scrubbing the floor and Joel focused forward once more as he continued down the hall. His clerical collar felt tight, like a serpent squeezing his neck.

Eventually he was far enough where the metallic tang of the blood no longer reached him. Joel began to clear his mind, instead focusing on the task ahead. He’d been serving at the asylum for nearly twenty years and not once had he been assigned to patient collection. When he’d received the call for this particular assignment, he’d had half a mind to argue, but Bishop David had quickly reminded him that the task had been given by God, and as such rejecting this opportunity would be rejecting Him. 

Joel exhaled. God’s work, he thought. This is God’s work. It had become a sort of mantra these past years. He had to continually remind himself that Silver Lake Church had assigned him to the asylum because the tortured souls here needed him—he was meant to be a tool in God’s hands to aid Him in His mission of reformation.  

Joel held his keycard up to the lock beside the door. When he stepped outside, he squinted his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of his shoes as he made his way out onto the drive and spotted another priest. 

“Mornin’, Father Clyde,” Joel greeted, approaching the man waiting beside the barbed wire gate. 

Father Clyde turned and a gentle smile split his face, calling attention to the wrinkles around his mouth. Joel didn’t know exactly how old the man was. Younger than Grandpa Charlie, yet still quite a few years older than Joel himself. 

“Good morning, Father Miller,” Father Clyde replied politely. 

“That the patient’s file?” Joel asked, nodding to the thin manila folder in Father Clyde’s hands. 

Father Clyde nodded. “This is your first time at collections, yes?” His voice was smooth—a contrast to his grooved face.

“Yes, sir.”

Father Clyde passed the file to Joel. “Today is going to be rather…unusual, I am afraid.”

“Unusual?” Joel opened the file to skin the information. “How d’you mean?”

“Many patients can be aggressive when we extract them from the bus, but today’s subject…well, her guardians submitted her blood scale number as a Ten.”

“A Ten?” Joel frowned. “And they only sent two of us to deal with her?”

“This one was described to be…different.”

The Blood Scale was an easy way for society to rank the color of one’s blood—and purity—from One to Ten. The general population fell within the range of Three to Five. Tens were the worst of the lot. Their blood was the color of the sky in the middle of the night—deep black like their demonic souls. 

On the other end of the scale, Ones had blood the color of snow on a fresh winter day. They were the purest humans to walk the earth, but the only Ones Joel had met were newly-born babes who didn’t even have the capacity to sin yet. By age thirteen, most people’s once-light blood had already darkened to at least a Three. 

Joel looked over the patient’s file once more. “If she’s a Ten, how come she’s not being sent to the East wing?” The East Wing was where they kept all Tens, with a few Nines sprinkled in there every now and then. Joel hadn’t ever been there, but the stories from that part of the asylum made his skin crawl. 

“If her guardians felt the need to send her here and Bishop David approved it, then that is all we need to know. It is not our judgment to make,” Father Clyde was saying. “That is revelation that Bishop David receives from God. It is simply our job to carry out the tasks we are assigned to.”

Joel frowned. “The file doesn’t say anything about what her crimes were.”

“It’s not about what she’s done, Father Miller. It’s about who she is. If she’s being sent here then that means her soul must be reformed, regardless of whether her blood is dark or light.”

The sight of the bus driving towards them halted their conversation. The gate opened with a screech, and the bus drove through. Its tires squealed to a stop.

Father Clyde took the file from Joel as the gate rattled closed. He nudged Joel towards the back of the bus, where the bus driver was pulling a keyring out of his pocket. 

“You the one collecting?” the driver asked, looking at Joel.

Joel nodded. The driver didn’t respond, he just merely twisted the key into the padlock on the bus’ back door and swung it open. Joel braced himself for an animal of a human being to throw themselves at him, for snapping teeth and sharp fingers…

Inside, fast asleep and curled up on one of the padded benches, was you. You were in a sweatshirt so large it seemed to swallow you whole. You looked tiny. Fragile. 

“Wake up!” The bus driver bellowed, thumping his hand on the side of the bus. The jarring sound echoed in the cramped interior.

You jumped awake with a gasp, scrambling to a seated position. 

Joel shot the driver an annoyed glance. “Was that really necessary?”

The driver didn’t answer him. He retrieved a small slip of paper from his pocket and approached Father Clyde. “I’m going to need you to sign this…”

Joel turned back to the patient. He had expected…well, anything but this. You were a Ten? Your hoodie was pulled up to your chin protectively and the cuffs of the sleeves covered your hands up to your second knuckle, fingertips barely peeking out. It was dirt-streaked and the hem was caked with mud. 

Your face was twisted into a fearful expression, but that didn’t make it any less darling. You had a soft face, strawberry lips, and there was a tiny little v between your brows as they creased in worry. And your eyes. They were wide, watery, and doe-like. You were shaking like a leaf, the poor thing. 

Joel took a step closer and you flinched. He paused.

“Hey, darlin’,” he tried in a soft voice. The nickname rolled off his tongue mindlessly. His hands were held out before him, as if trying not to spook a frightened baby deer. “Why don’t you come on out?”

You still hesitated. 

“We’ll get you all cleaned up and something warm to eat,” he continued. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Joel could see the conflict in your eyes. You were obviously suspicious of the kindness in his tone, yet it seemed as if you wanted to trust him. You just weren’t sure if you could.

Slowly you got to your feet and approached him as one would a bucking horse. Your bare feet made no sound on the bus floor as you stepped—your shoes must have gotten lost in the scuffle to get her into the bus in the first place.

Your eyes flicked up and down his person, finally coming to rest on his outstretched hand. You stared at it for a painstakingly long time.

Then you delicately slipped your hand into his, your palm soft against his callused one. 

[dear-aubade]

Joel Miller — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Types of Kisses

˙｡ꪆ Useless Part 1

˙｡ꪆ Tainted Prayers Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

[dear-aubade]

Types of Kisses with Joel

Kisses to distract you while you’re reading your book. It was one you’d never heard of before, but Joel had found it on a supply run and had brought it home for you because he thought you’d like it—a decision he’d come to regret every time your pretty little doe eyes were concentrated on the pages instead of him. Now his lips move across your neck, your jaw, and your shoulder while he coos, “Come on, sweetheart, put the book down for a sec.”

Kisses to your quivering bottom lip before leaving for a long patrol, murmuring reassurances against your mouth. “I know baby, I know…it will only be for a little bit, I’ll see you tonight, okay sweet girl?”

Kisses when you’re injured after escaping a pair of Clickers—in your haste to get away you’d tripped and cut your leg on a sharp rock. “Awwe, darlin’,” Joel had murmured as he kissed your tears away and carried you back home, where he cleaned the wound wrapped it up, sealing it with a sweet kiss on the bandage. 

Kisses to your eyelids when you’re falling asleep in his arms at night.

Kisses to your forehead as he tells you he loves you. 

Kisses in the morning when you’re still his sleepy, tired girl and can hardly kiss him back. 

Kisses to your jawline when he gets back from patrol, cradling the bowl of your skull with his big hand as he tilts your head back to expose your neck. “Missed my pretty girl so much,” he’d sigh, his breath fanning over your neck and making you gasp when his teeth dragged along the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. 

Kisses with Joel.

[dear-aubade]

My character list is not all inclusive, so if there’s a character you want me to write about that is in one of the listed fandoms but whose name is not written there, please ask!

DC Comics — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Clark Kent

˙｡ꪆ Bruce Wayne

˙｡ꪆ Jason Todd

˙｡ꪆ Dick Grayson

˙｡ꪆ Johnathan Crane

Star Wars — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Anakin Skywalker

˙｡ꪆ Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

˙｡ꪆ Kylo Ren

Movies/TV Shows Misc. — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Jake Sully

˙｡ꪆ Miles Quaritch

˙｡ꪆ Scott Miller

˙｡ꪆ Shawn Spencer

The Last of Us — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Joel Miller

Outer Banks — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ John B Routledge

˙｡ꪆ JJ Maybank

˙｡ꪆ Pope Heyward

˙｡ꪆ Rafe Cameron

˙｡ꪆ Ward Cameron

Stranger Things — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Steve Harrington

˙｡ꪆ Eddie Munson

Call of Duty — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ John Price

˙｡ꪆ Simon “Ghost” Riley

˙｡ꪆ John “Soap” MacTavish

˙｡ꪆ Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Marvel — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ James “Bucky” Barnes

˙｡ꪆ Steve Rogers

˙｡ꪆ Peter Parker

˙｡ꪆ Miguel O’Hara

˙｡ꪆ Hobie Brown

˙｡ꪆ Tony Stark

˙｡ꪆ Logan Howlett

Marauders — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ James Potter

˙｡ꪆ Sirius Black

˙｡ꪆ Remus Lupin

Grishaverse — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ The Darkling

˙｡ꪆ Nikolai Lantsov

˙｡ꪆ Kaz Brekker

Arcane — ꪆৎ

˙｡ꪆ Vander

˙｡ꪆ Ekko

˙｡ꪆ Jayce

˙｡ꪆ Viktor

˙｡ꪆ Silco

[dear-aubade]

˙｡ꪆ Hi, I’m Bambi!

˙｡ꪆ I’m twenty (she/her).

˙｡ꪆ I’ve been writing ever since I was a little girl, and I’ve recently discovered a passion for fanfic writing!

˙｡ꪆ All of the Readers in my fics will be feminine. I apologize, but that is just what I am comfortable writing.

˙｡ꪆ I’m currently working a full time job, so I won’t be online all the time. However, I will be updating this whenever I can :)

˙｡ꪆ Requests are open!